#it might be the wings. bird boy.

[chambers003]

i think i prefer hermitcraft grian to traffic grian tbh

[savvylittlecoxswain]

“Not in tune yet. I’ll get ’em there, Coach.”

[doctorbrown]

❝That's an impressive flying machine!❞ Emmett shouts appreciatively over at @aercnaut as Kaira circles around the basket for a complete look. A shock of wavy white hair sticks out from beneath the dark hat he keeps pressed to his head against the breeze rolling in, but the prospect of possibly losing his hat to the wind doesn't dampen his enthusiasm.

❝You're not having trouble with it, are you? I might be able to offer some assistance if needed!❞

sc.

[lxvebun]

kiss it better!

synopsis: you know better than to try and hide your wounds from them, however small it may be know that they are more than ready to take care of you. Aka jjk boys caring for your injuries

buns notes: I had a part for Gojo and Nanami as well but found myself getting stuck on it. Perhaps they'll come later but for now enjoy Geto and Sukuna♡.

content:Geto/Sukuna x gender neutral reader. fluff/hurt comfort. Soft Defect/cultish!geto (idk what to call it jejjd just canon suguru) canon violence. Blood. Lovesick/soft ish sukuna as always🤭. Not entirely proofread I am sleepy. Eng is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes!!

Suguru

"Did you really think you could hide that from me, my darling?" Suguru coos. His voice deep and honeyed, overly thick and sweet as he tries to swallow down the urge to demand, to interrogate the cause of the gash on the side of your forehead.

It would do you no good to see that side of him, especially in this state you're in. Trying to hide the tiny rivers of blood trickling down your face, droplets sinking into the wooden floors beneath your feet. He doesn't want you to feel a sliver of fear anywhere near him.

And he's good usually at maintaining his composure. Even if his mind is already twisting into something darker and cruel. but God, the thought of someone, whether Human, Sorcerer, or curse hurting you makes him physically sick. The blood pooling in his mouth from biting his tongue does not help either.

"I'm okay, Suguru." you breathe out, a little labored, not necessarily from the dull ache on the side of your head.

You're not afraid of him, could never be, he's good to you and you see how hard he tries. Fragments of a younger, more carefree suguru slipping through at times. But something twists in your gut as the sparkle fades from his eyes and his gaze zeroes in on your injury. You know what goes on in his head. Thoughts as black and dark as spilled ink swallowing up all the light that left unless he pulls back quick enough. It's a venomous spiderweb that's hard to get out of

Fortunately, he does. Your voice luring him back almost like a Siren's whisper, from what's going on inside his head.

It takes him a few seconds to orientate himself. A few deep breaths and fluttering of eyelashes before he can tear his gaze away from the cut and look into your eyes.

Gentle and careful hands slide under your jaw. His tumb wiping away some of the blood. Rough hands still feeling light and safe. As if he were cradling a bird with a broken wing in his hands. 

(it makes you melt a little more into him.)

It's not a deep cut, not deep enough for stitches at least. It may leave a light scar unless he gets someone to heal it for you. Then again, you have refused that option in the past, trying to maintain somewhat of normality in your life

He can't blame you for that, but he's also not sure what to do..

"Tell me what you need, my darling." It comes out a little desperate

(As if he might succumb if you don't tell him what you desire right now)

"Help me clean up," you begin, knowing he wants to be with it every step of the way. To nurse you back to health "and then you can kiss it better for me while we watch some movies, hmm? :)"

He closes his eyes for a second, your head still cradled in his hands, his touch a bit more relaxed, a little less delicate but still comforting. And then he opens them again, a gentle smile playing on his lips, and the sparkle in his eyes reignited.

He's back

(If he notices the way your shoulders relax, he doesn't comment on it.)

"Of course, my love"

Sukuna

You know better than to hide your injuries from him. It would be foolish of you to even attempt to deceive him. You're part of him now, intertwined into his soul. He's mapped out every little detail of you. He picks up on the slightest shifts in your mood and tone. Hears the hitch in your breath if something surprises you, knows exactly how you achieved the seemingly random bruises on your legs and has memorized the healthy beating pattern of your heart. So even before you pushed open the heavy wooden doors to his chambers, he could hear your labored breathing and smell the blood staining your skin..

