#the night-bird's feather spoilers

[prokopetz]

I will not say that you should immediately go and pre-order The Night-Bird’s Feather by Jenna Moran; encouraging people to put down money for media sight-unseen is not something I’m given to do.

I will, however, observe that the chapter I’m currently working my way through concerns a woman being challenged by her beloved’s father to complete a series of impossible tasks, as one does, and I’ve just come to the part where her solution to these challenges has somehow managed to involve a giant mechanical spider.

#media #literature #dr. jenna moran #the night-bird's feather #spiders mention #the night-bird's feather spoilers #spoilers

[all-dogs-r-queens]

Anyone else feel that Jenna Moran’s writing has steadily gotten less “Magical Realism, sometimes quite meta” and more and more “Fairy Tales that give you existential dread, sometimes quite meta”

Honestly I love it and to cake myself in it but it might be a bit harder to run a trpg campaign in while maintaining the player’s expectations of reality, assuming that events in your glitch campaign happen chronologically.

#i started with nobilis 3e #and am currently reading The Night-Birds Feather (good book) so that might color things #i do really like the fairy tale tone #jenna moran #jenna katerin moran #nobilis #glitch #the night-bird’s feather #im currently on the third story no spoilers

[myvampyrez]

What's your Vergil Sparda headcanons sfw and nsfw (you don't have to make this one if you don't want it) :)

vergil (n)sfw hc’s 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg why did it take me so long just to do simple headcanons 😭😭

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some curse words, spoilers for vergil lore in general, spoilers for mission 08 and so forth in dmc5, nsfw is labelled before written so read at your own discretion!!

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

❥ sooo, in deep contrast to his twin brother, all know vergil is super serious

❥ i mean, if you spent a bunch of your time in hell, wouldn’t it take a toll on you too???

❥ because of what’s happened to vergil, it’ll be really difficult to actually get through to him

❥ even just small talk or simple touches are uncomfortable for him at the beginning

❥ and in order for him to trust you, you gotta be super persistent to actually stick with him

❥ i feel like vergils too stubborn for things like therapy, i don’t feel like he’d like to admit he needs help

❥ he’d probably keep going until he he overexerts himself or snaps, which would probably take a while considering he can endure a lot before giving in

❥ once you guys are actually together though, you’re essentially one step further to getting to the center of vergil because it means you’ve already broken down some of his walls

❥ vergils the type of guy to love silently, and maybe more distantly than a normal person would love

❥ but whoever said he was a normal person?

❥ he doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings, so he takes up avoiding you as his own way in hopes that you’ll come to him

❥ you walk into a room? he walks out

❥ you sit next to him? he’ll keep his nose buried in a book or his work in hopes that you’ll ‘pester’ him

❥ don’t let his feigned annoyance fool you, he prays for you to approach him

❥ by no means is vergil shy, but when you spend so many years in hell.. you kinda lack social cues

❥ he obviously know what love is, he’s not clueless, but it feels different when it comes to you

❥ it almost feels foreign

❥ vergil loves showing off that your his and he’s yours, he’ll buy you a pendant with a blue gem or something with his name engraved in it

❥ if you whine enough, he’ll ‘give in’ (he’s just acting tough) and read to you at night ‘begrudgingly’

❥ if you read too, he’ll curtly leave a book that he think you’ll like on your nightstand when he comes home

❥ if you eat dinner at the table, he’ll have you sit next to him so he can lock ankles with you or link your pinkies under the table

❥ other than that, vergil’s not rlly into pda?

❥ if anything, he’ll stand next to you or sit close enough to where your legs or thighs touch. that’s kinda like his ver. of pda 😭

❥ if you get along with nero or if maybe v saw how you got along with him before you knew he was vergil, even if he treats nero as a pest, it somewhat confuses him?

❥ maybe even almost upsets him??

❥ it just gives him a glimpse on what he could’ve had, and i guess it somewhat creates a dull ache within him knowing he could’ve been a present figure in nero’s life with you

❥ def an early bird, the type of dude to kiss your forehead before he leaves in the morning because he know you won’t wake up to see him before he goes

❥ ugh just imagine vergil staring down at you for a minute, contemplating his decisions while looking at your serene form before leaning down and placing a feather light kiss to your forehead so as to not wake you up

❥ i need to be contained

❥ he wouldn’t let you see it but he sometimes cracks a smile at just the thought of doing mundane activities, even if they’re such small tasks, he still cherishes the thought of a small life with you even if he’s married to his work

❥ but god forbid you’re around dante though, and if you’re playful n teasing like him?? vergil will never hear the end of dante’s irritating tales told to you of when they were children

❥ it probably ends up with yamato pressed against dante’s throat but it’s all brotherly fun guys don’t worry

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

the familiar coos sung by the mourning doves fell deaf on VERGIL’s ears, only picking up your soft breaths as your chest rose up and down with each one you took. he couldn’t help but admire how comfortable you looked in your sleep—with your lips parted slightly and hair splayed out messily as it stayed trapped under you.

he cocked his head in bemusement at the sight of golden rays dancing on you collarbone, tinting the skin with the early sun of dawn. he was surprised you hadn’t woken up yet, considering the golden hue beamed along your face as well. one upside of getting to work early was seeing your peaceful face in the mornings. vergil studied your face as if he’d never see it again, and in a way, not seeing you again was very possible. due to being a devil hunter, risks were high. but vergil couldn’t bear the thought of doing that to you. he studied your face so carefully, eyes roaming across your skin to commit every single one of your features to memory.

his eyes of silver, once crinkled in pain and alone, now looked at you curiously as they caught every glimpse of you. the way your eyebrows furrowed when your mind swirled with its own concoction of your dreams, the way you changed positions to search for what he could only assume was the cold part of the pillow.

he felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched you stir in your sleep, turning your head over and allowing another angle of your beauty to be silently worshipped by your lover.

as he leaned down, he made sure to bend at the waist in order to make limited noise, cursing the material of his coat scrunching and making a slight sound as it crinkled. and as his lips connected with your forehead, he reveled in the smell of your shampoo from your shower that you took last night as he closed his eyes, holding his lips there in a feather light kiss.

then, just as quickly as they had been placed—his lips left your forehead as he began to exit the bedroom, taking one last glance at your resting form before he quietly closed the door.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

NSFW BELOW ꨄ︎

❥ i know i just wrote that cute ass blurb but now that we’re talking nsfw, vergil is def a quick learner

❥ obviously it’ll take a while to initiate intimacy, and as aforementioned—even just hand holding takes a while for him to digest

❥ but shit, this man has stamina for days

❥ being half a demon definitely doesn’t help, but vergil can actually go so long in the sheets w you 😭

❥ he’ll be awkward at first, unsure of what to do but once you guide him and reassure him that it’s okay to touch you, you just unlocked smth else in him omg

❥ his libido isn’t very high, but on the days that you guys do get intimate, he can last a while

❥ he’ll assure that you both are satisfied by the end of it, likes to know that you’ve finished before him at least once

❥ if you’ve gotten really bratty or you’ve gotten him really into it, you might feel him borderline triggering as his claws dig into your hips a little more and his groans get more guttural

❥ sorry guys—this man will not bottom or be any sort of submissive, and if he does, you will need to be in a committed relationship for at least a year or two

❥ he def has control issues

❥ in terms of talking dirty, he still holds that sharp precise tone when he speaks

❥ i don’t feel like hes much a degrading guy? maybe more possessive talk if anything

❥ this man doesn’t cuss often, but occasionally if you clench around him, he’ll let out a small huff of, “shit.” even if it’s barely audible

❥ i think maybe he teases you a bit, enough just to get you hot and bothered so you’ll be writhing underneath him

❥ being half-demon gives him some package guys, trust

❥ vergil’s lengthier, a small sensitive vein on the underside of him that you could use to your advantage on the off chance you suck him off

❥ when vergils in a certain mood, he’ll kiss on your skin (another form of teasing) and murmurs praises of how divine you look

❥ he loves the way your hands grip at the sheets, or the way they rush to your mouth as you try to cover up those pretty sounds while he’s giving you pleasure—no matter how many times he tells you to let them slip out

❥ not a big fan of marks, either on him or you. he still has to go outside and so do you, he’d probably be pretty embarrassed if someone saw them and questioned what happened

❥ unlike dante, vergil is pretty quiet about his love and sex life, he likes to keep it pretty tame and under wraps

❥ prefers to make it intimate rather than a quick fuck, he wants you to feel every ounce of love in his movements—whether it’s with his tongue, hands, or just his length

❥ he likes to drag it out too, i’m not talking quickies, i’m talking about full on ‘love making’ sessions (yes, he’ll refer to them as that most of the time)

❥ like i said, he wants you to feel every last bit of it with his body, unless you want him to spew some poetry out of the blue expressing his feelings—he can’t express them with regular words for shit

❥ he wants you to see what you’re doing to him, how you affect him, what you mean to him is more important than anything

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #x reader #vergil sparda x reader #vergil sparda #vergil dmc #dmc vergil x reader #dmc vergil #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry vergil x reader #dmc5 vergil #dmc3 vergil #ODOTTIE *･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ 💘 ✧.* #kiss kiss

[theguyinthemathexamples]

cw// 12am thoughts, lowercase intended, spoilers?, lore spill??

a sudden thought came to my mind about the Impostor!SAGAU just now

why don't the ones capable of shapeshifting, like the archons, yokai, etc., try using another form to investigate?

whether they transform into a bird, cat, frog, crystalfly, box, walking koi fish or another person entirely, just a different form than the one they went by before

like in the au where they're skeptical of the current/nonexistent creator, whether on the throne or not, or whether it's by official order, by the law or by their own volition, is real — can't they do that?

(more utc ‼️‼️‼️)

for example:

zhongli, after curiosity put him in a chokehold, decides to turn into a bird of sorts.

his movement was a bit clunky, having not taken a different animal form than his exuvia one in so long, but he got the hang of it.

with feathers of orange and black he soared, under the sunlight did they glisten like the amber and obsidian he'd used to craft the most exquisite of weapons and sculptures alike for his creator.

it was only till sundown did he see his target: the impostor.

but he won't kill them just yet — as much as he wanted to do so.

he guided his wings to a glide, swooping from the skies above and into the forestry below. his claws gripped itself onto the sturdy branches of the sandbearer tree, perching himself above the impostor.

it was almost a pitiful sight to see, really; there you were, bruises and cuts in the midst of healing, vulnerable and unaware that you've been caught yet again.

not a moment later, a plethora of fauna surrounded you, the sight baffling the lord of geo.

from large squirrels to small geovishap hatchlings, even finches and eagles of varying sizes, shapes and colours.

he shook his avian head, having seen enough that his mind could comprehend, and quickly flew away without a peep.

his wings lifted his body away from the scene, away from the forest and off into the skies.

the orange haze that painted the horizon had gradually descended into shades of purples, giving way for nighttime to creep in once he'd returned to his residence.

zhongli's form slumped on the fine furniture that was his drawer, eyes almost as wide as dinner plates. he still couldn't shake off the scene from his mind. he won't. he didn't. he never will.

there was still tomorrow to count on and he needed more time to process the information brought to him on a silver platter.

all because he chose a form that wasn't his.

slowly undressing from his work clothes, he changed into night wear and laid on his bed, not bothering to shower tonight.

... maybe he'll peck at their skin once he sees them to confirm his suspicions.

and so, he closes his eyes, his veins impatiently waiting for the next crack of dawn as he eventually falls into a deep slumber.

his eyes had failed to spot the teal bird that clung the closest to your figure. (coughcough bird xiao creator pspspsps coughcough)

anyways, scenarios just like that are what i'm curious about

thank you for taking the time out of your day and have a smexy rest of your day, you lovely, gorgeous, stunning people 😘😘

#sparkling wheat ♪ #genshin impact #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin #ft. xiao #silver lined strawberries ♪ #stellar-borne cookies and cream ♪

[circeyoru]

This isn't necesarely a request, but I just feel the need to say this: I lietarly LOVE your work! Overlord Colector being one of my new absolut favorites! But I swear, everythig you write, I just eat up😭

U defenetly deserve all the praise and love! The way you dance with words just fascinates me so much!!! HDUDJJDHDJ, I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PUT IT IN WORDS PROPALY SO IMMA JUST JDHDISHKDHDKDVDJWGKDHDJDHDHHDZKBWUDGZHEGXHGS

Just quick question tough. It may be the fact that maybe I didn't pay atention, but in Overlord Colector, what are the Cages? Are they literal bird cages or what? You mentioned they had tallons with angelic steal and all that, so can you give us a better description (and by us I mean me, cuz I'm dumb, aparently)

I hope you have an AMAZEING day/night and I'm sorry if I misspelled words😭💗

Spoilers to those that didn't read this series yet, so I suggest you go to my MASTERLIST to read {Collection of Overlords} first. Or not, your reading experience, not mine

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!! Thank you for your words!!! (my poor heart can't take these compliments) And you read my other works too!! People keep eating up my work like snacks... Hmm....

