AAAAAH ❤️❤️❤️❤️ MY HEART, I LOVE THIS

stay alive.

Not because your mother will cry at your loss but because the sun will come out tomorrow and you will not be there to appreciate it. Stay alive because the path will go somewhere exciting and you will not be able to experience it.

Stay alive because your favourite band might release a new song. Or your favourite series might be renewed for a new season. Stay alive because there are twenty thousand more series to hold you in your gloomy days.

Stay alive.

Not because your father will blame himself his whole life but you have a whole world out there for you to see. Because your coffee mug is sitting there waiting to be filled.

Stay alive because your older self is waiting for you to grow up as a wonderful person your father may not be. Stay alive because all the rights are waiting for you to fix them because nobody but you can do it.

Stay alive because the moon is there for you. The stars in the darkest of night need you to look up and admire them.

stay alive.

Not because your siblings will hold your clothes and remember you but your clothes need you to remove their emptiness. The next burger you are going to eat is waiting for you out there. Stay alive because a part of the air around you is reserved only for you to breathe.

Stay alive because a spot in front of the Eiffel Tower where you are standing needs to be in your album. Your streets are waiting for you to come for a walk with headphones on. Your favourite songs are waiting for you to give them that unmatchable attention.

stay alive.

Not because your lover will lose his/her half, but because of those roses in the garden waiting with love to be plucked for love. For that unwritten parchment that wants to be painted with your affection even if no one ever reads it.

Stay alive for the imaginations you have before your sleep and for the dance under the sky you want. For the days you laughed at your own jokes and the days you could not love yourself more.

Stay alive for your bedroom because it will never be the same without you. For the winds because they will never touch any skin in the same way. For the sky because no one will go crazier as you do seeing it changing colours. For the moon and the stars, you see so adoringly that they shine a little brightly for you. For all the songs who you have given a place in your heart. For all your favourite series you carry with you. For all the clothes you wear daily. For the rays of sun you love on your face and for the life that beats within you.

Stay alive for you.

Reflection (Satan x GN!Reader)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Angst; Lucifer’s not the nicest in this; mentions of Lilith and the fall; edited, but not well

Synopsis and Note: This piece examines Satan’s past, starting with his creation and continuing through meeting MC. It’s heavily based on my own interpretations of his character and story, and I took a decent amount of creative liberties to make the story what I wanted. I also marked it as hurt/comfort, but I don’t know that this actually counts as that. There is hurt, and there is comfort, and it does end on a happy note, so I think that’s all there is to it? Oh, and the last thing, this is my first long creative work in a while, so I’m sorry if it’s not great lmao; I hope you enjoy it anyway, though.

When he came to after the fall, he was naked. He could remember the way his vision blurred, the way the dirt felt beneath his hands, the way his skin prickled as the cool air of an unfamiliar place hit him. He could remember how his heart skipped a beat when he realized he felt different. He could remember the surprise he felt when he tried to raise his hand, and his body actually responded.

He was overwhelmed and confused as he raised his head. The first thing he saw in his new world was Lucifer. He loomed over him, an incredulous and pained expression on his face. Even in his most private moments, before he was aware of Satan’s presence within him, Lucifer had never made an expression quite like that. In the next moment, it was gone. Any vulnerability Lucifer had shown disappeared as his mask came back down. Satan’s next memory was a feeling, the sensation of his wrath boiling up and consuming him.

Keep reading

Writing about a child rapist did not make Vladimir Nabokov a child rapist.

Writing about an authoritarian theocracy did not make Margaret Atwood an authoritarian theocrat.

Writing about adultery did not make Leo Tolstoy an adulterer.

Writing about a ghost did not make Toni Morrison a ghost.

Writing about a murderer did not make Fyodor Dostoevsky a murderer.

Writing about a teenage addict did not make Isabel Allende a teenage addict.

Writing about dragons and ice zombies did not make George R.R. Martin either of those things.

Writing about rich heiresses, socially awkward bachelors, and cougar widows did not make Jane Austen any of those things.

Writing about people who can control earthquakes did not make N.K. Jemisin able to control earthquakes.

Writing about your favorite characters and/or ships in situations that you choose does not make you a bad person.

It’s a shame that in this day and age these things need to be said.

RAD Panic

Part of my Under the Surface series of oneshots that feature an MC with mental health struggles.

*Trigger warning: describes a panic attack and unhealthy coping mechanisms and behaviors. Please seek help if you are struggling with anxiety.*

I knew what was coming this morning when that jittery feeling began sinking into my chest, making my heart beat a little too quickly and my breathing try to speed up. I felt fidgety and restless.

That was this morning. It had let up for a few hours, but now, five minutes into this class, it’s back with a vengeance. Ugh, it’s going to be one of the really bad ones. The feeling of painful anxiety just keeps building, the pressure on my heart and lungs increasing. I struggle to focus enough to take notes, feeling myself space out for a second or two before snapping back into focus. I swear I’m zoned out more than in at this point.

I regulate my breathing, forcing myself to take long, easy breaths. It doesn’t help much, and I fidget again, looking at the clock. I can make it another half hour, right? It’s just thirty minutes.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-eight and…I'm not going to make it.

No, wrong attitude. I just need to be okay for another…twenty-seven minutes. I fidget in my seat again, digging my nails painfully into my palms in a foolish attempt to distract myself from the growing pain in my chest.

I breathe deeply and try to focus on taking notes and on what the professor says, but an increasingly large amount of my brain is hyper aware of my building anxiety, the need to get away, to escape, and the imminent collapse I know is coming.

Satan gives me a questioning look from where he sits beside me. I give him a smile, trying to reassure him. Is it convincing? I have no idea. I hope so.