His voice booms around the chamber, as you finally open the door. It's loud and aggrivated. Shaking the walls. Dripping in venom and laced in a desperation only you'd be able to pick up on as he calls out Uraume's name. The sight of you bloodied and teary eyed is almost enough to make him fall to his knees. You don't know that his heart has molded into the shape of a chapel dedicated to you. Filled with every little detail of you. brimming with gold and laced with utter adoration and devotion. He'll kneel until his spine breaks and his knees crack against the floor below him if you'd just tell him who could possibly dare to do this to you

He lifts you up and carries you to his bed before his knees give out under him. His grip a little too tight, a little too bruising even for those few seconds. Afraid you'd slip right out of his arms if he doesn't hold you close enough. You can basically feel the blood boiling in his veins, turning into rivers of lava under his skin.

He doesn't make eye contact as he gently lays you down on the bed.

(Perhaps because you've always been good at reading him, perhaps because he'll fear what he'll do if he catches sight of anymore blood)

.....

The gash on your side is healing nicely, thank Uraume for their steady hands. Sukuna would have done it, but all his eyes would have focused on would be the blood staining your robes, trickling out of the wound in steady flows and your teary eyes. He wouldn't have been able to keep his touch delicate enough to heal you properly. To engrossed in the thoughts of punishment and cruelty to keep the violence from bleeding into his touch. He's never forgive himself if he'd hurt you. Even accidentally.

(He lost control once in the heat of passion. Kissed you a bit to roughly with sharpened teeth. It's nothing compared to what he can do. He is the king of curses after all. God to some, an abomination of nature to most. Still, He filed them down ever since.)

He made sure to stay and watch before he goes out and track down the filth that did this. He trusts Uraume, undoubtely so, but he wants to see Your wounds disappear and the blood wash off of your skin with his own eyes

Healing someone with a curse technique feels similar to getting stitches as the skin gets closed back together. He knows it's normal but Hells, every flinch, every little twitch you make as the skin heals make his hands itch to dig into the chest of whoever did this to you, ears already ringing at the begs and pleas for mercy and he personally deals with the parasite that dared to put their hands on someone even the king of curses himself bows down to.

How incredibly foolish of them.

"Well, that should be it" Uraume's voice snaps him out of his trance. He watches as they bow down to you, even after many many times of you telling them they don't have to and turn to him. "I'll go get some clean robes" bowing down once more, and leave the chambers.

The room falls silent again. He's becoming a little restless. Eyes trailing over your form before glancing at the door, going back and forth between you. Trying to decide what his next move should be

"Stay, please". You whisper. The adrenaline gone from your body

You make up his mind for him.

He's on you the second those words left your lips. His anger leaving him...for now. He keeps it at the back of his mind. Your wishes are more important than seeking revenge. Revenge can wait. You don't have to

He asks you how you're feeling as he wraps his arms around you, cradling your head to his chest as he lays down on the bed next to you. You make the mistake of being truthful

"Its a little sore-"

he's up again before you can even finish your sentence, ignoring the whine falling from your lips as he removes his arms from around you

"There should be some freshly gathered herbs in the kitchen today" he begins as lines it to the door

"Sukuna-"

"I can concoct something that should dull the soreness in a heartbeat-" his hand already on the door handle

"Ryomen."

He stops abruptly. Turning to look at you over his shoulder. Keeping his hand against the door. Waiting for you to finish your sentence

"I don't want a herbal concotion"

His brows furrow together, surprisingly cute for a being like him. He turns to you fully, slowly pacing back to the bed

"What is it that you desire then, my love?"

He almost sounds nervous, eyes wide and eager to hear of your demands so he can fullfill them. "Is there another potion you'd like, do you-" he begins to ramble again. You cut him off

"I think a kiss would be sufficient enough actually, my lord~♡"

His words die in his throat. Worry melting into a more stoic expression as he looks at you with what you can only describe as 'are you serious' Your laugh at the shift in his expression, gods that beautiful angelic sound, quickly breaks his into a gentle smile. Heart calming down.