Anyways~ So, lore on Cages is basically this ask's topic. Gotcha. I've been wanting to expand on this, but didn't cause I wanted to do the whole meeting scene with the Overlords first.

First appearance of the Cages concept is in Part 2, at the beginning.

[Whispers of souls from the bodies of your provided winged creatures known as Cages flew around you.]

At first, Cages weren't a thing or that they weren't even in my mind, but it just popped up while I was writing. It's the idea of souls being around The Collector (Silver)/Reader/you that was the point, then I didn't like that they were just orbs of light. Too simple.

Then it's the idea. Something to hold the soul. What's associated with death and misery? Crows and ravens. What got me is that ravens are also linked with hunger, that's what the souls are on about, they hunger for freedom and their captor's favour to be set free (in some way). Yet they turned mindless over time.

That's a bit of thinking while I wrote this creature.

Now, Cages are named as such because they are actual cages to the soul within it. The voice behind the chantings: (below are just some examples taken from the story)

[“Sinners have been brazen.”] [“Very bold. They have stolen your land.”] [“Disrespectful. Undeserving.”] [“Lazy Overlords!”]

Their appearance is a mixture between a raven and a crow, never just one to differentiate them from the other Hell creatures. It's a uniqueness for them, and depending on the soul it houses, the appearance will take more raven or crow-like outlook.

Some permanent features of the Cages are their blood-red eyes, metal-bladed wings, metal beak and claws or talons, and black feathers. The metal parts are all angelic steel that's painted as a more natural colour to disguise it from those that would hunt it down or treat it like some Hell creatures.

These Cages are your last and successful prison for the many souls you have, I mean, Collector right? The souls you have at your disposal is not just the Overlords', that's why you call them Elites.

The idea of the Cages was to act as your eyes and ears around all of Hell. Remember the life-sized wooden figures and hollow knight armours you have? (also back in part 2) Yeah, those were your other experimented forms of prison. While both were good and acted like an unbeatable army you command, that wasn't your purpose. Especially so when you started collecting the souls of Overlords into your collection.

You took the idea from humans that were still alive and experimented with putting souls into the wooden figures first, then into armours to make them more intimidating. Finally, it was the bodies of ravens or crows.

Cages doesn't have unique abilities of their own since their purpose was to house souls you have collected and have them do your bidding. You can summon them at will, with or without notice or an outward command. Like in Part 5 where they just appeared. They are in tune to act according to your will and emotions. The words they speak is a bit of an echo to what you're conveying.

As for the possibility of someone owning those souls or your Cages? Impossible, anyone who tries to touch or capture them with said intention will have their soul forfeited to you. (like the ones in the floor in Part 2)

I think this answers what Cages are. Right?

#Circe's Nighty Writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel overlord #Collection of Overlords #hazbin hotel rosie #rosie hazbin hotel #overlords #hazbin #zestial #carmilla hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel zestial #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla x reader #hazbin carmilla #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vees

[jangofctts]

Really, Truly (Steven Grant (a hint of Marc Spector) x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, cum eating, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, slight praise kink, fucking in the workplace (lmk if I miss anything!)

a/n: im so sorry it’s not my best work um. anyway ENJOY ANYWAY

It’s been four months since you’ve first met Steven Grant.

Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but odd occurrences have a way of drawing people closer. You’d like to think so anyway. Your entire life is chockfull of oddities, far from normalcy—makes for interesting stories though. It’s only right that someone like Steven would wander into your peculiar state of life. 

No really, he did just…wander through your door one evening. Your fault for not locking it, but still. Spooked the fuck out of both of you, so much so that poor Steven thwacked his head into the door frame and nearly broke his nose. You baked him smiley face cupcakes that night, partially as an apology and as a shitty housewarming present. You’re a firm believer of neighbor solidarity, especially with places like this—tacky landlords and shitty amenities. It’s the least you could do for Steven. 

Sadly, you never were a stellar baker—half of them came out charred, and if they weren’t, the mess of melting frosting made the little cakes appear disgustingly malformed. It’s the thought that counts, right?  Steven didn’t seem too flabbergasted about the atrocities—sorta just teared up and mumbled his thanks. Poor guy.   

And that’s not the end of it. Turns out, you work at the same museum and at the same shitty gift shop. Made for an interesting bus ride—he accused you of stalking and tore out of the bus three stops early. Imagine his surprise upon finding you scanning crappy plastic Ennead dolls behind the counter an hour later. Dude nearly had a existential crisis right then and there.  

Things have settled since then. Sort of. Steven isn’t exactly the pinnacle of put together. Mismatched socks, wrinkled shirts and missing buttons, eye bags like two swatches of purple paint, odd nicks and bruises. Not that you’re any better—a scatterbrained insomniac, ex-grad student living paycheck to paycheck in an less than ideal apartment. Birds of a feather and all that, you suppose. He’s sweet though—never fails to give you a call each morning to ask if you’d like to walk together. Your only friend in these trying times.    

It’s why, when he goes missing every now and then, you don’t mind covering his shifts. Donna is none the wiser, or she doesn’t care, as long as someone’s manning the cash register.           

Which brings you to current time. Same as always, Steven calls you, you walk and take the bus to work. Very thrilling.  

As you both come to the top of the steps, you’re greeted by J.B.’s boots, propped up against the counter, engrossed in his phone as usual. Watching clips of otters dive for urchins and cracking them open with rocks, giggling each time they do so. Typical. Makes sense he’d like evil little creatures like that. “‘Ello, Ziggy,” he lifts his eyes, takes account of Steven and dips his head. “Scotty.” 

“Mate, it’s Steven,” he sighs, clearly distressed. You tug on his sleeve on pull him along. His head whips around, eyebrows furrowed as he throws up his hands. “I keep tellin’ everyone it’s Steven.”  

“J.B. still calls me Icky sometimes—or Sticky,” you pause and tap your chin. “That one makes sense though. I had jellybeans stuck in my hair that day.” 

A nickname’s nickname—all because you dressed like Ziggy Stardust once. You’d forgotten about your shift and had to rush to the museum from some upitty Oxford fuck’s halloween house party. You don’t know what’s worse—stuck behind the counter dressed as Ziggy Stardust or the giggling that followed from coworkers and guests alike. 

Whatever.             

“What on earth…why?” Steven exclaims, drawing you back into reality.  

“The jellybeans? Happens.” 

It’s just the way of things. Not the jellybeans thing…but J.B being J.B.. He’ll always be a dickwad and Donna will never bother to learn new hire’s names. It took her nearly a year to learn yours. As long as you get your paycheck, you’re all set. 

And so the shift goes on, dragging into the night and into inventory. You don’t mind this part so much—you don’t have to deal with screaming children and their exhausted parents forking over money for a plushie. Then again, Steven mostly does all the counting and scanning. You just sit on your stool, dig through the baskets and hand him the items—you’re not very good with numbers. It’s quicker this way. And it gives you an excuse to stare at with him without repercussion. 

God he’s fuckin’ gorgeous. Dark curls, tan skin, dreamy eyes and an adorable smile to boot.  

“Ziggy—”        

“Hm? Oh,” you straighten, gather a fistful of magnets and hand them to him. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Sorry—did you brush your hair today?” 

Steven’s brows furrow slightly. He’s gotten used to your out of pocket observations and the odd questions that follow. You don’t really know why you do it—the words just sorta form and roll off your tongue faster than you can process. Whack shit is what it is. “I think so? Oh dear, does it look that bad, Zig?”

You shake your head and sort through more of the magnets, crinkling the plastic wrap around them. “No, just—I dunno. You had gel in it the last time I saw you. Didn’t know if you were trying something new.” 

Steven scratches his head and flattens the dark curls using an open palm. He chuckles. “Silly—I saw you yesterday! I think I’d know if I gelled me hair.”

“Not true,” you quip, dragging over the box of plush scarab beetles. They are quite cute. “I saw you last night—you asked if I had any change for the payphone outside.” 

Steven’s face morphs into a twisted mask of confusion. “I did? Bloody hell, I don’t remember that, Ziggy. I’m awfully sorry.” 

You shrug. “You sleepwalk, I think. We talk most nights—you always bring me donut holes when you come back.” 

Steven frowns, lovely brown eyes dropping to the scanner. The brief silence is filled with slow, methodical beeps and plastic wrapping, pinched between fingers. You don’t really care if he’s trying to hide something, you know plenty of people who do weird things in their sleep. Like you for example—you don’t sleep at all. “Odd. Thought you didn’t fancy donuts.” 

“I don’t,” you say. “But I do like throwing them at the pigeons—they’re making a nest! Ungrateful buggers, they don’t even pay rent.”            

“You are,” Steven says, bumping your shoulder, “exceedingly strange.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scoff, throwing up your hands. You swat at his arm. “It’s war at this point—they keep pecking at my window with their weird little beaks. You ever see a baby pigeon? They look fucked up."   

“Maybe if you quit feeding them they’d leave, you nut.”

You purse your lips and hug a scarab to your chest. You’ve stolen about three of them, what’s another one? “Whatever. I hope your flat gets infested.” 

“I’d rather not have an infestation, thank you,” Steven sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes. He waves at another crate. “You mind fetching that one? One more and were done, yeah?” 

You groan and slide off your stool, wincing as your aching feet touch the ground. “Fine.” 

It’s far from fine, actually. 

Because, just as you plant your feet on the ground, you completely space on the mountain of boxes you haphazardly threw behind you earlier tonight. One step back and you’re fuckin’ done for. Your heel catches—you yelp as your stomach flips, succumbing to the mortifying feel of falling ass first. Steven—ever the sweetheart—startles and snatches your wrist. 

It’s too late though. The momentum takes him down with you.  

You wheeze as his weight smacks into you, crushing you against the linoleum tiles. Fuck, he’s heavier than he looks. Luckily, he’s slid his hand up to cradle the back of your head before it smacks against the floor, saving you a trip to the ER.

“Shit,” Steven breathes. He pushes himself up using his other hand, eyes quickly scanning your face for any injury. “You alright, yeah?”

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy person, or easily embarrassed. However, you’re not immune to the very attractive man atop of you, pressed close enough that you could easily tilt your head and kiss him. You could pretend to shrug your feelings off—pretend that you don’t know that his smile is always a bit crooked, how he likes his tea, sugary and blonde. Or how he holds his hands to his chest and wrings his hands together when he’s nervous—the little scar on his cheek and the freckle above his eyebrow. You should choose ignorance. Heat floods your cheeks as you blink and grasp at words that refuse to form. You hurriedly nod, but make no move to wiggle away.     

He leans onto his elbow still trapped under your head and sweeps a stray hair off your forehead. Your breath catches. “You sure, love?”

Well, that’s new.

Yes, there’s always been some light flirting. Not enough to garner attention but like a breath to simmering embers. Steven has a shy heart, softened and bruised like an overripe peach, and you’re not one to jump blindly into something that could be. But here you are. Steven has tossed you this scrap of kindling, unexpected. Maybe as half a joke, half of something else, and the way he looks at you now whispers possibility. A question.    

“Steven?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I have a crush on you,” it’s an exhilarating moment. A grandiose high that could be kicked into a higher gear or plummet so sharply that your heart shatters as a casualty. Pure relief floods your veins as Steven smiles, one that reaches his eyes and crinkles the skin around them. 

“Really?”

“Really, truly,” you assure, leaning into his fingertips that scrape almost reverently across your cheeks. Impatient, you shoot your hands up, grab him by his cheeks and drag him close. Your lips meet, and yeah, your teeth bump into his but everything fades into hazy bliss, slots together like a missing puzzle piece. Two chaotic halves meshing to create the perfect storm, and you’re at the eye of it. Maybe it’ll leave devastation in it’s wake—you both have the tendency to walk on the wrong side of the street onto oncoming traffic. The ebb to the shore and the hurricane to the sky. A war that can be tipped tot the side by a single breath. You both moan as he parts his lips, tender as honey exploring the taste of your tongue. It’s sweet and addicting— 

His hand tangles into your hair, dragging you so impossibly close, hips slotting between your legs that fall open for him. God, he’s fucking perfect—belongs here with you like this. You get dizzy, pull away and fuck—he’s wrecked. Messy curls, teased by your clawing fingers stick up at odd angles, a rosy flush over his skin. You cup his cheek and he leans into your touch and plants a fleeting kiss over your palm.