Ugh, why can’t I just make it go away? I hate these stupid anxiety episodes.

As the last few minutes of class approach it takes great effort not to pack up early, not to squirm in my seat. I just breathe and hope I can hold it together for the last few minutes. I’m so close now.

The deep chime of the bell announces the end of that class and I throw my stuff into my bag in an uncharacteristically haphazard scramble. I barely get myself to check and make sure I’m not leaving anything behind before I hurry for the door, not bothering to wait for anyone or talk like I normally might. Trying to get away before anyone tries to talk or socialize with me. Or ask me any questions I won’t be able to answer honestly.

I just need to get somewhere private asap. Then I can let the suppressed panic attack run loose and maybe get it over with.

The pain in my chest makes it feel like forever before I find a place where there aren’t any prying eyes–a small classroom off the beaten path. I wonder vaguely if it is risky going somewhere so isolated by myself–after all, it is a school full of demons.

Unfortunately, I just don’t have the mental fortitude or energy to care about that at the moment. I shut the door behind me and move along the wall away from the glass window on the door before sitting on the ground, hugging my knees to my chest and using the wall as a backrest.

Now out of sight of anyone else, I allow the panic attack to run its course. My entire body shakes and I whimper in pain, nails digging into my arms. I feel tears gather in my eyes at the isolation, being completely alone with no one to help, no one to talk to, no support system. I feel overwhelmingly afraid and lonely and it claws at my chest like an enraged bear.

I sob loudly before taking deep breaths to try to quiet myself. I was still at RAD. I didn’t want to draw attention to my condition here. Or have someone notice my presence here. I steady my breathing until I’m pretty sure I can’t be heard outside. I let myself shake and shudder, quiet sobs hurting my throat and tears streaming down my face.

I freeze at the sound of the doorknob turning. I bite my lip, frozen, holding my breath, then quickly cleaning the tears from my face, just in case. Crap. Who’s here? Holding completely still–an impressive feat for my adrenaline-overloaded body–I turn just my eyes toward the door.

“MC?” Simeon’s gentle voice asks. He stands in the doorway, teal eyes searching the room. I try to hold completely still but a slight tremor sneaks through. Turns out I can’t fully stop the shaking again.

His eyes land on me and I stand, laughing awkwardly. I don’t have any believable reason for hiding in an empty classroom in a remote part of campus, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to brush this off.

I hate that I’ve been found, and by one of the angels, no less. He is probably more likely to pick up on my “super not okay” vibes. Ugh, what would an angel think of me, hiding in a room to cry? Probably think that humans are as weak and pathetic as they’d been taught, in need of angels for everything. I wish I could just go back to hiding and crying. But there is a person here now. I have to deal with this situation first.

“Hi, Simeon,” I say, carefully keeping my tone light and as close to normal as I can manage. And I can manage very well. I smile, allowing my hair to fall close to my face, hoping that somehow he’d miss that I’ve been crying. I didn’t turn my face completely to him for the same reason. “I was just taking a break. Did you need something?”

He frowns at me, walking toward me. I cringe inwardly, fear of being discovered as weak and pathetic freezing my insides solid. It frustrates me. It isn’t my fault my brain presses the panic button like it’s a fun game on the playground.

But that isn’t the point right now.

“MC, are you okay? It seemed like something was bothering you during class. Satan and I were both worried, but then you rushed out before either of us could ask you about it,” Simeon asks.

Ugh. Crap. I was afraid of that when I left so abruptly. Well, I supposed I was afraid whether I liked it or not at the time, but still. I’d have made a better show of being okay, but I hadn’t been able to take it. “Oh, I’m just feeling a bit under the weather. I’m okay, though,” I say with a bright smile.

Okay. As in not actively dying. That counts as okay, right? I fold my arms, which I can feel shaking slightly, digging my fingernails into the soft flesh as I attempt to hold myself together enough to get through this social interaction. To get Simeon to leave so I can have my breakdown and move on with life.

He stops when he's about a foot away. “You don’t seem like you’re okay. If you’re having a hard time, you can talk to me about it. I promise I just want to help,” he says gently. That soothing, caring tone is almost enough to rip the mask right off and send me sobbing again. I feel the tears rising at the prospect of someone being there to help and comfort me.

My control is beginning to slip. I hold on to my composure desperately even as a silent sob shakes my body and my eyes fill until the room is an incoherent blur. A high-pitched whine escapes my tight throat without my consent.

“Oh, MC,” Simeon says gently. He reaches out toward me slowly. I flinch away for a second, still unsure, and he stops. “Would a hug help?” His tone is so sweet, so kind. I feel my face scrunch up and swallow another whimper as I nod.

His arms close around me, warm and strong. I grab him in a hug tight enough I might have had to worry about breaking ribs if he’d been a human instead of a super-powerful angel. I can’t help myself. It’s like I was drowning and now that someone’s thrown me a lifeline I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. I bury my face in his chest and sob the pain and overwhelming terror away, shaking uncontrollably. He just holds me back, steady and warm and real.

The warmth of another person helps stem the tide of hopelessness and fear and loneliness. He gently rubs a hand up and down my back, murmuring soothing words, the tone of which is much more important than the actual things being said. He’s so warm-hearted I can physically feel it, his mere presence comforting me. I could stay there forever without any qualms.

I hear the door open again and bury myself lower in Simeon’s chest, hoping whoever it is won’t notice me. Simeon pets my hair comfortingly as he turns his head to look at the newcomer.

“You found MC?” Satan’s voice says. I bite my lip, burying my face in Simeon’s chest, not sure what to do. The dregs of the panic attack are fading, but I know I’m a hot mess right now. I’m not sure I want anyone else to see me this way. It would be hard enough to explain to one person, let alone two.