"If thats what you need who am I to refuse?"

You look more than content, a state he wants to keep you in forever, as he leans over you on the bed. Matress bending under his weight as he places one hand next to your head, the other slowly cuping your face as he dips down to lock your lips with his

(He could kiss you forever, if you'd let him)

"Better?"

He doesn't bother to pull away, instead choosing to speak against your lips. Eyes soft and breath hot against you.

"I think I need a higher dosage actually~♡"

RAAAA thank you for reading angels!!♡

[zhongrin]

“honey, can you… get us a pet?”

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, childe, tighnari, kaveh, pantalone, cyno

◇ tags ◇ fluff, crack, dragon!li

◇ a/n ◇ all i want in life is a zhongli and a al haitham with their chosen pets is that really too much to ask

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli, predictably, brings back a dog. before you ask, it’s a very normal dog that isn’t the size of a mountain and is unable to control the elements. it’s a common house pet, a sign of luck and auspiciousness, plus he’s a very good boy!

………. just. don’t coddle rex jr. too much, okay? rex sr. is still a half-dragon after all.

al haitham brings back a pot of some rare plant he got at the grand bazaar... what? plants are pets too. an even better version, he argues, especially since this particular one should bear small edible fruits when they grow enough. plus, they’re quiet and will let him read in peace.

hey, it’s your fault for never specifying what kind of pet you wanted him to get.

childe brings back an otter. where did he get it? no one knows. don’t ask. where will he put it? uhhh. no worries, he’ll put the otter in your bathtub for now, but he’ll commission someone to dig up a pool for them to float around! it’ll be fineeee!

tighnari sits you down and lectures you about the responsibilities of a pet owner for two straight hours to make sure you truly understand what you’re asking of him first. adopting a pet is a huge step in your life and he wants to make sure you fully understand what you’re getting into.

plus, you might want to take into consideration that your fox hybrid lover inherits that territorial behavior from his ancestors…?

kaveh jumps at the opportunity. to him, that’s like you’re giving him the green light on bringing animals home. a mistake on your part, honestly.

it’s day three and you’re now housing: an unexpectedly tame dendro slime with a withered flower on its head, two very weakened and starving desert foxes, one forest fox with one eye, and a little bird with a broken wing.

good luck.

pantalone merely chuckles yet the very next day you find the most elegant, purebred siberian forest cat delivered straight to your lavish shared abode’s doorstep. she’s groomed to perfection, well-trained, and a joy to be around.

the most beautiful cat for the most breathtaking person in his life - he thinks it’s very fitting.

cyno unexpectedly brings back a rabbit; a snow-white furred darling with ruby-red eyes that fits on top of your palm. such an innocent-looking, wee little being has become a lethal weapon in cyno’s hand. whenever you deny him of something, you will now see two pairs of eerily similar-colored eyes looking up at you with wet bunny eyes.

darn it.

like father like son, you suppose.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

[hollowtakami]

HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.

[pucksandpower]

Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They’re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

[iawaaaaaa]

sunday x fem!reader | in your embrace

Synopsis: Trying to keep your relationship with Sunday private is... really hard. But being in his embrace at night makes up for everything.

Genres: Fluff, Secret relationship, both of you are smitten.

iara's note :: sunday.,,,,,, im so sane for this man,,,, im not btw

"Ms. L/N! Ms. L/N! Do you mind sharing details on your relationship with Mr. Sunday?" A journalist once asked you as you were getting out of the practice room with Robin.

"Me and Mr. Sunday's relationship is strictly professional. I am nothing more than Robin's voice teacher, so please do not ask me that question." You responded back with showing 0 emotion.

If anyone else was with you, they would think you were feeling uncomfortable but Robin...

Robin knew you were internally panicking.

Exactly when you were getting bombarded with other questions, our 'Chicken wing boy' was also being interviewed.