His eyes snap wide open, fear crackling over his face. “Oh, fuck me—the surveillance cameras! Donna is gonna kill us for snogging over the merchandise!”

Steven stumbles into a kneeling position, gripping his hair at the roots and muttering curses and wild fears. You snicker and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You touch your hand over his forearm and he stills. “I know a place we could go—if you wanna continue…”

Steven rolls his tongue over his lips, mulling over your words. His eyes flick to the cameras above the counter, then back to you. Nervousness still lingers in his stiff shoulders and worrying teeth tearing into his lip, but he still nods. Albeit slowly. “You positive we won’t get caught?”

You smile, nod and maneuver yourself to your feet. You take his hand in yours and help him up. You don’t mind that they’re a little clammy. “I promise—it’s where I hide my snacks.” 

It’s a small storage room, down the hall and off to the left. It’s where the extra uniforms and random event supplies is held—unused and always abandoned after the museum closes. No one will come looking. 

“Nice little place. Very cozy—” you don’t let Steven finish, the minute the door snicks shut, you jump his bones. Desperate kisses, clawing at his lose clothes—you feel as though he’s set aflame and he’s the only cure.

You both end up on the floor again with you straddling his lap, his back pressed against the wall. The space is filled by little groans and soft whimpers of your name as his hands traverse up your back, settle on your hips, then move back to your face. Your own hands have made a home over his chest, shirt billowing open by your greedy need to touch his bare skin. He’s a little hesitant to touch you—you know he’d prefer a bed than some crappy storage closet but fuck—you need him.            

And so does he. You can feel the firm bulge pressing between your legs and the way his hips subtly twitch into you. And as the kisses devolve into a wet, lazy pace, his stubble burning the sensate skin of your lips, the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. Your underwear is soaked through and no doubt ruined. Sparks of raw energy, crackles through your abdomen as Steven’s hands fall around your hips, coming you to grind harder onto him. His forehead, humid with perspiration, rests on yours breath fanning over your lips, as you take a breather. 

Steven’s hand drift over the swell of your ass, giving the rounded globes a solicitous squeeze. “You have a nice bum—never got around to telling you that.”

“So do you,” you laugh, dragging your clothed center over the rock solid bulge in his pants. That needs to be fixed immediately. And then a wicked, debased thought slithers into your head.

With a smirk you wiggle out of his grip, and shimmy out of your pants and undies. You’re back before Steven can pout. You resettle over his lap, lean back a little and slowly, enough that its catches his attention, down the line of your body. His eyes are glued to your movements as you dip your hand between your legs. Your fingers spread your lower lips, gliding down easily from your clit to your aching center. A quiet moan bubbles past your lips as your hips rock against the pressure, a gentle back and forth pace meant to coat the digits in your wet heat. You move to circle your clit, drinking in the rapid-fire endorphins singing through your blood. You jump to tease your entrance, clenching in frustration at the loss of contact on your clit. Steven’s hands twitch around your hips, pink tongue flashing out to wet his lips—his flushed cheeks deepen into a rosy brown as you sink two of your fingers, up to the last knuckle, into yourself. 

Steven’s hands clamp around your hips, digging into the little divots on your back, as your head rolls back onto your shoulder. “Shit—you’re stunning.”

Your lips tilt into a lopsided grin. “I know.” 

He huffs at that, still fixed on your fingers that curl in and out of your slick center. Your lower half seizes up as you pull your fingers free from your cunt, glistening and soaked. Steven mutters a curse under his breathe, as you lift your hand higher for him to see. You smile turns wicked. “Open your mouth.”

Steven’s eyes snap to yours. “W-what?” 

“I said,” you purr sweetly as your bring your two fingers to the seam of his plush lips. You touch the pads of them over his bottom lip, delighted in the way a string of your arousal connects to his pouting mouth. “Open your mouth, Steven.” 

His jaw drops without question. Your fingers slide into his willing mouth, slotting over his warm tongue and the soft palette on the roof of his mouth. His moan vibrates through your finger. You shift, grinding your center into the tented front of Steven’s pants. His hips stutter. “Suck.” 

Steven’s eyes flutter as his tongue jumps to action. Wild electricity thrums through your being, impressed how well Steven’s tongue laves and suckles your digits clean—starved for a taste of you. Your breath catches as his dexterous tongue weaves between your fingers, hollows his cheeks and tentatively sucks. Once satisfied, a quiet pop follows the departure of your fingers from his plush mouth. The back of his head bumps the wall, eyes shut tight. “God—I’m going to ruin my trousers if you keep that up, y-yeah?” 

“Hot,” you allow him no respite. You swoop down to kiss him, open-mouthed and syrupy-sweet.Your tongue slides over his, tasting yourself on him—you moan into his mouth. You draw back, lick over his bottom lip and replace it with the sting of your teeth—earning a sharp jolt of Steven’s hips. However, as much as you’d like to witness Steven Grant cumming into his pants, your mind is set upon other activities. 

Decisively, you reach around and pry one of Steven’s hands from your hip. You eyes meet his, irises blown wide with arousal, heavy lidded and bewitched by your very smile.You guide Steven’s hand by the wrist, palm up, to your soaked center. His eyes widen, chin snapping to his chest to catch a better look the moment the pads of his fingers touch the outsides of your folds. “Oh, bless—you’re dripping, Ziggy.”                

You lead his hand to slot against you, his palm a perfect fit cupping your pussy. You roughly grind into his catatonic fingers, eliminating the difficulty of where to start. Fuck, his hands are huge—warm and thick too—your cunt clenches tight, waves of need swelling in your abdomen. You drop your hand guiding his, and sling it around his neck, drawing your lips to his stubbled jaw. You nip at the skin here. “C’mon, Steven…touch me.”           

Steven startles. “Right, right—sorry.”

You feel his throat bob as he swallows. He mutters encouragement to himself and draws in a sharp breath. The first pass of his fingers through you slick folds is crippling. The tip of his thumb slots directly beneath the hood of your clit, and wether that had been dumb luck or an aimed attack, the effects remain the same. You keen and crumple—a feeling akin to a punch to your diaphragm. And it only gets worse—or better—depending on how you look at it. He’s a Grade A, tease. 

And he doesn’t even know it.  

Steven’s mouth parts in awe, breath humid and hot over your exposed chest. His forehead presses into your collarbone to watch his fingers disappear through your swollen folds and remerge drenched. The pad of his middle finger slides lower, pressing gently against the tight muscles of your entrance. He rubs just the slightest bit to test that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you, tentatively. You thighs twitch on their own volition, your teeth clenching together.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you hiss as he slides it in deeper. Your eyes roll back at the delicious pressure, tugging at his hair when his finger curls up, inspiring the surge of searing pleasure. Steven’s moan filters past his lips, jagged and wrecked as he very carefully moves the digit in and out. The raw sparks of heat threaten to catch flame and burn you alive as your core clenches around his thick finger.

“Yeah?” Steven pants. “Am I doing it proper?” 

You nod and bury your face into the crux of his neck. Your lips attach to the skin here, praising him with soft kisses and lazy passes of your tongue. He stiffens as you smirk and latch your teeth onto him. “More—please, Steven.”  

Steven readily agrees and eases a second finger inside you, letting you feel that delicious stretch as your cunt accommodates him. It’s tighter like this, a perfect angle that allows Steven’s fingers to catch the most sensitive part of you—that and the heel of his palm rocking against your clit. Fuck, you don’t have a chance—you can hear how wet you are for him in the tiny space, drenching his hand in your arousal.

Steven lifts his head, nuzzles into your neck, lips pressed sweetly against your ear. He nips the shell of cartilage and whimpers your name. Your high flares up bright behind your eyes, a hair-trigger reaction that makes everything from your toes and up tighten like a vice. One more thrust of his fingers and rock of his palm, and you’re done for—  

You cum onto his fingers with a choked cry, the edges of your vision fading into spotty blotches of black and white as your back arches. A network of open ended fuses exposed to a current and a body of water implode—sizzling and devastating. You nails harpoon into Steven’s shoulders as he continues to finger you through your orgasm, keeping you from toppling over as you jerk and shiver in his hold. 

You hear his disbelieving laugh above the fuzzy pleasure clouding your brain, marveling at the fact he’s just made you cum Your stomach drops as he pull his fingers free from you spasming hole, accidentally catching your hypersensitive clit. You flinch. “That was bloody wicked,” Steven praises, smoothing a hand up your spine. “Still with me, Ziggy?”

“Ahuh,” you wheeze, recollecting your scattered thoughts and whereabouts. You stamp lazy kisses up the line of his throat, over his check and eventually to his parted lips. You snake a hand between you, smirking as Steven’s breath catches in his chest when you grab at his covered cock. “Do you still want more?” 

“Fuck,” Steven stutters out, squeezing his eyes shut and then open as if to make sure this wasn’t just another one of his waking dreams. “I can never look at this broom closet the same.” 

You snicker and rolls his bottom lip between your teeth. “Our little secret now.” 

He laughs lowly and nods. “You are a terrible influence.” 

You plant a kiss on the corner of his and the touch of your palm slipping into his loose fitting pants. “I know.” 

Need bites at your insides, swells up sharper this time. It’s easy to convince Steven to tug his pants just far enough that his cock can be freed. Fuck, it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him—flushed a rosy brown, thick and leaking at the wide tip. Steven throws his head bank and clenches his jaw as your curious fingers wrap around his searing flesh. You make a mental note of taking him into your mouth later—fuck he’d look so pretty fucking your mouth—

“Ziggy,” Steven moans, lightly touching the hand that’s jerking him off—slow and methodical. No rush despite the borrowed time. “Please—”  

“Alright, alright,” you sigh, adjusting yourself higher up his lap. One of your hands moves to anchor on his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the back of his head. There’s a few tangles here—nothing that can’t be fixed by a simple comb through. You lift your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance. You both choke out a groan as you rock your wetness against his rigid length. Steven’s hands clamp down hard over your hips. And then, without much fuss, you bite his neck, reach for his cock to position him at your weeping entrance and slowly start to sink down on him.

A dark current of lust surges up your spine, wicked heat spilling forth and billowing past any comprehensive thought and turning it into mush. You shove your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock, pressing him up so far up inside that Steven chokes next to your ear.  Fuck, he feels so fucking good from this angle—stretching and filling you in the way your body has so desperately craved since meeting him. You suck in a harsh breath in through your nose and unlatch your teeth from his now bruised skin.  

Steven’s hand shoots up to tangle in your hair, holding your face into the crook of his neck while you right as roll your hips up and clamp down around his. His cock drags deliciously out of your pussy and fuck—your mind crackles as you drop back down onto his lap.

“Oh, Christ,” Steven whines, his other hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark.  “You f-feel fantastic.”

You whimper, biting the inside of your cheek head as the head of his cock is pushed up tight against the most sensitive part of you. Wildfire bursts in your lower belly and seeps through your cunt, your hips, and into your upper thighs. Fuckin’ shit—you roughly grind your hips into him as he pushes up, digging your nails into his arm and twisting it into his hair. 

“I wanted this to happen since forever,” you whisper, spiraling into madness from the aching bliss.  “That’s all I think about—fucking you.”

Steven holds you closer and snarls out a curse, his hips jerking up into yours with near bruising force.  “Shit—I—”

You keep going. 

“‘Specially over the counter—I get so bored here,” you moan, moving into his sharp thrusts.  The positioning doesn’t allow for him to do much besides roll his hips in short, stunted movements, but it’s just enough to build your pleasure until it’s bubbling to the top.  “Do you think about me, Stevie?”

“May-maybe,” he hiccups, but it’s way too embarrassed and worked up to be anything close to convincing.  “I-I shouldn’t. Not as much as I do.”

“And you never said anything?”  You pout, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.  You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Your pussy is slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him. “I’m not that scary.”

“Shit—you’re—” Steven stammers, tugging a fistful of your hair and fucking up into you as best as he can in this position.  “Donna said—said romantic involvements with coworkers are against policy.”

You nip his earlobe. “I’m your neighbor first—checkmate.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly, leading you into a brief kiss. 

Fuck, you like being on top of him like this—reckless and bold and skirting the edge of just plain stupid. Someone might come looking soon, but shit, you’re getting close again. You bite your lip, hips canting into a harder pace, delighted by his sweet moans and carnal need for you. He murmurs your name and you gasp, eyes squeezed shut and just trying to breathe through the flood of arousal that threatens too uproot your entire being.

“Shit, you feel good, Steven,” you say, carding your fingers through his hair. “S’good—keep going—that’s it.”