“Yes.” Simeon’s voice is gentle and soft, the tone a person might use around a frightened or injured animal. He strokes my hair comfortingly, a pleasant sensation that is easy to focus on.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Satan’s normally composed voice sounds a bit worried, distressed even. Maybe even a smidge desperate. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those emotions in his voice before. I feel myself soften toward him, some of my anxiety about him being here fading.

I hear him walking closer and try to take a breath in to say something, but a shuddering sob leftover from all the tears steals it away. I carefully take a few breaths until I’m more confident in my ability to speak.

“MC?” Satan sounds alarmed. I stiffen, worried as my brain tries to come up with a way to explain myself.

Simeon’s hand rubs my back comfortingly. “It’s okay, MC. You’re safe.”

“I, um, I’m fine,” I begin, pulling back from Simeon. Both men frown at me, clearly knowing that isn’t the case. Ugh. My explanation is off to a great start. “It was just a panic attack. I have them sometimes.” I say it lightly, casually, like they aren’t anything to worry about. Not a big deal.

Simeon pulls me back into his chest, holding me tightly, making me squeak in surprise.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have helped you, you know. I’ve said so many times that you can come to me for anything.” Satan says, and I feel a hand rest on my shoulder, warm and steady.

“It must be really hard dealing with them, especially by yourself,” Simeon says. A sob shakes my body at the gentle kindness in both their voices, at the sheer relief of not being alone, the desire for their help, at their warmth and care.

“It is,” I admit, so softly I’m not even sure if they can hear me. Simeon rests his head atop mine, and I feel Satan wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his head in my shoulder. They both hold me tightly and some abstract part of my brain is surprised there’s no arguing about who does and doesn’t get to hug me. I’m grateful for that because I don’t think I could handle it at the moment. Perhaps they sense that, too.

“You’re even braver than I thought, and I already thought you were insanely brave,” Satan whispers in my ear. With that the recently patched dam on my still very tender and sensitive emotions breaks and I started crying all over again, incredibly grateful for both of these wonderful people who care about me so much.

Eventually I turn in their arms so I can give Satan a proper hug, Simeon pulling away slightly but still gently stroking my back to remind me that he’s there for me.

Eventually my tears ease and I pull back from them. I'm embarrassed to see the wet spots I left on both their clothing. “S-sorry about the tear stains,” I say nervously, blushing slightly.

Satan reaches out and wipes the last of my tears away with a thumb. “Don’t worry about that. Clothes can be washed.”

“Yes. You’re a lot more important than clothes,” Simeon adds.

“Thank you,” I say, voice still very soft and delicate.

Satan suddenly pulls me right back into a hug. “Anytime you’re feeling unwell, just let me know. I don’t want you going through this alone. Or going to someone else with it. Come to me.”

I feel a slight chuckle work its way through my body at those words. There it is. But it’s sweet, and it helps me feel like I wouldn’t be such a burden to him if I did come to him when I was struggling.

“You can also come to me if you’re having a hard time. I’m more than happy to help. And I hate the idea of you dealing with this by yourself. I hope you’ll tell me if you are struggling and if there’s anything I can do to help,” Simeon says, a hand resting on my back.

Before they can argue I pull back, grabbing one of their hands in each of mine. “Thank you both. You’re the best.” I turn my gaze between them so they know I’m sincere. And that is when the last of the adrenaline fades and overwhelming exhaustion fills me. I sway slightly, blinking, having trouble staying awake despite the fact that I’m standing.

I feel both of them take one of my arms. “MC? Are you okay?” Satan asks, worry creasing his brow.

“I-yes, just really tired. It happens after a bad panic attack. I need to sleep.” I blink a couple times to myself. “Wait, the next class, I was going to just go in late…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Satan tells me firmly. “We just need to worry about getting you where you can rest and recover.”

“I’ll let Lucifer know you’re feeling sick so you won’t be able to go to the rest of today's classes,” Simeon says.

“But you both need to be there,” I start again.

“Don’t worry about it, we can get the notes later,” Satan insists.

“I, um,” I begin, but Satan and Simeon start pulling me along before I can protest any further.

“I already said don’t worry about it,” Satan insists. “Just let me–us–take care of you.”

I can tell he doesn’t want to include Simeon, but does for my sake. They take me to the infirmary to get a little sleep. I let them, too tired and relieved to be past the panic attack to feel a need to take charge of the situation. I trust the two of them to take care of me.

I fall asleep in an infirmary bed with Satan sitting behind me with a hand gently rubbing up and down my arm and Simeon sitting in front of me, gently stroking my hair.

I wake up vaguely to Lucifer’s voice, stirring slightly and taking a moment before I’m oriented enough to know what direction the voice is coming from. He and Simeon are talking in careful, quiet tones. I frown, hoping that Simeon won’t tell him what happened.

Lucifer catches my bleary gaze. “Next time you aren’t feeling well, just let me know and go rest, don’t try to push yourself too hard. Lord Diavolo wants the exchange students to stay happy and healthy.” I see the worried crease between his eyebrows, telling me he is a lot more concerned than he’s letting on. That his words are about more than Diavolo and his exchange program.

I smile slightly at him and give a barely-coherent, “Mhm,” before exhaustion weighs my eyelids back closed and I’m asleep once more.

Later, when I’m ever so slightly more awake, Satan and Simeon help me home. Satan makes me dinner, Simeon makes me tea, and then I go back to sleep. The next day I wake up feeling relaxed and happy in a way I haven’t for a long, long time.