"Mr. Sunday. A lot of us are rather... intrigued by your relationship with Ms. L/N. Do you mind sharing some details about it?

Sunday hummed. "Ms. L/N is a wonderful person. Robin has learned a lot since the day Ms. L/N took her under her wing. However, our relationship with each other is strictly professional and will always be."

"Hm... thank you for answering us. Now! On to the next question..."

If anyone were to see Sunday's expression, they'd think that his feelings towards Ms. L/N were unrequited and he still is deeply wounded by it.

No one knows that deep inside, he was relieved.

Now you might be asking - "Why are they panicking over a question?"

The answer is quite simple, actually.

Mrs. Y/N and Mr. Sunday are too smitten to lie about not being together.

Before you and Sunday got together, you were still considered as a rookie in the industry. Sunday noticed how captivating your singing range was and ultimately became head over heels for your voice

Just like how a man would feel towards a siren's voice, correct?

...Except you wouldn't use your voice to kill him, mind that.

You were also impressed by how Sunday could balance work-life and social-life and ultimately became head over heels for him too.

Cheesy? Not to them!

Going back to present time -

You and Sunday were peacefully in each other's arms in your shared bedroom while you were humming a lullaby your mother always hummed to you when you were still a child.

"How was the interview?" You softly told him. "It was alright, until they asked me if I were your partner..." Sunday replied with a hint of theatrical. You giggled a bit while saying "They also asked me that too."

"My bird, I am very tired of denying our relationship." He said.

"My angel, I am too. But remember this is for the sake of our families and your status." You told him back with a hint of sadness. You yawned a little as you slowly drifted to sleep.

"I love you. So so much that I do not care about my status if it means I can show you my love towards you anywhere." He softly said as he opened his eyes to gaze at your sleeping form.

"Just wait my sweet bird, until I can create a world where we're free together."

@2024 iara, do not translate my works nor repost them as yours.

[icycoldninja]

the DMC boys (Dante, Vergil, Nero, V) finding out reader is pregnant???

Sparda boys + V x Pregnant!Fem!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Freaks the hell out--not out of disappointment or anger or anything like that, but out of excitement.

-Immediately starts researching dad jokes so he and Vergil can have a "dad-off" to see who can be cornier.

-Also helps you decorate and stuff, giggling and laughing the entire time.

-Talks a lot about his plans for the baby; how he wants to be a better dad than his was, how he wants to prepare it for demon hunting, and how he wants to train it to insult Vergil on sight.

-He's also got a whole-ass list of pranks to pull with the baby prepared, from chucking water balloons at your unsuspecting neighbors to TP-ing the neighborhood houses.

-Other than that clearly childish mischief, Dante's already rocking the "middle aged dad" vibes so he'll do fine.

■ Vergil ■

-His first thought was: "Oh no, not again."

-Vergil was legitimately afraid of having another child after what happened with Nero and his unknown mother, however, you managed to convince him that this would be different and that you wouldn't be going anywhere.

-Vergil had a lot of nightmares and troubled dreams the next few weeks. Though his heart wanted to believe you, his damaged mind had other plans, which it revealed to him in the form of horrible visions.

-With your help, and a lot of time, he got over these dark thoughts and began to see the light in having another child.

-Though he wouldn't dare speak it aloud, Vergil was convinced that the baby would reunite the Sparda family once and for all: Nero would finally have a sibling whom he'd want to visit, allowing Vergil to spend more time with his son, and since he, Nero, and the new baby would all be together, Dante would naturally join in and the boys could be bros again.

-After having that revelation, Vergil became noticeably more excited for the baby's birth.

□ Nero □

-Nero is excited but terrified.

-He's more than happy to learn you're expecting, but since he's so young, he's worried he won't make a good dad. You'd think he'd ask his parents for help, but no...he never knew his mom and his dad is less than pleasant.

-So, what does he do? Nothing. He puts his hood up and sits on the couch, doing nothing in tense silence.

-After an hour or so of brooding, he decides, fuck it, he's gonna wing it and be the best dad the Sparda bloodline will ever see.