Steven makes a near pained, ragged gasp of a sound—one that sears right into your memory with no hope of ever shaking it. Everything pulls up hot and tight, settling low and as you start to grind down hard on him. Fuck, you’re almost there—

And then something shifts—you don’t know how to explain it really— a subtle change in the way he holds himself and draws his shoulders back. An air of confidence normally absent from Steven’s relatively meek nature. A wicked gleam that sparks behind those warm, brown eyes that always remind you of the countryside—endless summers and the honey-golden light of sunsets through one of those kaleidoscope sticks.      

You’re flipped so quickly that the world spins, leaving you dizzy and scrambling for a foothold. Damn your low iron. Your back slams into the tiled floor, his thick arms shoving up under your legs and positioning your hips over his thighs. And then he starts fucking you—really fucking you.

It’s fucking crippling. The new angle and brutal speed is like a chain reaction of powder kegs to a lighter. All you can do is dig your nails into his arms and sob for him, arching and blankly staring at the patchy cement ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as he fucks you down hard into the linoleum tiles—you’re gonna have bruises on your ass.

His mouth is at your neck as he mutters darkly against your throat, his clipped accent devolving into a near unfamiliar scrape. It could be a trick of the mind, and frankly you don’t care. You squeak as his hands dig into the flesh of your ass.  “Fuck, Ziggy—you like this?”

“I’m—” you gasp, eyes screwing up as your wrestle with words.  “Ye-yes.”

“You’re making me a fuckin’ mess, love,” he growls. “Did I make you this wet?”

He’s hard and throbbing, imbedding his claws into your very soul and dragging you though cloud nine. You’re ears start to ring—so fucking close to the edge and begging for him to finish you off. 

“You’re heaven,” he snarls. He drops to his elbow, shifting his weight so he can reach between your legs. You cry and jolt into his fingers as the slip between your lips and easily finds your swollen clit. 

Your lungs tighten to the point of limiting your breaths to patchy gasps.  “Steven—close.”

He murmurs your name and rubs tight circles over your clit, pounding directly where you need him too. Your eyes roll back, spine suddenly goes rigid.

“Fuck—I’m cumming,” you whine, frantic and rushed, breathless as you claw at his shirt and exposed chest.  Everything pulls up sharp and burning, your cunt squeezing around his cock like a vice.  “Steven—”

“Fuck, yes—” he gasps, “—shit, let me f-feel you—”

Steven keeps babbling, but it’s all fluff by this point. Your pulse roars in your ears, body locking down so fucking tight around him hat you’re afraid something might snap. Steven keeps fucking you as your orgasm rips through you with such force that your voice warbles, the blaze of white hot bliss picking you apart stitch by stitch. Steven rubs your clit, pines your hips with his own and pistons inside of you—throwing you to a raw plane of explosive pleasure. His head drops to your shoulder, muttering filthy praise you’d never think someone like Steven would ever think to say—

You cry his name, repeating it over and over like a mantra, breathlessly in time with his ruthless thrusts. One more roll of his hips and pass oof his fingers and you’re gone. Your hand clenches around his hair as sparks of blurry white alight behind your eyelids, back arching off the floor and into his chest. Steven fucks you through your orgasm, even as you squirm and shake in his firm hold. Ecstasy implodes behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. 

“Ziggy,” he breathes, “almost there—”

Three more rough, bruising thrusts, and he’s cumming inside you, painting your insides with his warm spend. His sweet, gravelly moan echoes in the small space and Jesus Christ—you’re dizzy. He pants against your neck as he leans his full weight over you, arms snaking under your back to hold you close. You can feel his heart like this, thrumming wildly in his chest. You thread your fingers through his hair, gently carding through the frazzled knots of your frantic pulling. The silence that follows swells with petrichor and flower petals that glow white in the pale light of moon—he smells like old books and Irish Spring—a new comfort.   

“Steven?” 

“Hm.”

“Can you hand me that bag of crisps—yeah, right by that shelf.”         

What’s better than this? Spicy crisps and orgasms. Though, hopefully next time you do this, it’s on a bed.  

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector

[adoaraism]

hey, little songbird (a farcille fic)

(spoilers ahead)

Marcille realised, as she held Pipi’s fragile body in her palm, that things would never be the same; that she would never be the same. She stroked those beautiful yellow feathers one last time, and though they were as silky as ever, those sweet chirps of contentment that she used to hear daily were but all but echoes in her mind. All that was left behind was an empty vessel of her avian soul. 

Answer me, she wanted to beg. Just let me see you fly one last time, away from here, away from my sight, so I needn’t mourn, so that my heart will stop aching the way it is right now. 

But the words never parted from her tongue, and nothing but choked sobs erupted from her quivering lips. Even as her mother’s warm arms embraced her entire frame, even as sat down to eat her favourite meal of grilled pork, even as she lay in bed that night wrapped in her soft duvets. 

Unfair, unfair! Why did life go on, even without her beloved bird? Why was it that the world continued turning, and that her life would carry on far longer than Pipi’s, far longer than her friends’, far longer than all the humans she ever loved? 

Tears continued to spill from her eyes and onto her pillowcase, almost as if she hoped that if she poured enough of herself into them, the gaping hole in her heart, and the empty space in Pipi’s cage could be filled once again.

—

“Marcille, Marcille,” a soft voice roused the girl from her uneasy slumber, and gentle hands shook her awake. She blinked sleepily and rubbed the bleary remnants of her dreams from her eyes, and instinctively reached out to grab the sleeve of the one who woke her. She raised her gaze to meet Falin’s and her breath caught in her throat as her mind grasped how close they were; her short blonde hair brushed against Marcille’s shoulder, and she could almost feel her breath against her cheek.  

“Falin?” she whispered, praying that the dark would veil the growing warmth in her cheeks from her classmate. She mentally shook herself, her grip on Falin’s sleeve loosening. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Falin immediately apologised in a hushed tone. Marcille could see her head hanging in apology, and found herself smiling in exasperated fondness as she pet her friend’s head. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” she combed her hand through Falin’s locks, letting her hands linger for just a moment before dropping them back into her lap. “I was just worried, that’s all.” 

Falin fell silent for a moment, and Marcille felt warm fingers slipping through hers, and a thumb brushing against her palm. “Could I sleep here with you, just for tonight?” 

Marcille nodded without so much as missing a beat as she scooted over to make space.  

Once Falin had laid down next to her, Marcille used her free hand to cocoon the both of them under her blanket, still holding onto her hand with her other. All that cut through the night’s silence was the sound of their breathing, slowly falling into rhythm with one another. 

“Are you comfortable?” Marcille asked. The question transcended their new sleeping arrangement; it was one that made Marcille feel more bare and vulnerable than ever, in spite of the sleeping garments she donned, and the blankets that kept her safe from the cold’s embrace.

She could almost see those apple-red cheeks bunching into a smile sweeter than honey as Falin replied, “I always have been, with you.” 

An ache etched itself into Marcille’s chest, one that felt both familiar and not; it was as if she’d felt this way about Falin all her life, even before she knew her, even before either of them existed. 

That was the first of many nights they’d spend lying together, sharing secrets, spells and stories, and letting their hushed voices weave into the darkness of the night, making everything feel lighter than it’d been before. 

—

Marcille’s hands shook as they grazed against pure, white feathers - whether it was in awe, fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure anymore. She lifted her head, her heart hammering against her chest as she gulped. 

“Falin,” she whispered, as if it were just another one of those nights back in the academy dorms. Feathers ruffled, and sharp amber eyes met her tired sage ones. “You’re home.” 

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #falin touden #farcille #dungeon meshi fanfic #dunmeshi spoilers #spoilers for chapter 37 onwards!! #day's drabbles #cw pet loss #character study

[z-socks]

He Soars

*banging my fists, chanting: winged Clones winged Clones winged Clones Crosshair-centric, some mild body horror when discussing Echo because Techno Union. Also the Empire being assholes. Season 2 spoilers (The Outpost).

Crosshair had always hated his wings. They were large, dark, laborious things, with rough feathers that had cut him more than once until he learned to keep them away from his body. The copious, smothering down choked him in the night, suffocating him with heat and irritating fuzz down the back of his throat. 

The Regs all had the same wings: something akin to the shriek hawks of their Template’s home. They were shiny, patterned in golden hues like the Clones’ eyes and shaped and sized to be useful in battle. 

Clone Force 99 did not have the wings of the Regs. Hunter's were slim and cut, rounded with specialized feathers that made his approaches from the air lethally silent. Tech's were scooped and agile, designed for soaring and diving sharply while in flight. Wrecker’s were the only wings comparable to Crosshair's in size. But they were pure white with imposing flight feathers and capable of being beat with deadly force. 

Crosshair's wings were useless. 

A sniper with wings impossible to hide was not a very useful asset. So he learned early on how to make them work for him. He learned to stick to shadows and use them to hide, to lash out a wing and cut down a droid, to let his brothers crush his suffocating down by curling against him when the endless stretches of space got cold. 

And then came Kaller and the order and the girl. 

His brothers left. 

The Empire deemed the Clones’ wings an annoyance. Their size was hard and expensive to accommodate for in their standardized barracks. Their down clogged the life support filters. And their feathers’ rustling impeded on the other troopers’ sleep. 

A suggestion to have them removed was met with a counterpoint. Why spend the money on surgery? Just remove the Clones. 

Cross watched Regs disappear from the ranks. His eyes catching the way their wings sagged, unstretched and unflown, atrophying in the grip of the new Empire. His own wings felt heavier these days, causing him to haunch over from their weight. 

He was one of six Clones sent to Barton-IV to retrieve a shipment that had been held there. His squad ran into his wings on purpose, complaining under their breath about having no room on the transport and how he should be with the other beasts. 

Cross shrugged it off. 

It was far from the first time he’d been likened to a monster. 

Clone Commander Mayday’s wings were the second worst pair Crosshair had ever seen, only beat out by Echo’s when they’d rescued him from Anaxes: nearly bald, half blown off, and bent wrong from being stuffed into a stasis chamber with no room for them. The smell of decaying feathers had emanated from the corporal. And Mayday and his brothers had the same stench. 

Their feathers were molting, ragged as they clung on by sickly quills. Strips of fabric like that on their armor were looped and tied to fill in the bare spots. Even their color looked faded but Cross wasn’t sure if that had more to do with the dim light provided by the coilheater. 

“What’s your name?” he asked Crosshair, the first person in too many cycles to do so. Cross hesitated. But this was a dead man walking, giving him a name that would likely die on his tongue within a tenday was harmless enough. 

“Crosshair.” 

The Reg nodded. “Follow me.” 

They inspected their meager equipment. Mayday showed him all that was broken. 

A large shadow passed overhead. The call of a monstrous bird. 

“Ice vulture,” Mayday informed, eyeing Crosshair. “Vicious creatures. But you have to admire them. They find a way to survive.” 

Then came the raid. Their hunt. The ice cave. 

“No sense carrying dead weight.” 

Mayday hummed. “'Less you need to to survive.” 

Crosshair shot him a puzzled look. 

“Them vultures carry dead weight all the time.” He shrugged. "Gotta eat."

The mine. The raiders. The avalanche. 

“Mayday.” His voice nearly broke as he dug the commander out of the snow. He’d lost more feathers in the onslaught, fresh skin exposed and bleeding on the patches left behind. 

The climb was excruciating. The wind sliced through them. 

When they finally found enough of an outcropping to shelter behind, Cross folded his wings around them, for once, grateful for the excessive down. The rough feathers kept the snow and ice from building up. Their size big enough to protect them both from the blistering winds. 

“I remember you, you know,” Mayday whispered against his neck. “The clone with the big black wings.” He huffed a choked off laugh. “Mean little thing. But I knew better. I’d seen you fly.”

A memory came forward, fuzzy, hazy in the whiteout snow. The training room on Kamino had been tall enough to allow them to practice aerial maneuvers. Crosshair’s monstrous wings had never fit in the crowded space with the Regs. But late at night, he’d sneak out to fly.

“The command cadet.” 

He remembered now, getting caught one night by an older cadet in red. But the cadet had let him off easy, saying lightly that it was past bedtime. Cross had waited to be punished for sneaking out. But the CC cadet had merely left the training room to continue his assigned patrols. 

“Bet you’d never dream this be how you found out ya belong here,” Mayday murmured, huddled in close to Crosshair, buried deep into the soft down of his wings. 

Cross quietly inquired what he meant but Mayday had lost consciousness once more. 

The storm stopped with the sunrise. An Ice Vulture circled overhead.

The climb was no less difficult. And Mayday’s exhaustion meant Cross was walking for them both. He used his wings, flapping them to help propel their steps. 

It felt… good. Like he was made for this.

His wings had room, could stretch fully. The wind ran through his down and along his sharp flight feathers. It caught them occasionally, beckoned them to fly. 