~End~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this and found it comforting! If you suffer from anxiety attacks, I hope you are getting the help you need both from a doctor and a therapist, it makes a huge difference in recovery.

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hi my stomach is in knots and i’m close to tears writing this but i really gotta leave the place i’m staying soon so pls help if you can. it’s about 3K until i meet my goal. pls dont tag as boost or signal or any of that bc that will knock the post out of circulation since it already has a link but thanks so much in advance for reblogging and sharing ✨

tryna figure out if I should turn this fear au into a multi chap (which I’m bad at keeping up with) or one really long one shot that’s basically the entire 1 hour and 45 minutes of the movie……..

Myosotis Pt.1 (ao3)

HawksxPersonal Assistant Reader. Multichap. Heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. But, when they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them? For Hawks, it would be you.

Nsfw in future chapters. Hurt/comfort and depictions of PTSD. Codependency and a little forbidden love between a hero and his PA.

Prologue

The hallway door was cracked slightly open to allow a long band of light to lay across your bedside. It was a comfort to you then. It's funny to remember your innocence. If only imaginary monsters and the absence of light could be your worst fears again. In those days, though, you’d yet to know the sting of the real world. You were ten, and safe in your childhood bedroom.

The stripe of light broke across your blanket and your door creaked gently open. Your father's voice called your name in a whisper, and you perked your head up to see his face in the crack of your door. This was a ritual you both cherished. Your father was a florist, and he often worked late into the afternoons. It was usual he got home after dark. He’d often wake you in the middle of the night to watch hero news with him, to make up for missing your day.

"Your boyfriend is on TV," he teased, and you jolted up in bed with reddened cheeks. 

"Hawks?" You blurted. It was embarrassing you knew exactly who he meant. Even more so when he laughed at your pinkined face. 

"Hurry up if you wanna see him, that kid's gone in the blink of an eye-" 

You already stumbled out of your bed. Your father stepped back into the light of the hall. His shimmering white wings dragged on the floor behind him as he followed you to the living room. 

Hawks was only eighteen then, and he’d been on the scene for only a few months. Still, he quickly became you and your father's favorite face to see in a battle. For your father, it had everything to do with Hawks being a bird, just like him. And just like you. You didn’t meet others with wings on their backs often, so it was nice to see a hero with a similar mutation. Hawks was a talented young man filled with promise, and your father loved to live vicariously through the kid's endeavors.

For you, Hawks was your favorite simply because he was cute. 

A fact your father loved to pick on you for.

"Remember to be quiet, your mother will pluck my wings if she knew I let you out of bed so late again," your father quipped as you sat beside each other on the living room couch. 

You tucked your feathered limbs against your back and nodded, but your eyes were trained on the television. You didn't miss him this time! The live camera had a hard time keeping up with him as he darted between buildings. Especially in the dark of night. The villain this time appeared to be made of liquid, so Hawks was opting to lure the enemy away from civilians as he formulated a plan. 

He didn't look bothered in the least when the camera caught a glimpse of his face. The guy almost looked bored, even, as the villain tried desperately to snag him out of the sky. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but you couldn't help but wonder if Hawks ever got scared out there. 

"You know, you could be a hero, too… If you really wanted to,” your dad said as he nudged you with his wing. “I mean, with that replication quirk of yours, you’d be a hard one to beat.”

Ah, your dad brought that up a lot. You loved talking heroes. Keeping up with their exciting careers was your favorite shared pastime. He seemed to like the idea of seeing you on the television one day, but every kid you knew wanted to be a hero. To follow in the footsteps of the people who sacrificed everything to look out for the community did sound exciting and glamorous. You couldn’t help but wonder, though, who looked out for them?

"There are already lots of strong heroes," you said, rubbing your upper arm in thought. "I want to be something else.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I wanna be a PA.”

“A what now?”

“You know… a personal assistant, the people who work with heroes to make their jobs easier and stuff. I wanna get into the business course at U.A. and learn to do that,” you said as you ran your fingers over your white feathers. Those were some pretty ambitious dreams for a child to have. “I know it’s not as cool as being a hero, but I think I’d be good at it.”

The television flicked faint light across your father’s face as he smiled at you. That little cockeyed grin of his was always enough to put your heart at ease. Whether it be monsters in the closet or anxiety over an exciting and mysterious future, your father’s gentle kindness kept your heart whole. 

“Sounds pretty cool to me,” he assured you, his voice almost a whisper to keep from waking your mother in the next room. “You’re gonna do great things, Chickadee. I can feel it.”

...

The air was crisp on your lips that night. You buried your face a little deeper into your scarf to battle the cold. The setting sun cast shadows over the darkening city streets. Dusk cast the world in its beautiful blue hues. It was a weeknight, so few people were out. It was only you, your mother on one side of you, and your father who was on the other. One of his wings lay lazily over your shoulder to keep you warm against the bitter chill.

You were suffering through your awkward teen years at that point, but life was going as planned. You were fifteen and working on your first year of the UA business course. Getting in wasn’t easy, and getting your Personal Assistant license by eighteen was an even greater endeavor, but you were on your way.

Your folks took you around town that night to celebrate your grade average, and, of course, your florist father congratulated you with a surprise bouquet of lilies. The white arrangement was complemented by the powdery blue of your favorite flower, forget-me-nots. Your nose was in them half the night to savor their smell, likely a habit of the bird in you.

All was usual, and you believed that night would be like most others. Pleasant, but forgettable.

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It became the most vivid memory you had of life before the war.

Your father slowed his steps, his wing gripped your shoulder just a little to get you to match his new pace. He leaned down and mumbled low enough for just you to hear. 