-He proudly announces this fact over dinner at Devil May Cry, eliciting mixed responses, particularly from the soon-to-be-grandpa.

-You and Nero will be excellent parents who raise a happy, healthy child, he'll see to that.

● V ●

-Doesn't even know what being pregnant means, and can you really blame him? The only piece of literature he's ever read is William Blake's poetry, it's a miracle he can tie his shoes. Oh wait, he wears sandals.

-Griffon knows, somehow, and explains what it is. The minute the realization dawns upon him is the minute his eyes widen, his mouth drops open, and he nearly passes out.

-A baby, a real life baby is brewing gestating in your tummy and it's his?! He helped make life!? What?!

-V is ecstatic! He can't wait to read this baby bedtime stories, sing it lullabies, and rock it to sleep.

-Even his familiars are preparing; Griffon is ready to give it a light show with his magic and Shadow keeps bringing dead birds as gifts.

-V might be a complete noob when it comes to living life, but hey, so is your baby, so they can figure things out together.

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

[youryurigoddess]

“The farthing… has vanished”

Remember that line from the Nazi Zombie Flesheaters minisode? Sick and twisted. And we need to talk about the reason why, even though the magic trick in question is nowhere near as spectacular as the Bullet Catch. Let’s start with a quick recap:

The farthing was a British coin worth one quarter of a penny, discontinued in 1961 due to its plummeting worth. The reverse featured the image of a wren, one of Britain’s smallest songbirds with plumage in rather drab shades of beige and brown. Reminding you of someone?

A popular design of a sixpence, the bigger coin in this set, minted in the 1920s and 30s depicted oak branches with acorns. Which means that seen from close quarters, so basically Crowley’s perspective, Aziraphale’s vanishing coin trick leaves empty branches with no bird in sight.

As if that image wasn’t traumatizing enough for almost everyone in the Good Omens fandom post S02E06, the etymology of wren’s name in most European languages refers to royalty in some way. Like a literal king or otherwise supreme bird. That’s why killing a wren or harassing its nest is traditionally associated with bad luck. In certain parts of France it’s still believed that the robbing of a wren’s nest will render the culprit liable to be struck by lightning.

In Irish the wren is called a trickster, which connects to the ancient (as in: mentioned by Aristotle, Aesop, and Pliny) fable on how wren became crowned in the first place — by proving that intellect beats strength:

On one occasion a general assembly of birds resolved to chose for their king that bird which could mount highest into the air. This the eagle apparently did, and all were ready to accept his rule when a loud burst of song was heard, and perched upon the eagle’s back was seen an exultant wren that, a stowaway under its wing, had been carried aloft by the kingly candidate. The trickiness angered the eagle so much, says one tradition, that he struck the wren with his wing, which, since then, has been able to fly no higher than a hawthorn-bush. (Ernest Ingersoll)

In art and folklore this little bird symbolizes rebirth, immortality, protection, and the promise of spring. As a luckbringer it was supposedly present at the stable in Bethlehem when Christ was born; and and Irish proverb runs: “The robin and the wren are God’s two holy men.”

But there’s also a catch. According to legends, it was the flapping of the wings or the song of the wren that betrayed the first Christian martyr, Saint Stephen, while hiding from the mob, and led to his stoning by the Sanhedrin — the highest tribunal consisting of the Head Priest and the Jewish elders.

That’s why December 26, his remembrance day, is celebrated in the UK and Ireland as Wren Day. Its highlight was a traditional bird hunt, where the wren as king of the birds was hunted and subsequently paraded through the town and rural areas on top of a pole or holly branch, decorated with ribbons and colored paper, as a substitute of the ancient human sacrifice of the Year King for winter solstice. The wren boys still travel from door to door singing, dancing, and playing music, demanding money to “bury the wren”, but fortunately no more animals are harmed in the process.