They reached the outpost. They collapsed and Crosshair begged for help. 

The Lieutenant refused. 

Mayday was going to die. 

The shot. The chaos that followed. 

But he was made for this. 

He took out some of the troopers and command first, single shots. He was a sniper after all, even from the ground instead of in his nest. The Clones charged him and he switched it to stun. 

Good soldiers follow orders. He had. Mayday had. They had. And they were still considered dead weight. 

A stolen shuttle, Mayday hastily loaded in the back, the rest of the scattered imperials on their tail. 

But he was made for this. 

A sharp dive like that of scooped agile wings. A silent approach from behind like that of specialized feathers. A shot to their flank, percussive like beating pure white wings. 

They fell from the sky. 

He soared. 

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #mayday #commander mayday #winged clones #not cannon compliant #canon divergence

[loveyazy]

Hi! So I haven't read acotar (well a little bit but it didn't hook me) but I've been reading your posts about the upcoming book and I'm so curious, I don't know these characters but the second hand gossip is fun and I'm rooting for them lol when does the book come out? when will it be announced who the protagonists are?

JSHDKAKJSD I had written so much on my phone but then I closed all the apps and I lost it so hopefully I can remember most of it still.

The thing is it's OBVIOUS it's going to be Elain. She has even said in this interview x at 25:00. I don't know why people genuinely think GWYN is going to be the next book 🫠. Her purpose was to help Nesta. Outside of that, there is not much left to tell of her story. It's done. TBH, I completely forgot she even existed after I finished reading ACOSF. Like I kept seeing posts about her on my insta discover, and I was like who tf is Gwyn? 💀

Also just... ELAIN IS THE THIRD ARCHERON SISTER. How can it NOT be about her when Feyre had the first three and then Nesta had the fourth? Like it's so painfully obvious. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just delusional.

Even if it's not Elain and it happens to be Mor, it's NOT going to be Gwyn before Elain LMFAO.

But this is why I think it's going to be Elriel and not Elucien.

Firstly, Koschei the Deathless. The story follows Ivan marries his THREE SISTERS to THREE WIZARDS.

Ivan saw his three sisters wed to the first suitors who came across them—wizards in the form of birds.

Hmmm THREE SISTERS. BIRDS >>>> BATS. 👀

Eventually Ivan goes on to defeat Koschei with the help of his sisters and their husbands.

And then we have another Koschei retelling. The FOX and the FIREBIRD. Listen Sarah was not subtle with the names. Vasalisa >> Vassa. Lucien had a fox mask in ACOTAR, making him the obvious fox. You can read more on it here but I'm going to do a quick summary.

A king has a garden that produces one gold apple a day, but it was stolen every night. He promised half his kingdom to whichever son could catch the thief. He has three sons, and they all tried to catch it. The third son saw the firebird and shot at it, and hit the bird in the wing, but it escaped and left behind a golden feather. The king wants the fire bird and promises whoever brings the fire bird alive would get half the kingdom and be the heir. So they all go out to find the Fire Bird, and they all encounter a Red Fox.

The fox approaches each prince, and asks for something to eat, but the first two shoot at it. The third prince shares his food. So the Red Fox takes him to the palace where the fire bird is and tells him how to grab the fire bird by putting it in the wooden cage, not the golden. Well, the prince says how can a lovely bird be in a wooden cage and proceeds to put it back in the golden, but then basically sounds an alarm and he gets arrested. The King tells him to bring him back a golden man.

The fox says he'll help the prince, but of course the prince is a dumbass and goes I'm gonna choose the pretty one instead of the one the fox told me to choose and he gets arrested and this king says bring back Princess Goldilocks from the Golden Palace in the Black Sea.

Anyways it goes on and the third brother is betrayed by his other two, and the fox brings him back to life. In the end he gets the kingdom, the firebird, Goldilocks, etc. The fox is very instrumental in this story.

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ALL OF ACOTAR

We have hints that Lucien and Vassa are very close. They talk to each other. Plus they live together along with Jurian.

Plus if it was going to be Elucien there would be hints that Elain even had romantic feelings for him. Even a little attraction. She doesn't. She literally stares at a boiling tea kettle until he leaves because she doesn't want to spend any time with him.

She wants nothing to do with him. And yes sure she says she doesn't want a male, but remember that she is still dealing with the traumatic events of being forced into the cauldron and being changed.

This though, happens a year later with Azriel...

Imagine seeing this in the most recent book, and thinking they're like siblings. Sounds like the antis have some sort of incesty weird freaky ass sibling relationships. 😬

This also happens in the book, which I believe is during the same time? But Az's was a bonus chapter and this was available to everyone.

Elain is not herself around Lucien. I don't understand how anyone can see their relationship and think that's going to be endgame. This was the most recent book.

Even before ACOSF, Nesta and Cassian had this in the previous book that alluded to their romance.

But there is absolutely nothing to allude to any sort of Elucien romance. Elain wants NOTHING to do with Lucien. And honestly, I don't blame her. Who would? He was a part of the most traumatic thing that ever happened to her.

I'll never understand Elucien shippers. If you like Lucien, why would you ship him with someone who wants nothing to do with him? If you like Elain why would you ship her with someone she wants nothing to do with?

I'm 10000000% convinced the Elucien shippers are just Gwynriels who ship them so they can have their ship justified, but most of their evidence is just their headcanons, and them not being able to read between the lines and interpreting things very wrong.

#pro elriel #anti gwynriel #anti elucien #elriel #pro elain archeron #pro azriel #i tagged these as antis so if you come for me I'm going to ask why the fuck you're here?

[stabbysillymoth]

I know nobody follows me yet… but I made… someting for @bamsara, they don’t like being idolized but they are so cool to me they are my INSPIRATION. Shakespeare hangs its head in shame at how good Bam’s writing is

Anyway I made dis, it’s a oc insert in bam’s rehabilitation of death fanfic! It’s not very good, but I awoke in the night and brain exploded in ideas.

Word count: ~1.2k

(SPOILERS FOR THEIR FIC, PLEASE BE WARNED)

-Sleep Like the Dead-

The One Who Waits is patient. It’s in his title. Even so, ever since the entrapment of being in this mortal, lowly body, his… ‘nightmares’ have become more than a mere nuisance. Narinder has awaken with more bile in his throat, more of his godly blood spilled from his eyes. And most importantly—he has grown more irritable. The lamb had noticed that the god of death’s patience for their silly rants have been shut down sooner than usual. Though Lambert has pressed Narinder for information, the vessel is met with a sneering cat showing it’s back to them.

It was a night such as all the others. The former god of death sat in his bed, meditating, but found himself distracted. He did not want to go to sleep, but he felt tired. His ego already shattered from being in a mortal body, he felt himself even more pathetic. A god being scared of some mere ‘nightmares’? It made him cringe at himself. But he knew that even if he slept, he wouldn’t gain anything out of it. His mind cannot escape the traitor. The lamb. That wretched, awful excuse for a vessel.

But the exhaustion tugs at his eyes. And he complies quietly, though irritably. He lays down, and lays there with a grimace. Simply waiting until he falls unconscious.

He lays down at the trunk of the tree.

“Do not wander.” Narinder says firmly to Baal and Aym. They nod and go scurry off. They have been adapting well to the cult. The flock have been teaching Baal and Aym routines, but today? They get to wander. Narinder looks up at the beautiful tree he lays up against. The purple bark complimented its leaves and flowers. This year, it has exploded in color, more than it usual would. White leaves paired with multicolored flowers. The grass is warm underneath him. And strangely enough, it doesn’t decay. And he’s actually happy about that fact.

He looked out into the distance with a small hum of relaxation. He sees Baal stuffing flowers in Aym’s collar, and they go running off into a chase. But not too far. Just as Narinder asked.

“Is it nice?” A soothing voice comes from his left. Narinder doesn’t jump, nor get surprised. Like he somehow knew she was there.

It was a bird. A peacock. Her white plumage glittering in the sunlight, but glowing more on the rainbow feathers on her tail and the primary and secondary rainbow feathers on her wings. The flowing white dress she wore went further than her feet, but she walked with grace. The white dress did not get any grass stains as she walked from behind the tree. She nestled next to Narinder at the base of the purple tree. Her caring, rainbow eyes scanning his form. Whatever the peacock is thinking, the cat cannot place it. Her wings fold at her sides. He answers back in a casual tone. “I enjoy it. I get to have some privacy from the lamb.” He scoffed. The peacock chuckled softly at his words. “It must be frustrating. Even having him plague your dreams. Thankfully, he is not here.” She speaks gently, tilting her beak at him. Narinder opens his mouth to respond, and he feels a lot heavier as he processes her words, and then becomes aware of his surroundings. He narrows his eyes at the peacock, but finds his body too fuzzy and warm to move away.

“This is not my memory. Who’s memory is this? I don’t-“ “Tis no memory. Never was, my dear.” The rainbow stranger cuts him off with a gentle wave of her wing.

“I am Oneiros. I am the representation of dreams, imagination, and creation.” She says calmly. Narinder notices that his body had relaxed, and his mind calmer. Something about her voice. It just made him calm. He stared at her for a long minute. And she simply stared out at the fields.

“Have you come to torture me in my sleep, as the lamb has?” The god of death glowers at Oneiros, but the glare doesn’t have the fierce energy he wants it to. It doesn’t particularly matter though. She just hummed softly at his words. “No, One Who Waits. I believed you needed a fulfilling rest, a rest filled with softness and warmth.” She spoke patiently, plucking a couple of flowers and beginning to make a little banquet. But gods cannot dream. He knew that for certain. This woman spouts lies, manipulating me into getting me think I can trust her, until-

“I do not lie.” She interrupts his thinking. He snarls at the reminder that his thoughts aren’t safe in the dreamworld.

“Yes, gods cannot dream. But in special circumstances, i can bless them with a dream. The circumstances I will not share with you, little cat.” Oneiros booped his nose with a rose. Narinder snarled, swatting the flower away. “Are you mocking me?” He sneered, and Oneiros made a squawk of laughter. “No, dear. I like giving my dreamers nicknames. Little cat will be yours.” She hummed, her eyes upturned with light humor. The god of death sneered again. He bristled, his tail spiking in irritation. “I shall pluck your feathers out, one by one, if you ever call me that again.” He snarled, his tail whipping back and forth with attitude. She chortled in amusement. “I have worse nicknames, my dear. But I will just call you ‘cat’.” Oneiros hummed. He huffed, but didn’t comment any further. His usual malicious tendencies were toned down more in this realm, he felt less argumentative, he noticed. The peacock then handed him a mini banquet of multicolored flowers. Flowers of such bright colors, he assumed they were exotic.

“I will come again when you are at your lowest. For this safe haven will always look different each time you are here.” She cooed. Bowing her head to Narinder. He took the flowers, and they didn’t wilt, even if he wanted it to. The peacock huffed at his attempt. Not upset, but a tad disappointed at his attitude.

He then heard the yelling of voices familiar. He had seen them earlier, but now that he is more aware, he stills at the sight of Baal and Aym playing in the flowers. He is silent for many heartbeats. The pair stare at The One Who Waits, confused.

“Are they here?” He asked gruffly, but there was a tone of longing in his voice, which he cursed at himself for letting slip out. The question didn’t make much sense, but Oneiros understood. The rainbow peacock took notice of Narinders uncertainty. Almost desperation. At this, her eyes softened in pity.

“No, sweetheart.” She said gently, a motherly air. She put a wing on his shoulder, the softness of the feathers slightly against his cheek making him swivel his head to look at the bird.

“Nothing in this realm is real. I’m sorry, dear. Wake up, and be refreshed.” Oneiros commanded, blessed. Brushing her rainbow wings against his forehead, and his insides felt fuzzier. The warmth of the grass becoming unfocused as he felt his body drop.

He slowly sat up, and he checked his face and sheets. No bleeding. And he felt better than he had in weeks, probably even months.

He didn’t find the company unpleasant, Narinder just wasn’t used to it. He felt like he could handle 20 hours of the lambs rambling, and 10 minutes was already straining it. So to say he felt better was an understatement.

He’d be hoping to visit that realm again soon. Maybe see if the rainbow peacock has any insight on what to do when godly power is shared between two people.

#bamsara #the rehabilitation of death #oc #oc insert #bam I adore you #don’t mind me bro #small artist #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #lambert #cotl lamb

[itsmespicaa]

"Seeds of Stories, Brought by the Wind..." (part 2/2)

(part 1 here!)   

⚠️ Contains Sumeru Archon Quest SPOILER !!!