“Do you see who I see?” he asked as he gestured his head up the street. You looked up from your phone to peer forward, and you stiffened to a stop. Up the street, no more than thirty feet, perhaps, the color red stood out against the gray blues of the city. A brilliant set of wings attached to a familiar man you’d never met before that night. At least not outside of your daydreams.

He leaned against a light pole and tapped at his phone, but he noticed your family before you were close enough for him to hear your footsteps. 

Your mouth went dry as he caught you in his sights, and your wings instinctively wrapped around you to hide yourself from his view. Your dad laughed at you, because of course he would, before giving you a little tap to try and nudge you forward. 

“He doesn’t look busy, we should say hi,” he suggested, and you shook your head no. That was HAWKS. Your favorite hero since you were like ten. You couldn’t just walk up to him and start blathering like a lunatic. 

“No, what if I embarrass myself or- dad, I- dad, come back!-”

You yanked your mom’s sleeve as if asking her to back you up, but she just gave you a stupid little grin before she muttered, “You know I can’t stop him when he gets something in his head.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage like a wild animal. He was not gonna just prance up to the number two hero. Oh god. Your face flushed as red as Hawks’ wings. The hero lowered said feathered appendages until they touched the sidewalk beneath him. He then stood up straight to greet your father, a polite smile on his face. Go figure your dad would be the person to just walk up to a celebrity and start talking as if they were old buddies. You cringed in embarrassment at first, but it melted away when you realized Hawks kindly returned the sentiment. 

You couldn’t hear them, but your dad’s wings puffed up and fluttered behind him as he spoke. He was always bad about talking with his wingspan. Hawks tipped his head back and laughed, which made your heart thump a little in a different kind of way. He was twenty-two, then, which was a bit too old for you at only fifteen. That didn’t stop your innocent little crush from fluffing up your wings. 

Your dad turned around to gesture towards you and your mother, and then… Jesus, they walked your way. You were jealous of your father’s courage. You could hardly handle Hawks even looking at you, obvious from your puffed feathers, and there your father was making friends with the guy. Their voices echoed against the buildings lining the street, and the approaching murmur of Hawks’ voice made goosebumps raise on your arms. Your wings clenched tighter around your torso the closer they got, so your mother placed her hand gently on your shoulder to keep you from flying away. 

Which you very likely would have. 

“That was wild, seeing you and Endeavor up against that freakish hood guy. We were scared for you guys there for a minute!” you heard your father’s deep voice reverberate as they approached. Hawks replied with something or another. He was practically right in front of you. Your ears rang as blood rushed to them. You couldn’t have imagined how big his wings really were in person. Those brilliant crimson limbs of his made even your father’s look pitiful in comparison. 

“Here she is,” your dad said as his hands gestured out to you. That dumb look of pride was plastered on his face. Oh, great, he probably gushed about you through most of their conversation. 

“Hey, kid,” Hawks said as he lifted his visor to his forehead. He looked right at you. Those amber eyes were unobstructed and soft. White haze ghosted from his mouth from the chill in the air, and his nose and cheeks were dusted a faint pink from the cold. Jeeze, he was pretty. "It's not every day I meet other birds- nice to meetcha!" 

You could hardly will yourself to reply. God, how did your dad keep such a cool head with those angular eyes staring at him? You surely weren't capable of it.

"You're my favorite hero,” you squeezed out of your throat, though it came out like a whisper. Surely it was something he heard every day. That made a part of you feel better about being bashful, but there was another part that was disappointed you didn’t say something more memorable. You spent years daydreaming about what words to put together for him if you had the chance, but when he was there in front of you those pre-planned phrases slipped away.

“Ah, me, really?” he chuckled as a gloved hand scratched the back of his neck. 

His sweet, relaxed demeanor calmed you a little. Though the bottom of your face was buried beneath your wings to hide the redness in your cheeks. Your feathers stood on end, too, giving your nerves away. Surely a fellow bird would be able to pick up on your pitiful body language.

White specks fluttered down from the darkening sky as you yanked the straps of your backpack out from under your wings. This moment wouldn’t last much longer. Even if he didn’t remember you the next day, you wanted a memento of your meeting.

“Could you… sign my backpack?” you asked. Your wings finally unfurled to reveal all of yourself to him. But they fluffed right back up when he glanced at all the pins and charms that adorned your bag. Of course, they were modeled after his likeness. Your admiration was presented to him in a pitiful display. God, all of the regret! The humiliation! The poor thing made a sound in your fist as you squeezed it with whitening knuckles. 

“‘Course I can,” he replied, and his gloved hand grazed yours as you begrudgingly handed the bag over. 

His gaze dusted over the thing. As he lingered over your charms his joyful expression faltered. He still smiled, but a hint of a different emotion settled in his eyes. Your flustered disposition faded when you recognized what it was: a solemn, bittersweet sadness.

You were the only one who noticed, it seemed, as your family talked amongst each other behind you. The concern you felt for Hawks outweighed your anxiety. Why did a look at your bag bring out such emotions for him?

"Hawks, are you okay?" you pondered, and he blinked at you. “You look… sad.”

For a moment his smile failed him. The emotion he tried to hide broke through in all its glory. His mouth went slack, and his eyes lowered. But only for one vulnerable moment.

"Sad?" He said, and then his head tipped back as he let out a laugh. "How could I be sad in the presence of an angel?" 

It wasn’t the first time someone called you that, on account of your wings. But hearing those words from the mouth of your favorite hero, of Hawks. It left your heart stinging in the most beautiful way. Again, you hid behind your wings with red cheeks. 

Jesus Christ, you were gonna cry. If his goal was to distract you, he did a damn fine job.