With Aziraphale being chosen as the new Supreme Archangel and literally disappearing from the face of the earth in the season finale, his becoming a scapegoat or a sacrifice to a greater, communal goal might be a real possibility when something goes wrong with the Second Coming. The good news is that this level of danger should be enough to get the Ineffable Husbands back on speaking terms.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"She is not a bird" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

In a colourful dress, she busses around, Time and time she turns her head, gives a smile, You could swear you saw her wings yesterday, How she hid them under the dress, But she’s not a bird, Can’t you see? She is not a bird.

Hvitserk has no interest in medicine or healing. Despite that, he has found himself watching one of the healers as she’s running back and forth between beds. She’s been at it for hours now and Hvitserk begins to wonder how come she’s not tired yet. Her feet and hands are equally quick as they had been when they arrived at the camp after the battle. The mesmerising glint in her eyes, something between curiosity and adoration, is still just as bright. Whenever one of the wounded warriors wants to talk to her, she sits at the edge of their bed. Her head nods gently before her lips curl into a reassuring smile and she says something in return. Maybe she’ll even chuckle at something. From where he’s standing, Hvitserk can’t make out her words but he can quite clearly see the faces of the people she’s talking to and it makes his curiosity consume him entirely to know what words turn agony into peace.

Lost in his own thoughts, the young Viking doesn’t notice jarl Friedgeir approaching him. 

“Enchanting, isn’t she?” he asks with a smirk. He’s seen this scenario one too many times to have any doubts about what Hvitserk is thinking about. Friedgeir himself has been in that very same position before.

Friedgeir Esrason is nimble for his age. White and silver hair circles his tired face like a halo. Sun-damaged skin makes him appear even older, although fuller of life. It’s a testimony of long days spent on adventures, seeing what the world has to offer. Despite nearing grandfather’s age, his torso is broad and his arms are about the size of a shieldmaiden’s thigh. Brass bracelets clink every time he moves his hands. The purple material of his tunic is clearly worn out, tearing in places of the most friction.

“She is,” Hvitserk admits.

Jarl puts his heavy hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. For a moment, the young warrior wonders if Friedgeir could actually crush his bones should he squeeze his fingers a little tighter. 

“Can I entrust a secret to you, son of Ragnar?” Friedgeir asks in a low tone. His grey eyes look around the two of them as though expecting to find a prying set of ears. Everyone besides them appeared too preoccupied with their own duties and worries to care about the gossip shared between the Jarl and the famous Lothbrok boy.

Hvitserk looks at the older man with a frown.

“My brothers and I have risked our lives for your cause, Jarl Friedgeir,” he reminds the ruler. “I have no interest in breaking your trust. You know that already.”

“Good.” Friedgeir pats Hvitserk’s shoulder. He must be unaware of his strength as the gentle slaps are actually quite forceful, making Hvitserk answer his own question about crushing bones. Friedgeir can definitely turn someone’s skeleton into dust with a squeeze. “My wife mustn’t ever hear what I’m about to tell you. That girl…” he makes a pause and points his finger at the healer, “I think she might be a bird.”

Taken aback, Hvitserk looks up and down the Jarl.

“Did the Swedes hit you on the head?” he asks half-heartedly.

“I wish it was that. But no.” Friedgeir laughs bitterly and shakes his head. A shadow of melancholy flies past his sun-damaged face only to reside inside his silver eyes as a teary glint. “I always knew there was something strange about her but I came to understanding only after seeing the great viziers of the East and their pets locked in golden cages.”

Hvitserk glances towards the healer. His eyes follow her like hawk in hopes of some enlightenment that would make Friedgeir’s words clearer to him. Alas, she appears as she did before - enticing and human.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

The Jarl lets out a sigh.

“Just look, dear Hvitserk. See the colourful dress like a parrot’s feathers.” Hvitserk has never heard of something called a parrot, so he is left to assume that they must look nothing like the birds in Norway. “And look at men’s faces when she talks to them. Pain and suffering change into hope and peace. The only time I’ve seen that was when one of the viziers asked his angry guests to listen to his oriole singing. After an hour, no one remembered what they were fighting about.”