Fun fact: Nahida’s voiceline ‘When it’s windy’ is: “The wind never blows in the Sanctuary of Surasthana...Oh, sorry. That's probably obvious to you.” I’m not crying what tHE FUC-

The fic continuation of the last page is below :D

------------

Venti shouted, waving and practically flying to her, “Buer!”

It seemed that Nahida had just escaped from a room of her people asking for her guidance and advice on what to do next with the Akademiya, from the way she was stunned at the unexpected call of her true name. 

“Eh…?”

Without warning, he grasped her smaller hands in his as the wind sang and blew wildly around them, reflecting his unrepressed joy.

Venti laughed: “Ah…it’s been much too long!”

The Traveler ran to them before looking around, worried that others would be suspicious of the strange interaction of their archon and a strange bard from afar. But it seems most had to cover their eyes due to the strong wind just a while ago, and when they turned to Venti with a raised eyebrow, he just winked at them.

“This hardly seems like a proper place for a reunion between old friends–what say you, oh Dendro Archon?”

It seems Venti’s antics finally caught up with Nahida, who smiled back, albeit more subdued than the former. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

~0~

In a flurry of white feathers and verdant leaves, they all reappeared inside the Sanctuary, the quiet ambience enveloping them gently like a cradle to a newborn babe.

“Mm, I haven’t been here in a very long time…” Venti sighed, eyes closed as though to listen even closer to the whispers behind the walls. When he opened them again, his eyes reflected the vibrant green like fireflies at night. “It feels familiar and yet…completely reborn.”

Unbeknownst to any of them, the Traveler’s eyes widened slightly at his remarks, lips shaking slightly with words they’ve agreed to never speak of.

“I guess…that’s what happens when you lose your memories,” Venti finally turned to Nahida with a forlorn smile, who had simply been observing him from beside the Traveler. The Dendro Archon clenched her hands together before walking up to him, meeting his gaze.

“...Barbatos,” Nahida started, “just as the wind blows the seeds of every story all across Teyvat, I’m sure the wind has told you of the story that was uncovered in Sumeru as well. I…I apologize for not greeting you in a manner befitting a fellow Archon, but I would like to extend my hand in friendship once more just as I did all those years ago.”

To her surprise, Barbatos simply giggled, his airy laughter jingling like bells. “I never knew how adorably anxious you felt when we first met~!”

Going down on his knees, he enveloped her gently like a mother bird brooding its younglings, catching the other archon off guard. “And our friendship never ended,” he said, his voice tapering off into a whisper, “no matter where you are in the endless river of time, you will always be a dear friend of mine, Buer.”

Nahida felt…comfort, familiar and oh so warm, an old memory that did not feel hers resurfacing from under the rubble, like a tiny sapling that willed itself to survive amidst the harsh and unforgiving nature imposed onto it.

After a second of hesitation, she returned the hug, burying her face in the awfully familiar scent of dandelions and wind, wanting to keep this feeling with her for eternity no matter what.

But alas, nothing lasts forever.

“I also heard from a certain Traveler,” Venti nodded at the quiet person watching them from a distance, “that the wind…never blows inside this tiny bird cage of yours. I see what you mean now.”

He stood up and summoned his lyre, walking to the middle of the platform, to the place she was trapped in for half a millennium. The place where the wind could not reach, where her tears and anxieties remained unseen and hidden from the world, her fate sealed by the people she was born to protect.

Strumming his lyre, he beamed at her: “Time to correct that!”

A gentle breeze flowed within her former cage, caressing her cheeks and the tips of her feet, bumping into her as though asking her to come play with them. Nahida’s eyes glimmered as silver white wings sprouted from Venti’s back, feathers floating in the air as he sang.

Ah…this voice…

Memories flooded her vision as snapshots of beautiful moments blurred past her eyes, untouched by the ravages of time. The tiny sapling grew larger and larger until it touched the sky above, to where they would return to. Singing together with the Aranara, the gathering of the first Seven, memories never lucid enough for her to see in detail but the emotions. Oh the emotions she experienced then…

(...She?)

Nahida did not realize the tears dripping onto the floor until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, startling her to reality as she watched Venti glide down and extend a hand towards her, a gentle smile on his lips as he beckoned for her:

“Come sing with me? For old times’ sake.”

Ah…How could she refuse?

With a wide grin, she took his hand and sang.

No one but the Traveler and their floating companion would be the witness to this beautiful moment shared between the two neighboring archons, the two old friends separated by time and the earth itself. 

One born of the thousands of branches of time, while the other sprouted from the purest branch of an ancient tree.

#genshin impact #venti #nahida #rukkhadevata #sumeru archon quest #archon quest spoiler #ALSO FUN FACT: the ost that played during the mond archon quest played during the nahida rescue scene :) im not crying you are AAAAAAAAAAAAA #I LOVE PAIN WOOOOOOOOOOO #QWQ #THEYRE FRIENDS YOUR HONOR LET THEM MEEEEEETTTT #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #SOBS #im never getting over how neither venti nor zhongli remembers rukkhadevata i cant do this yall ;-; #also in case that wasnt obvious; venti slowed down time for a bit to say goodbye to rukkhadevata for the last time before he too forgets ;-; #being a creation of istaroth has both its perks and downsides and venti didnt know what this counted as hhh _(:"

[zanakuro]

tw/cw: major character death, blood, tokyo revengers manga spoilers (let me know if i forgot anything!)

genre: angst

summary: after izana, the man you swore to marry dies, what do you do? he's gone. how can you move on?

two birds of a feather . . . say that they're always gonna stay together

izana laughed at you as you fell face first into the snow. "don't laugh at me!" you whined. "help me up!" you lay in the snow with your arm up for him to help you up. instead of helping you up, he flops down on his back beside you. you turn our head to look at him, putting your arm down. "say.. y/n?" he started, catching your attention.

he was glad it was snowing, or else he wouldn't have the cold to blame for his red cheeks. "yeah?" you ask as he hesitates. "one day when we're older . . . will you marry me?"

but one's never gonna let go of that wire . . . he says that he will but he's just a liar

"come on izana, you made me promise when we were kids! how long are you going to make me wait?" you pressed as izana turned his back to you. "not now." was all izana said. "come on! we're eighteen! you said once we were eightee-" "i didn't expect adult life to be different!" he cut you off, a little harsher than necessary.

"oh. alright." you looked away before he could see the tears. izana seemed to detect them, even without looking at you. he turned around and gently cupped your cheeks. "i'm sorry baby." he whispered, wiping your tears away.

"i promise you, i will marry you one day. just not today."

two birds on a wire . . . one tries to fly away and the other . . .

"izana!" you screamed, louder than the boom that had just echoed through the night. you didn't give a damn about kakucho. you didn't give a damn that kisaki still held a gun. you cared about izana.

you ran forward, body thinking on it's own as you knelt beside izana as he lay on the ground. "izana.." you sobbed to him as he stared up at you. "y/n, get away." he choked out as he saw kisaki point the gun towards you.

you ignored him. you didn't care. you attempted to stop the bleeding, using your hands to cover the bullet holes. "baby please." you whispered out, tears streaming down your face.

watches him close from that wire . . . he says that he wants to as well but he is a liar

you didn't care for the commotion going on around you. nobody was coming to help you with izana. why weren't they helping? why the hell weren't they helping?!

a choked sob escaped you as his hand pressed against your cheek. "c'mon baby! you gotta live! you promised tha-" "that we'd get married." he whispered. "i know princess. i know. i'm sorry i broke my promise."

"shut up! you're not going to break your promise because you'll live!" you snapped at him. you cradled his head in your bloodied hands with a sob. "take care of kaku for me." he murmured. "lead him along the right path." he let his hand fall from your cheek and smiled at you.

"no, please! please don't leave me!" you screamed, but it was too late. he was gone. you'd never get married. you'd never have kids. it was all over

two birds on a wire . . . one tries to fly away . . . and the other . . .

#izana kurokawa #izana x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokrev #izana #kurokawa izana #kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa x reader #kurokawa izana x reader #tokyo revengers manga spoilers #tokyo revengers angst #izana angst #izana kurokawa angst #kurokawa izana angst

[dulcesiabits]

 l'oiseau.

summary: Lucas finds an baby bird.

notes: 1k, SPOILERS for lucas's route and backstory, animal death

It must have been a few months after he first was saved by Capucine when Lucas found the bird. 

The bird was little more than a baby, and because its feathers hadn’t quite grown in, it was flightless. It chirped incessantly, a lonely cry for its parent, and was so weak it could do little more than wobble in the grass. 

He didn’t know why he stopped. Maybe it was because the bird was so pitiful. Maybe it was because it would die if no one helped it. Or maybe it was because the bird, ugly and naked, had down that reminded him a little of Nadia’s hair. 

But Lucas stopped. He looked at the thing, and, with a white handkerchief ready, stooped down to pick up the bird. 

His hands hovered just inches away from the bird. How did you pick up delicate things? Was it possible to hold this bird without hurting it? Lucas had to be careful with his strength. 

He scooped the bird with one slow, drawn out moment, nudging it into his hands until it sat in the middle of his white handkerchief. Perhaps it had been struck dumb by the sudden movement, because its cheeps faltered. It stared at him, with dark, wet eyes. 

This bird had no one else but him to rely on.

With that thought, Lucas took it home and nursed it over the course of the next few days. He found a small box for the bird, nestled it with fabrics and cotton, and painstakingly fed it through a small dropper, watching its throat move back and forth. He placed it near his windowsill, in a bright patch of sun. Every morning he wished it good morning, and every night he wished it good night. It was a silly habit, but the bird seemed to respond well to the sound of his voice.

The bird grew swiftly, and soon, Lucas moved from diluted liquids to mashed-up meals of fruits and seeds. Its voice grew stronger. The feathers in its wings turned full, glossy and brown. It seemed to recognize him, and would wiggle in excitement when he approached, singing him little songs. When he showed it to Nadia, sneaking it into the hospital with a lid over its box, she had clapped her hands together in excitement.

“It’s so cute…!” she whispered, touching one delicate finger to its soft head. “Is it a boy or girl?”

“Boy,” Lucas said, after a moment’s pause. He had never even considered the bird in such a way before. Was using human terminology for an animal sacrilegious? 

 “What did you name him?”

“You can name him,” he offered. “I haven’t thought of one yet.”

Nadia puffed out her cheeks. “Since he’s so small… why don’t we call him Acorn?”

“That’s a perfect name,” Lucas said warmly.

At some point, Acorn matured into an adult. Animals grew so quickly, without any fear of the curse. Acorn didn’t seem to understand human malice, either, for he would sit docile even when Lucas’s hand hovered over him. Didn’t he understand? How swiftly Lucas could kill him? How easy it would be? His life could be snuffed out, just like that.

He was a poor prey animal. Without fear, it was hard to survive for very long.

But Acorn sang, warbling melodies that spiraled into the air. He trilled every day, and hopped after Lucas like a dog would. He didn’t fly, though. That was another issue with the bird; he waddled on the ground, refusing to spread his wings, as if he believed he was a human, just like Lucas.

Acorn was a silly bird. Lucas had no choice; he would have to take care of the bird forever. It couldn’t survive on its own, and besides, the bird made Nadia smile.

One day, Capcuine found Acorn.

“What is this?” he said, picking up Acorn’s little box. Nadia has recently sewn an unevenly stitched plush for it using scraps of yellow fabric. Acorn loved to curl next to it during the night. The plush trembled as Capucine examined the bird, who didn’t react to Capucine. He only cocked his small head.

“It’s a bird, minister,” Lucas said. “I found and raised it.”

Capucine let out a short, exhausted sigh. “Lucas… why would you do that?”

“Because… it would have died otherwise.”

“It was going to die either way. That’s the way of the world. The weak die. The strong survive. You’ve just prolonged its life unnecessarily. Just like those demons prolong people’s lives at the Institute.” Capucine’s eyes bored into Lucas. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Lucas said.

“Good.” Capucine gently picked up the bird in the palm of his hand. “You really don’t have time for distractions like this, Lucas. You need to focus on your mission.” And then he squeezed.

Acorn’s scream sounded strangely like a human’s. Piercing, loud, and desperate. Lucas had heard it so many times before. Pain transcended language. Acorn struggled, flapping his wings, as if he could finally fly. His liquid eyes darted back and forth.

He stared at Lucas, his beak straining. 

“Annoying,” Capcuine muttered, and something snapped. Acorn went limp, and Capucine placed him in his box. “Make sure to dispose of it properly.”

When Capcuine walked out, Lucas picked up the box, curling it to his body. It weighed nothing at all.

“You’re a foolish bird,” Lucas muttered.

Foolish, because Acorn hadn’t learned how to fly, and didn’t learn how to be afraid, and didn’t know how to be a proper prey animal. Foolish, because he thought he was a human, not knowing that that was the worst thing to be.