He popped open the cap of a sharpie he pulled from his pocket and scribbled his name across the cloth. A hint of that expression returned to him, as if he was unworthy of your admiration. What exactly gave you that impression was unclear, but that look of his lingered like a bad taste. You wished there was something you could do or say to alleviate whatever was hurting him, but you knew you didn't have that kind of power. 

"Here ya go, Feather," he chimed as he returned your newly signed backpack. Really, no charm or pin could mean as much as those black sharpie stains. HAWKS, they read in messy, thick letters. You smiled faintly. It was nice to know he was just as laid back and kind in person as he was on television. 

And that little nickname. Feather, god it made your young heart swoon.

"I hate to run, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. It was wonderful talking with you folks," Hawks said, and your heart rattled again.

"W-wait!" you said as your fingers fumbled with the bouquet that'd been aloft in your hands. You pulled some of the arrangement free from the plastic, a lilly and several forget-me-nots clutched in your hand. "Take these."

Graciously, he extended his hand. To lay the stems of your father's flowers in Hawks' gloved palm felt like a dream, but a genuine smile returned to his face as he looked them over.

"Oh, they're so pretty," he said.

"T-they're my favorite. Forget-me-nots," you replied, cheeks pinked with the realization of how on the nose the flower choice was. "My dad grew them at his shop."

He tucked the small bundle of flowers into his jacket pocket, and then gave it a pat. 

"Sounds like a good luck charm if I ever heard of one," he said, grinning. "Thank you. I'll see you guys around!"

With That, his visor fell back down over his face and his wings stretched outwards, reaching high above you and your parents. His wingspan alone was intimidating. To be in their shadow made you feel vulnerable and small. 

"Hey, thanks for taking the time!" Your dad replied. Hawks waved before vanishing into the darkness of the evening sky.

You were completely ecstatic about the chance meeting, naturally, but that broken look on his face haunted you with unanswered questions. Little did you know your life would one day revolve solely around finding the answers. 

…

Chapter 1

Life goes on, they say. Many parts of the city remained in ruins as reconstruction efforts heaved on for years after the war, but things slowly began to look the same again. You could walk down the street without being reminded of that terrible time, which was good, because today was supposed to be one of the best in your life. 

You were an adult, well, sort of, finally having turned eighteen and graduated from school. You were the top of your class at UA, a goal you worked tirelessly to achieve. 

That’s what earned you the right to take the PA certification exam the week before. Hundreds of hopefuls went in for testing. Only a fraction left with a license. And, honestly, you weren't surprised you were the only one to achieve a perfect score. It could be no other way if your dream was to be realized. To become the most saught after personal assistant in Japan.

Looking after someone in the hero field isn’t a job for the faint of heart, and there’s a lot more to the title than most people realize. To keep heroes on task and handle their business dealings was only a small part of the job. The other chunk of the was what got you interested to begin with. The human part. Every PA is required to act as psychological support as well. You took four years of psychology through school to even be allowed to take the certification exam. 

At the end of the day, heroes sacrificed every part of themselves to keep civilians like you safe. They got hurt. Their loved ones died. A heroes' job was to do the saving. But, after so much had been lost and they lay alone in the quiet of the night, who would be there to save them?

For some hero out there, you would be by the end of the afternoon.

The Safety Commission administered your exam and that day they’d be assigning you to a hero. Anxiety coursed through you, of course. This was your first PA assignment, so you’d probably be placed with a lesser known hero who just needed some extra help around the office. At least until you proved yourself worthy of handling more serious cases. A rookie like you won’t be placed with the likes of a top ten or anything, but that thought helped ease the anxiety. 

You hummed pleasantly to yourself as your dress shoes clicked against the pavement, daydreaming about who you could end up assigned to. But the daydreaming halted when you realized the footsteps behind you got persistently closer. Your head turned to glance around your wings, but your steps got faster. A man lingered behind your stride, and it seemed he was following you. He could've had bad intentions, or he could've just been in a hurry. Your side of the street is rather sparsely populated, however, and he never walked past you. 

You made eye contact, but his legs moved in tandem with yours, inching closer and closer with each step. He would've stepped on your tail feathers if his dirty sneakers got any closer. Your wings puffed in preparation to take off in flight if the guy tried anything. As he got close enough for your wings to pump in warning, a large, dark shadow glided over you. Your eyes shot upward, and your heart settled comfortably when you saw a pair of red wings block out the sun. It was a hero. The number two hero, Hawks, specifically.

His wings pumped before his boots slammed into a utility pole not far ahead. He squatted and lifted his visor for a better view as the footsteps behind you slowed. You never stopped walking, even as you watched the hero land. Your flight instincts were too strong to stop even for a good look at Hawks. With one more glance between your feathers, though, you noticed the man who’d been on your tail turned onto another street. 

Whether that stranger actually had any ill will or not you couldn’t be sure, but you were happy to accept you’d never know. Thanks to Hawks’ keen eye keeping watch over you. 

You stopped.

You looked at Hawks.

He looked at you.

He was probably thirty feet above you. His scars were easily seen when you were so close to him. Remnants of the war that still lingered on his flesh. The left side of his face was framed with thick, damaged tissue. The state of his left wing looked about the same. Much of the red plumage never grew back, so the poor thing looked gimpy compared to its twin. Somehow he still managed to retain his charming looks despite those things, you noticed.

He smiled, and you tried to scan his face for any hint of recognition. Though his eyes lingered for a long moment on the shape of your face he didn't seem to remember you. 

You hesitated, but raised a hand to wave a silent thank you.

You wished he was close enough to hear your voice. To see your vaguely familiar face. You’d be able to speak with more confidence than the younger version of yourself had all those years ago, but your words wouldn’t reach him.