Time as if slows down as Hvitserk is watching the healer sit on the edge of a cot belonging to a dying man. She holds his hand tightly and tirelessly wipes cold sweat from his forehead. The warrior is stuttering, fever and pain making his wants incomprehensible. The woman sitting beside him only nods her head, offering a warm smile and a short response. Soon, the man falls limp. His eyes turn blank as his head rolls lifelessly to the side. The healer squeezes the corpse’s hand and only then gets up to continue her work. A pair of healthy warriors wrap up the body in blankets only to carry it away, to the place where a great pyre will burn after nightfall.

Hvitserk is more intelligent than the jarl. More perceptive. He’s seen geese flying southwards when winter was coming, only to come back after snow thaws. But not her - she stayed until the warriors’ skin turned cold and grey. Let go of dead hands only after the heart stopped, never earlier.

“She’s not a bird,” the young Lothbrok speaks up. Friedgeir looks at him curiously. “Can’t you see?” he asks with a chuckle on his tongue. “She must be a Valkyrie, leading fallen warriors to the gates of Odin's hall.”

The Jarl only nods slowly, pondering Hvitserk’s words. 

“If she is, perhaps death isn’t a too high price to be by her side.”

But he’s too young to be this patient and Hvitserk has to find a reason to be beside her now.

You’re taken aback when someone suddenly takes the wooden crate from your hands. The unexpected helper reveals himself to be none other but Hvitserk with a playful grin on his face. Despite giving all he could in the battle, just hours prior, he appears to still be vigorous as though the fight was a mere warm-up.

The man puts the heavy crate on his shoulder, securing it with one arm. What has given you backpain and cold sweat, seems like no chore to him. The Ragnarsons really are a different strain.

“Where do you want this?” he asks casually.

“At the pyre.” You point in the vague direction of where the bodies will be burned. “Illness thrives within the old, used dressings.”

Hvitserk begins wandering to the place you have pointed out and, not sure why, you begin to follow him. His strides are long and sure, his breathing calm and steady. He hardly fits the image of a man who had to fight like a rabid dog to survive just earlier that day.

“Are you not tired afer the battle?” you ask him. Confusion slips past your words.

“I am.” Hvitserk glances at you. It’s a quick look but you manage to notice him staring you up and down. “But I thought you might need help. You’ve been tending to the wounded for hours.”

A melodic, light chuckle escapes your lips.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His playful half-grin turns into a genuine smile. Staring at the road ahead, he almost looks bashful.

“I have a habit of admiring enticing things,” Hvitserks admits.

You feel your cheeks burning at the nonchalant compliment but you don’t let him notice that. Neither do you let his sweet words distract you.

“Then you must lead a busy, beautiful life.”

The man’s voice seems faraway and absent as he answers, as though his mind is suddenly occupied with vivid daydreams:

“Not yet.”

The noise of the camp is inaudible now. Only pine trees and wild berries accompany Hvitserk and you. A murder of crows suddenly takes flight as you pass by. Their cawing echoes through the empty forest.

You can’t quite put a finger on this sensation but something about Hvitserk makes you feel warm and calm inside. It’s the same feeling one experiences when sitting in front of a warm hearth after spending long hours in the cold. When the blood begins flowing again and the relief of not freezing to death is forgotten, the warmth and safety make one sleepy and giddy. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

Hvitserk sets the crate down with a low thud. The sound shakes you awake from your thoughts. A strong, putrid smell of blood, fresh wood and animal fat fills your nostrils. Even after all those years, it never gets easier to prepare people for their final journey.

“Thank you,” you begin awkwardly. Some more anxious part of you is suddenly terrified that he will somehow learn of your thoughts about him. “I don’t know if I could have carried it by myself all the way here.”

His lips curve into a sly grin and you can tell he’s about to weave a string of charming words but something about him distracts you instantly. Hvitserk’s shirt, once greyish-beige, is now brown and crimson. Not thinking much, you suddenly grab his arm. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest when you roll up his sleeve to reveal a, re-opened wound.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you state.

Hvitserk is unsure whether your stern gaze scares him or excites.

“It’s nothing.”

He tries to roll his sleeve back down but you swat his arm away. Pushing down on his shoulder, you force him to sit down on the ground with you.