Foolish, because Lucas didn’t know how to hold things gently without breaking them.

What would Lucas tell Nadia? Maybe he would spin a lie about how the bird had flown away, to start his own family and live his own life. She would be sad for a while, but then she would move on and forget the bird. Yes, that was for the best. 

Tomorrow, he would bury the bird under the unforgiving earth, but for today, he could imagine it: the little sparrow, flying into the unknown blue, finally free. 

#liya writes #virche evermore: error salvation #shuuen no virche #lucas proust #virche evermore #me waking up in a cold sweat: oh my god i need to make lucas sadder

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Ikemen Villains - Epilogue

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. Spoilers under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Elbert: “It exactly means what it says, Kate.”

His sea-colored eyes slowly approached me, almost as if he wanted to drag me down to the depths of the ocean.

Elbert: “What would it take for me to get a human being?”

(Get a human being?)

Feeling uneasy, I involuntarily stepped back and tried to leave, but I couldn't get my hand from his grip.

Kate: "E-Elbert?"

Elbert: "What?"

Kate: "What's wrong with you? You're being weird."

Elbert: "I'm trying to figure out what I'd do if you were the one I was looking for."

Kate: "You mean the most beautiful thing in the world?"

Elbert: "Yes. The one I have to get."

(Me? That's not possible. Why all of a sudden?)

Elbert: "I'm often wrong, so I'll have to check."

Kate: "Check? How?"

Elbert lifted my hand and gently kissed the back of it.

(Huh?)

Elbert: "I want you to be mine."

(As I thought, something's weird.)

(It's as if he's not himself.)

Immediately, alarm bells started ringing inside my head.

Kate: "Um, is this the continuation of our pretend lover game?"

Elbert: "No, Kate."

His long fingertips slip between my fingers, entwining them tightly, not too tight to hurt me, but enough that I can't shake them off.

Kate: "Ah..."

He strongly yanked my hand, forcing me to stagger toward him.

Elbert: "Show me your face more."

His other hand cupped my cheek.

It might seem like a romantic gesture, but his eyes were anything but enchanted.

(It's as if he's evaluating an item.)

Kate: "Um, wait!"

(I have to shake him off, but...)

The kindness and sadness I saw today made me hesitate to reject him.

I had a feeling that as soon as I swatted his hand away, his pained expression would return.

(I don't want to hurt him.)

Kate: "Elbert!"

Alfons: "Oh? Are you finally going to resort to kidnapping and locking her up?"

Elbert: "Al."

Kate: "Alfons."

Alfons: "It's rare to see you interested in humans. Exploring new ground is a good attempt, though."

Alfons: "You're mistaken again."

Elbert: "..........."

Elbert's hands suddenly relaxed, releasing his hold on my hand.

At that moment, his whole body relaxed, like a spell had been lifted.

(What was that just now?)

Confused, I stared at him and saw his eyes had turned sorrowful again.

Elbert: “I’m sorry. Can you go back to the hall first?”

Kate: “Okay.”

(Elbert is kind, that’s for sure, but...)

(But that’s not all.)

Walking down the hallway, I squeezed the back of my hand where his lips touched mine with my other hand.

(Maybe I shouldn’t overstep.)

But his sad expression and his dark, obsessive look were burned into the back of my eyes, refusing to go away.

One morning sometime later, still reeling from that night, I walked down the dining hall and saw several delivered packages.

(Huh?)

I suddenly stopped when a birdcage containing a small bird with blue feathers caught my eye.

(That bird looks familiar.)

(Oh, right! It looks like the bird in that mansion I went to with Elbert and Alfons.)

Elbert: “What’s wrong?”

Kate: “Waah!?”

I was so surprised that I jumped up. When I turned around, I saw him tilting his head curiously.

Kate: “Nothing. Um...”

Kate: “I just thought that bird looked like the one I saw the other day.”

Elbert: "Oh, that?"

Elbert: "That's right. I took it from that mansion."

Elbert: "Beautiful things get broken easily, so I taxidermy it."

Kate: "What?"

He walked up to the birdcage and gently shook the edge of it with his beautiful fingers, but the bird didn't move.

Kate: "Why did you do that?"

Elbert: "Because you said you know how people feel about displaying stuff like this."

Elbert: "I thought I could understand it too, but I was wrong."

Elbert: "I guess this one's ruined, too."

I was speechless and struck with terrible sadness as I stared at the empty eyes of the silent bird in the birdcage.

(Don't overstep. I'm sure that my hunch isn't wrong.)

(But I'd like to know why.)

(I want to know why he had to do this, why he had to keep me away from sin, and why he looked so sad for the person he killed.)

(Because I find it hard to believe he could do this without being hurt or sad.)

Elbert: "Also, let me know if you see something beautiful."

(I still don't know anything about you)

-End-

Part 1╏Part 2╏Premium End╏Epilogue

#ikemen villains #ikemen villain #ikevil elbert #elbert greetia #alfons sylvatica #ikevil alfons #ikevil #ikevil jp #cybird #ikevil translations

[demis-alted]

@askingkyborg's main here to being you another emo chip mini fic! Spoilers for 33-36 and SHHH i know it doesnt make sense timeline wise because they go straight to the vampspire from town but shut up no they dont

this will be posted on ao3 when i fix my account btws!!

also also heavilyly implied OCD chip because yes <3

TW: Suicidal actions, ideation, etc. also minor disordered eating talk.

‘Care to spar with me, mon ami?” Chip looks up from the campfire at that point, maybe for the first time all day. His eyes focused up on Mathilde, the bird's eyes glinting softly. Of course, if Chip was honest with himself, that was a flat out no. Chip wasn't in the mood for being tactical, which is normally his thing. The only thing he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone. His brain has been on autopilot for the past two days and all he's done is sleep, eat and walk.

Chip isn't dumb. He knows mathilde is just trying to get him to do something, but what's even the point any more?

“Sure. I’ll spar, but we both know I'll lose.” The forced smile on his face wavers a bit.

Chip stands up, popping his back with a deep crackle. He sighs gingerly, and unlatches his arm blade. He knows I'd be smarter to use his crossbow if mathilde is going to fly, but it's not like he was intending to win. Chip is not a bad fighter, of course. No, he's actually quite good. It's just hard to think about when your mind is static and ocean foam.

Absently he loosens his neck, one of his habits that never ceased to leave him from years of assassin work. He always seems to have a crick in his neck, but it’s not really surprising. Chip had found himself in and out of jails, hostage situations, and attempted murder more times than he could shake a stick at. His body was a wheat maze of scars and old wounds, of torture and strain. But it was all part of the job, or at least that's the half assed excuse he gave himself.

The other part of Chip's fight ritual was coming into his surroundings. He followed mathildes movements in the clearing with lidded eyes, focusing in on the world for the first time since-...

Mathilde was moving cockily, as they almost always do. Slowly and elegant, feathers smoothed and freshly preened, it looks like. Chip raises his heels up off the ground, eyes narrowing in, trying to get lighter on his feet. His own body is different, and he feels less familiar with it. He's lost weight recently- not having eaten in a few days- too sick to his stomach from the previous weeks to even think about it. It wasn't a lot, but his shouldie hung off him in a different way. It made him wish he still had his D.A.G.A.R suit for training. His hand smelt like wild onions, and the rest of him like ash. He's been lighting the campfires with his tiefling abilities lately, instead of using his boy scout training from his childhood. Using that fire always drained him, but he can't help but be glad it helps him pass out at night rather than lie awake. He needed to sleep, to sleep, to dream and fight it off for a while. It's been his only time of peace for quite some time.

A few more seconds till the battle begins, mathilde is counting down, but he doesn't dare let the sound get into his ears. You focus on your target and your target alone when you fight. He’ll read their beaks movements for days instead of breaking his focus if he needs to.

Chip repositions, moving his left side forward. Not only is it the hand he's got his armblade on, but it helps hide his weak spot- the crossbow wounds still healing from the previous night. Barney had given him some healing in between, but in the night he'd gently picked at it. The red stains have always calmed him down, and on himself no different. Red meant alive still, red was the enemy, but red meant weakened and ready to die. To embrace the people they miss… so…so…bad.

Mathilde moves, battle begins. He knows they're saying something snarky but he's too tuned out to regard it. He's watching and commanding from third person, and that's just how he wants it. Bob down, weave right. Mathilde lands a firm noncorporeal blow to his face, and he gasps out a little, breaking part of his concentration. A smooth trickle of blood drips from a now busted lip, and chip can't help but smile.

The chipper killer. That's what people used to call him, back in the day. Always had a smile when he killed, made jokes and jabs. This was basically the same, just less lethal. A laugh busts through chips teeth, and he smiles. Mathilde obviously looks a little shocked by his reaction. 

Chip plants his left foot, pressing all of his weight on his toes and not his heels to keep him flighty. He takes a slash with his arm blade. His eyes shut, but fly back open in seconds. Mathilde has a sting of blood dripping from the cut over his chest, red plumage soaking even redder. Chip laughs, and he sounds wild. A snarky insult comes to his lips but he presses it down.He can't cause hesitation, you hesitate you die. He needs to get his target. 

Chips' eyes are blurry, and he can hardly make out the figure in front of him. He's used to shots in the dark though. The blurriness backs up, and a sneer falls into his face. Kill. His ears flicker down a bit, and he moves forward. The kill drive of his nature was seizing him, hands steady and brain calculated. A stab at the shadows, voice howling in his own skull. “DIE!” 

Blood was splattered onto his hands, and it didn't matter whos it was. There's shouting all around him. He wants his target dead. He wants everything to die. He wants to die-

“CHIIIPPP!” a high pitched squeak breaks his brain, and the haze fades. The dark shadows reform, and suddenly he sees mathilde, blood dripping down their front and hands in front of their face, not in cowardice but in preparation for attack. An attack from him. 

Chips eyes shoot down at ellga, who was the one who snapped him out of it. His arm blade glistened in the draining sun, wet blood still on it. He looks up at mathilde, and the bird gives a sympathetic look at the absolute horror streaked across Chip's face.

“Mathilde i am so-’ “Don't be sorry, we were sparing, you just got a little into it is all. im fine, barney can heal me right up-”

“Already on it” the old man blurts, but looks at Chip with a spike of fear that makes the tiefling want to dry heave. 

“I-I-”

Chip runs a hand through his hair, unable to talk. He knew his killing nature was catching back up to him with carol dying, but now he's going back to how he was. 

Chip stumbles a little, back into ellga. He jumps forward and turns, pulling his hands all the way away. Sweat beads down in a streak off his chin.

‘IM- i- I'm gonna go forage-!” Chip announces with his most normal smile, his fakest smile, and turns on his heel. Mathilde makes a noise like they're going to talk, but just sighs, and it wills Chip into walking even faster in the opposite direction. He stumbles his way down the hill, moving away from the patch of grass they'd been at and into the main town of vania. He bumps into every person there, and several ask him if hes alright from the blood on his hands and his face. They don't know him, they don't know he's a monster. They don't know he's a friend hurter, or that he's the reason his wife is dead. They don't know anything, so Chip doesn't say anything. He just walks.

By the time the sun starts setting, Chip doesn't even know where he is. Vania isn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but chip is already lost enough in his own mind to know where exactly he is in this unfamiliar place. After a while, he settles, tucked behind a building and hidden, breathing heavily.

He stares at the blood on his hands, and he twitches. Chip has never been a messy killer. Blood makes his hands itch, too wet then too dry. Dirty and disgusting. As much as he hates the smell of bleach, he always uses it for crime scenes. Blood was too dirty. Filthy, nasty, and wrong. He's been nervously rubbing his hands for hours, the blood mainly off, but still feeling like it's on there. He rubs some more at it, and curses under his breath.

He hurt his friend. 

He's a bad omen. An omen of death.

He's killed hundreds.

He's a bad person. An omen of death.

He's the reason his wife is dead.

He's a bad husband. An omen of death.

He's the real problem.

A monster. An omen of death. 

Why does he even bother being ALIVE? 

Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair and then wincing. Now that's contaminated too. Everything about him is dirty and wrong. Tears threaten his eyes, pushing into the corners and making a soft noise as they roll over his cheeks.Days of lapsing suicidal urges and injuries have snapped him into a terrible, terrible place.  Softly he presses his forehead onto his knees, feeling the cool scared up skin over his hot face.

He's not sure how long he rests but his dreams are uncomfortable. Swirling memories of killings past. Bad bad memories. They never bothered him before, but now he knows what it's like to lose somebody. Now he knows how much of a monster he really is. 