His visor fell back over his face as he stood. And, just as quickly as he swooped in, his crimson wings lifted him back up. And he was gone. 

It took several moments for you to collect yourself. Despite not knowing him personally, Hawks felt like an old friend in a way. The connection you lost with your father was mirrored in your feelings of the number two hero. Having seen those red wings brought you a cocktail of bittersweet sadness and gentle relief that was hard to swallow. Hopefully he didn’t notice your old backpack that'd been repurposed as a work bag.

You tucked the thing against your side to hide his faded signature on the front, then continued on your way. 

...

The commission was bustling, as always. It was one of the first facilities rebuilt after the war, and the new management was determined to be at the forefront of restoring peace. Thanks to government funding it became a hub of cooperation and progress. Thankfully, the PA program received a lot of that investment.

When you stepped into the lobby your senses were assaulted with sight and sound. People in suits scrambled about and the sounds of ringing telephones and keyboards being furiously typed upon echoed against the walls. You were told over the phone to go upstairs into a meeting room to be briefed. You didn’t have to check in or wait in the lobby, they told you. So it was a surprise to see the other newly licensed PAs doing exactly what you were told not to. 

Nine PA newbies sat in a circle around a table as they waited to be called back for their assignments. You recognized them all from the exam. This was your first clue something was off about your briefing. Especially when the other PAs watched you walk towards the elevators in confused silence. Somehow this was even more nerve wracking than taking the exam was. 

Tenth floor, third door on the right, you were told. When you slipped into the little meeting room your palms began to sweat. You were expecting only the man who scored your exam results to be present for your assignment. Instead, you stood in a claustrophobic room surrounded by him, the acting president of the commission, and three other people you don’t know. 

The president, a man named Mera, greeted you by your full name. Your hair stood on end. Why the hell was he here? You were just getting placed with a hero today, right? Right? 

“Thank you for coming, could you close the door behind you?” the president requested. You leaned back against it until it clicked shut. Your cheeks tinted a slight pink in your anxiety and your palm sweat felt gross in your hands. Was this an interrogation or something? The air of the room was so thick it was hard to breathe in. 

You willed yourself to take the seat across from the group. Questions ran through your head. One hundred thousand questions, but you were too intimidated to ask any of them. Your wings curled up tight to your back as one of the men cleared his throat. 

“I know this is a lot you didn’t expect. We don’t mean to be intimidating, so take a breath,” he said, and you quickly expelled the one you were holding. “We have a hero to assign to you, but this is an unorthodox case. A meeting with the president is a requirement before we can place you together.”

Jesus christ, were they asking you to pull All Might out of retirement or something?

“You’re talking like you’re placing me with number one,” you managed to quip with a nervous laugh, but you regretted speaking out of turn when the group of suits sat in serious silence. 

“Number two,” the president corrected, and it was suddenly hard to swallow.

“Come... again?” you said as your wings slumped to the tile floor.

“We’re assigning you to number two- Hawks,” he repeated himself. 

Of course. How could it have been anything else?

It took everything you had not to bite hard into your bottom lip. To keep composure was your first lesson in your PA coursework, so your face remained soft despite your pounding heart. It made no sense why you would be their pick to look after a hero like Hawks. He’d been in the game since you were in grade school. The man spearheaded a war for god’s sake. What help could a newbie PA be to someone like him?

Even the universe was making fun of you for your childlike attachment to him. 

“I’m honored you’d consider me for such a position, of course,” you began cautiously. Should you tell them this wasn't the job for you? It'd be impossible to properly council someone you spent the better part of your life being invested in. From an ethical standpoint, anyway. And this would be your first ever assignment. “I just passed my certifications last week, though. I have no field experience yet. With all due respect, why me?” 

"You're a bird," the president said. Again, you released a small laugh. And, again, he didn't reciprocate. Was he being serious? You sat up a little and held your tongue as he continued. "You also accomplished a perfect score on your exam. Of this year's new PA batch you seem the most promising fit… Not to undermine your skills, but, if I’m being transparent, placing you together is a last resort. We’ve assigned several experienced PAs to him, but it’s done no good.”

Your brow furrowed at that bit of information. From the outside Hawks seemed like a PAs dream with his squeaky clean reputation and friendly demeanor. You couldn’t imagine why he’d have issues getting along with anyone. But that only proved how little you really knew him. 

"It sounds like he doesn't want the help you're giving him."

The president sighed.

“As you probably know, he took a year hiatus after his involvement in the war,” he continued, and you nodded.

Of course you knew. What kind of superfan would you be otherwise? Still, it was his reintroduction you remember moreso. Purely because of the excitement and relief you felt to see him back in action. There was no announcement of his return. One day, he was gone. The next, his agency doors were back open and his silhouette once again graced the streets below him. 

Despite all the buzz around him the year he was down and out, his condition was kept an illusive secret. Even now, after two years back on the job, no one really knew the specifics around his hiatus. An impressive feat, considering his wiki article alone was ten miles long. 

"Yes, I remember when he took time off."

"It wasn't of his own volition, I'm afraid. We suspended his license that year."

The confession floored you into shocked silence, and again you battled your heart to stop drumming so hard. This was something no one knew. Not the media, his fan pages, and not even other heroes if their interviews were genuine.

"Why?" you managed.

"This is strictly private information and considered a confidential part of your briefing, whether or not you accept the position."

What the hell were you getting into?

"I understand."

The president leaned into the table with his elbow and pinched the bridge of his nose. You'd seen many of his television appearances. He was portrayed as a strong-willed man who never faltered. The only one with enough guts to rebuild the HPSC despite the damning rumors circulating about it's previous administration and their dealings. If only you knew back then how deep that rabbit hole went.

"Hawks wanted to jump back into the thick of hero work once the war was over," he began, "but he developed psychological burdens that hindered his ability to perform, hence the revoking of his license. We tried to admit him to our recovery program, like we did for every hero who fought in the war, but his turbulent relationship with the previous HPSC administration made it difficult for us to help. He doesn't trust us, and I can't blame him."

"He had personal issues with the HPSC?"

"There's a lot the public doesn't know about his story. Unfortunately, most of it is tragic."

Your eyes became a bit misty. You knew everything there was to know about Hawks, or so you thought. Every confession from the president made you realize you really knew nothing at all.  

“He recovered better than we anticipated in that year. He passed our exams and his license was reinstated, but his performance is suffering again. We fear it’s only a matter of time before he slips up in the wrong moment. We don’t want to lose him, you understand?”

You did, somehow. He spoke so vaguely it was hard to form a big picture. But a memory invaded your thoughts. It was an old one you often found yourself reliving in quiet moments. When you met him in the chill of winter all those years ago, and he signed your backpack with that empty sadness that plagued your thoughts. Looking back now, you realize that moment took place not long before the war. Was that the cause of his grief? He knew it was coming? Did he never escape from that sadness?

You thought back to only an hour or so before this tense meeting. What a wild coincidence it was you saw him that day. Though the predicament you were in that morning could have easily been overlooked, he stopped for you. He made sure you were safe. It only felt right to do the same for him in return.

Thinking of this assignment as returning favors to him made it easier to swallow.

“So, my assignment is to correct behavioral issues?” you asked. Your voice had more confidence now, as if this was something you’d done a hundred times before. Internally, you were quaking. “Can you give me some specifics to work with? Having a plan before we meet for the first time is detrimental if I'm going to get anywhere with him.” 

The group looked at the president, who let a sigh slip from his aged lips. Frustration was on his face, but it wasn’t aimed towards you. His mind seemed elsewhere as he reached into his work bag and extracted a manilla folder. Hawks' case file. Seems your cool head and straightforward demeanor paid off with the president.

"His judgement is impaired," he informed you as he held the case file out for you. "He was at one time our most reliable hero. But now… well, he can be a liability even to himself at times. He uses excessive force against targets when not necessary, and other times he's unable to engage at all. He often can't keep up in life or death situations- he's lucky he's squeaked by the last couple years relatively unscathed. Because he's been so resistant to his past assistants we aren't sure how to best help him… hopefully you'll make him comfortable enough to find out. Everything we know is in that file."

He trailed off as his eyes narrowed with an emotion you couldn't decipher. His expression teetered between uncertainty and hope when he watched you crack open the folder handed to you. Despite the long list of previous PAs detailed on the first page, the stack of paper was rather thin. Apparently they only lasted long enough to report back a handful of times.

What the hell was he doing to those very experienced assistants to make them flake out in just a few weeks? These files were going to be an interesting read. It peeked your interest as a dutiful PA as well as a curious long time fan.

Another suited man you'd yet to hear speak piped up. "This is a lot to ask of you, we understand. Don't feel pressured to accept the placement if you don't think it will suit you."

"I'm still reeling from the suddenness of all of this," you confess. And, honestly, there was nothing you could offer Hawks that his previous PAs couldn't. "But I wanted this job so I could help heroes, so I'll do the best I can." 

Romancing the Reader: Fic Lineup

Officially announcing the lineup for Romancing the Reader, a Regency AU collaboration. Come watch as three people only peripherally familiar with the Regency era tackle men in knee breeches, candlelit balls, and copious amounts of yearning.

FIC TITLES & SUMMARIES

Deceiving the Duke Author: @andypantsx3​  Pairing: Todoroki/Reader Summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a lady’s maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

Reprehensible Romance Author: @cat-slippered​ Pairing: Kirishima/Reader Summary: When Count Kirishima visits his estate for the first time after the War, he finds that it is in shambles… just like his reputation. Desperate to rehabilitate his image, his parents urge him to marry the Countess Ashido, whom he has warm—but strictly platonic—feelings for. Yet his parents may not have to worry for long, for he soon finds a certain Reader catching his eye…

As the second daughter of a respectable gentleman, you’ve grown up with minimal eyes on your conduct. That is, until your sister runs off with the neighborhood cad, Yo Shindo! Now, it’s up to you to navigate polite society alone, the full weight and responsibility of your family’s legacy on your shoulders. With all the pressure rising, will you break? Or find a way to let off some steam?

Motivating the Marquess Author: @ofmermaidstories​     Pairing: Bakugou/Reader Summary: After the death of your Uncle reduces his family’s means, you arrive: there to help your aunt and your eccentric cousins settle into their new home—and their new life—without him. 

But when you inadvertently humiliate the infamously hot-tempered Marquess Bakugou at a dinner party, your quiet, tightly controlled life is turned upside down in an effort to avoid his wrath… and his reluctant interest.

Collab details & timelines

Omg I love this man 😩

LUCIFER ABC

♡ note | trying something different with lucifer characterization here. let me know if you like it or …. prefer my old lucifer back jajajjaja also a bit long but im so happy with how it turned out

♡ content | 50/50 that means dom lucifer and sub lucifer dynamics, one mention of femdom (see kinks) exhibitionism, impact play, roleplaying, master mention, begging, unfairness, body worshipping, dry humping, thigh riding, vouyerism, oral (male and afab receiver) afab reader, mentions of breeding, re popping lucifer cherry, piss mention, that’s all I think

♡ consider reblogging if you liked ♡

♡ edited post please consider reblogging if you liked, tumblr been acting weird and flagging my post ♡

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