He's only ever startled awake by voices. Mushing noises of high and low pitches. He opened his eyes, and they flooded over with brightness. He stifled a groan, headache and ready airdropping into his skull and ears ringing like a kenku scream. His eyes focus, and he sees several balls of gleaming light, and his party in front of them. 

“What is tarnation…?” he grumbles, and the light speckles vanish, the sun's last entrails covered by mathilde spreading their wings. His eyes go up to his team mates who are staring at him with worry in their eyes. He winces distantly, feeling a spike of guilt as he sees mathildes feathers pushed out of place and puffed up. 

‘Oh.. uh… hey guys..” He rubs the back of his now sore neck.

“Chip crétin! Je devrais avoir ton visage pour ça, pourquoi diable m'enfuirais-tu comme ça, Ellga était inquiète, Barney était inquiet, j'étais inquiet d'avoir crié à haute voix ! Ce n'est pas si mal, je vais bien, c'est bien!” mathilde scolds in panicked sounding French, grabbing Chip by the collar of his hoodie and yanking him up.

 Ellga huffs. “Why’d you run off? It's fine! You two were having fun! It was a play fight. It's not real! Mathildes is not dead- well, they are, but it's unrelated!”

“I-” chip sighs heavily, shutting his eyes a bit. “You're right. Sorry. I guess…” chip searches for the words in his head, scrambling to think of what to say. Tiredness flushes over him in a wave, and he lets out a sigh, throwing his hands up. He lets his head embrace the wall behind him, and his horns click on it. 

‘I'm just.. I'm just so..so..tired.” he gives. “I didn't mean to hurtcha’ mathilde, I just got lost in my own head. Guess my…killer ways are catching up with me…” “Well you’d never intentionally hurt any of us. You told me coming into town that you're a good assassin.” Barney tries to encourage, but chips heart falls. “Yeah, well…is there really such a thing?I'm still a murderer” he chokes, and his body tingles with the feeling of blood splats from past kills all surging up and bubbling under his purple skin.

“Nonsense. Words are all made up, mon ami. One isn't worse than another. An assassin is a profession, and a murderer is apparently a death sentence to ‘za living. It dos’ant matt’ar! Those titles don't dictate who you a’hre, the people who love you do. And I say you're perfectly fine. We all do bad t’ings sometimes.” Chip sighs at mathildes word, ever wise in their later later years. “I suppose.” he says, not at all convinced. Ellga frowns, and it makes Chip want to bury his head in the vanian dirt. She turns to the alchemist, who Chip had almost forgotten about.

“Mr alchemist, do you have any cures for sadness?” “Not…quite, ellga, but i have somethings that may help, if chip here is willing.” The room pauses, and all eyes form onto Chip. “Awh, what da heck..?”

“Give me your arm blade.”

“What?” Chip stares at Robert like he's crazy. “Just hand it to me.” Chip sighs, and unties the arm band to it and tosses it over to the alchemist, who catches deftly. He looks at it for a moment, and then tucks it into his bag.

“How's that supposed to help? That's my best stealth weapon.'' Chip finds himself grumbling.

“Exactly. That way if you try to hurt yourself, you don't have anything silent to do it with.”

“Oh.” He momentarily wants to fight off the claim, but the arrow wounds in his foot and his lower neck burn with a shot of pain to remind him. 

“Okay.”

“Besides that-” Robert continues momentarily, digging around in his bag, tophat sliding down his head, “I've got a potion I want you to try. It should help.”

He extends out a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Chip extends a gloved hand, and takes it. He removes the cap with a pop, and tips it back. He drains the liquid in a quick motion, and wipes the corner of his mouth.

“I don't feel any different. I just feel really tired and useless, mainly.” He says, and his head flinches back at his own words. Robert smiles, and taps the vile.

“Truth telling serum. Now you can't hide anything from us.” he pats his shoulder as he chuckles.

Chip goes to scold, but realises everything would get turned on its head when he says it. 

Mathilde snickers. "There isn't any way to heal depression with a potion, but now our too clever rogue cant hide anything from us.”

“You guys are my favourite people.” chip sighs, exasperatedly. Ellga squeezes his hand.

“Come on, let's go to the vampspire. Maybe seeing my home will cheer you up.”

“Yeah… maybe it will.”

#tales from the stinky dragon #stinky dragon pod #chip haney #barney farney #mathilde confiseuse #ellga von brath #mini fic

[neverchecking]

I know genderbent! reader was sort of a touch and go thing, I just want to add in my two-cents bc I'm a firm fan of topping and if I was given a penis Hylia herself could not save these boys from the whore I'd become. I still use he/him for the boys bc gender swapping is a slippery slope and I merely want to smash.

The focus was Koridai and Courage so I'm going to keep it on them. Spoilers: I didn't

tw/cw: NSFW, boys being a bit creepy, but this is yandere so that's to be expected, a bit of voyeurism for the triplets.

______

Those two are fucking menaces to reader, trying to pull out all stop for just the tip, holy hell that tip.

You bet your ass they're trying to pull all stops to guess the color, they didn't even try this hard to save Hyrule. I imagine that the two are a begrudging duo due to the fact that they probably joined the group at around the same time, also because of their overall cringe nature, birds of a feather and all that. While the other, more competent members are trying to find a way to reverse whatever this was those two are teaming up to try and get laid.

The vast majority of it isn't very smooth either. "Oh no, a snake bit you on your inner thigh, don't worry, I'll suck the venom out for you~" Courage winks, meanwhile Reader's just looks at him blankly, said snake nowhere to be seen.

They get smack upside the head multiple times by the other, more contained, members of the group (both not wanting to make reader more uncomfortable in any way, and also not wanting those two to be the one's reader sleeps with). Eventually though, they try to strike when reader is alone (good luck), trying to 'discreetly' use their bodies in order to entice reader to take a bit into them.

"holy hell is it hot in here!"

"...put your tiddies away"

"it's nothing you haven't seen before~"/"make me~"

I'm half tempted to make reader a little shit, tired of their advances that seemingly doubled since the shift, and just approach Hyrule one night like "I'm here to make an offer".

They refuse to hide it too. Reader just walk back to the camp smugly with a very happy Hyrule following behind they're so sick. Hyrule definitely has a hit on his back after this, but he can't seem to care when you allow him to sleep in your bedroll for the night. Maybe he can even stay next to you for protection while you guys travel🥺.

Maybe the pair manage to wear reader down. Koridai actually being quiet for once as reader rests against a tree or something, skillfully sliding his head against your thigh, resting right next to them. Reader accepts the fate, running their fingers through his hair, ignoring how their breath hitches the closer he moves his head towards their crotch.

Not to get too into it, but I imagine he (and by extension, other Link's) suck dick the same way they eat pussy: by trying to literally kill themselves with it. He doesn't even remember how Reader's cock got out, but the weight of it in his mouth nearly makes him finish. The motherfucker barely gets any air with the way he gags himself around it, forcing himself forward until his nose is buried against Reader's crotch, making the fingers in his air tighten.

Reader isn't necessarily getting any air either, not with the way Courage grips their hair, pulling them into a deep kiss and unashamedly moaning into their mouth.

He hates that he's not the one pleasing reader, but Kori had gotten there first, and if the two fought that reader would absolutely leave. No worries, he may not have been the first but he would most certainly be the best.

---

Also as I was writing this I kept thinking about Sage and how he wouldn't stand for that taking place, so here I am finally giving the walking red flag some attention.

Only it's to immediately cuck him because I have favorites and it's not him.

You bet your ass he would 100% be Reader's #1 defender against those two, and maybe reader thanks him with a gift of their own, something a bit more personal.

Or maybe he's just as bad as they are once he realizes that it's working, and reader just gets sick of it.

"Hey Wild, can you do me a favor really quick"

Wild has never moved faster in his entire life, fuck dinner he's getting laid.

Wild's not quiet, he's not muffling his moans out of embarrassment like Hyrule would, he's probably fucking amplifying them. He wants everyone to know just how good he feels, his hole stretching around Reader's cock as he swallows them in greedily.

Wild's flexible, do with that what you will.

I can't even say Sage is punching the air, that man is beyond pissed that Wild, that failure, managed to be blessed with Reader's body and he didn't. No one will know peace, sorry. Reader take one for the team and just do it.

I think that everyone is sleeping on Calamity though, that's my baby, full set of uncomfortable armour and all.

He would seek reader out a bit more, not being able to properly get used to his new form, even if it was only temporary. He may not tell them the particular problem, but reader can see that he's a bit troubled and needs a bit more care than usual. Does Cal use this to his advantage? Who knows, he doesn't say.

Maybe he and reader sleep in the same bedroll (or room if you want privacy), their forms pressed up against eachother. Cal buries his face into their shoulder as Reader's hands trace across his body, humming a bit or quietly talking to calm him down. Only, it has the opposite effect and it's only riling him up.

It's taking a bit long, so all of this to say: Cal whimpers.

No bc Anon thank you for bringing this back I need to talk about this.

Add in all your two cents because I would also become the biggest whore.

Now, Courage and Koridai.

These two are the worst. Not only are they, loudly might I add, guessing the tip color, no, their adding details.

"I bet they have the nicest curve."

"Veiny for sure."

"I'm sure I can't even wrap my hand around it!" Shit like that. They're putting their whole bussies into it. Hyrule who? Nah, they're tryna figure out how many inches.

When it comes to Courage and Koridai, I also imagine them a duo bc, everyone else has been there much longer and...let's be honest. Those two are just so cringe they need to entertain each other when Reader simply needs a break. And while everyone is probably on the down low tryna get laid, these two's first priority is dick first, then we'll see what happens.

They're so clunky with it it. "I'm not great at holding conversations, so lemme hold your dick instead :D".

Reader is just O-O.

They for sure get smacked like every time their mouth opens bc everyone just knows something stupid is gonna come out of it. They don't even need to wait to know.

I imagine them bold enough to wait until their alone. Just straight up stripping whenever they feel like it. Like oh, Reader is talking to Twilight? Shirts coming off. Sitting with Legend? Pants are gone. Playing a card game with Four and Time? They are all but throwing themselves into Reader, in nothing but underwear.

Honestly, Reader whose so done with everyone's shit is my jam. Especially one that just goes to Hyrule and is like 'wanna fuck?'. Fairy boy is all over it. He would be such a pretty girl too. I just know it. And I know you said Reader is smug, but picture if you will, Reader who is just blank faced while Hyrule is on cloud fucking nine. He's sticking right next to Reader, where they can't touch him. He's not even asking, he's just in your bedroll waiting for you. He's following you everywhere. congrats Reader, you just got yourself a new shadow!

Should the pair manage to wear reader down, it's probably when their separated from the rest of the chain. It's a slow process, going down as slow as possible while Reader is possibly reader or sum, only to gasp and grab his hair because suddenly his mouth his hovering over their new dick.

They all eat dick the same way they eat pussy. For sure. If they're not suffocating just a bit, they're not doing it right. Koridai is practically cumming the second he gets a taste. Air? Haven't heard of it. Just dick. :).

And with Courage capturing their lips and silencing any protests? Reader stands no chance.

And your foolish to thing courage isn't down there the second Koridai is lettin gup, licking his lips while Reader's still reeling. Like you said, he has to prove he's the best.

Now, Sage. My lovely sage. I'm always here to give my mans some love. <3

Because I have favorites and one of them is him lmao

He's their new guard dog even with this new form. Now, as we said prior, Sage is good at getting pity. So not only does he have gloom, but now he has this whole new thing going on and he has no idea how to work around it.

The second Reader even mentions Wild, Sage is whipping around like 'excuse tf outta you?' And should Wild get to Reader first, Sage is L I V I D. Bc now he has to feed the other fuck heads and he's stuck listening to that tick have the time of his life.

In fact, he's probably thinking of all the ways he can be better. He would do anything Reader Asks. And since Wild is so flexible, so is Sage.

Reader is taking one for the team no matter what man bc Sage is a menace to the group. The biggest brat when he doesn't get his way. So, c'mon Reader, just let him suck you off as a treat. :)

NOW CAL MY BABY BOY-

He is another one who's using the pity card. He's pouting and giving puppy dog eyes because 'his armor doesn't fit right anymore :(' and 'how does this body part even work??? :('

He's fidgeting with his outfit constantly, making it obvious that he's uncomfortable, but it's all just a rouse to get Reader closer. To get them right there where he needs them. He and Hyrule are throwing fucking hands to sleep in your bedroll with you even though Wild and Sage have already done so.

Cal is for sure letting Reader explore his new body for him. Explaining why this feels so good or why that will eventually turn into something good. Cal is giving himself so whole-heartedly just to get a taste of that dick as well.

Because yes. Cal Whimpers because Cal is a bottom.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. :D

#cinder rambles #Cal is a bottom #spread the word #genderbent reader