“Well, it’s definitely going to scar,” you say quietly as you inspect the deep cut in his skin. “But the good news is, some women like men with scars. I know I do.”

You take out a sewing needle made from animal bone. For practicality, you’re used to wearing it pinned somewhere in your clothing. After all, one can never know when they might need it like when a handsome, charming Viking suddenly needs his wound stitched. Gods work in mysterious ways, truly…

A drop of blood drips from the wound each time you push the needle through the pale skin. Hvitserk is impressively collected - he only grunts a few times and clenches his teeth. 

“All done,” you whisper more to yourself than him. In a quick, mechanical manner you wipe the skin of his arm again and roll down the sleeve of his shirt. 

You’re standing up when Hvitserk decides he’s not quite done being the apple of your eye:

“How hurt does a man have to be for you to stay around longer?”

As though he didn’t just get stabbed eigh times in his cut and bruised arm, he’s staring at you with than same insufferable mischieviousness that you’ve grown to love so much. Sometimes you wonder whether this is exactly the reason he’s never had trouble charming women.

“A broken rib would do it,” you say with a shrug. “Or you could just ask.”

Suddenly, Hvitserk jumps to his feet. A newfound fire is burning inside him - a flame known only to those, whose affections are returned.

“Please?”

Jokingly, you frown at him.

“I didn’t know the Lothbroks knew such words,” you say in a surprised tone.

You feel his fingers dragging up your arm until his palm gently brushes against your cheek. The skin of his hand is dry and calloused, standing in a stark opposition to its owner.

“We hold it for special occasions.” Hvitserk’s voice is low, almost raspy.

“And me standing here is somehow special?”

“You don’t even know,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your cheeks. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

“Then tell me.”

At that moment, he knows he will have his entire life to remind you just how special you are to him; he will have his whole saga to love a Valkyrie.

[audhd-nightwing]

the eldritch Guardians of gotham notice batman when he first emerges- they see how he protects their city, so they gift him the abilities of a bat: wings, night vision, enhanced senses, fangs

bruce wayne becomes a shut-in after his parents die. then he travels the world only to come back the same old shut-in. he works from home, and doesn’t leave the manor. every window is covered. only lucius fox and alfred pennyworth ever enter or leave the house

one night the bat follows sirens to a circus tent, and he watches as a young boy is escorted out, crying for his parents. the next day alfred pennyworth shows up at gotham’s social services and requests to become a foster parent. a month later (money might speed the process along) dick grayson is out of juvie and the orphanage and into the safety of wayne manor

bruce tries to hide his wings when the boy arrives, but dick is fascinated by them and thinks they’re “awesome”. bruce explains how he got them, and that he is batman.

later, when batman gains a partner- robin- the Guardians of gotham bless the boy with gifts similar to his mentor: robin wings, enhanced senses, and nails that sharpen into talons

dick grayson becomes a shut-in like bruce, and is home-schooled by alfred. he doesn’t mind, he didn’t have friends his age in the circus either, and alfred and bruce are good company. bruce does let him get pets, though, a three-legged puppy he names Haley and a bloodhound named Ace

when he grows out of robin and away from gotham, the Guardians give him different wings (steller’s jay) to show they support his independence. he lives at titans tower for a while before moving to blüdhaven with his best friend donna troy. dick remains a shut-in, but takes online college courses and goes out often as a new hero- nightwing. he goes out in the mask during the day, something he never did in gotham, and spends most of his time as nightwing- not that he minds. (troia is only his nighttime vigilante partner since donna has an actual day job)

the cycle repeats with jason. however, when jason claws his way out of his grave, the Guardians guide him back to the manor where bruce finds him. when it seems like jason may never recover from his comatose state, the Guardians show bruce a lazarus pit beneath gotham, and despite his hesitation they assure him no harm will come to jason if they have a say in it

jason is revived without the nasty side effects (thanks, eldritch beings) and dick moves back to gotham. jason also leaves robin behind for a different name- red hood- and is gifted new wings (cardinal). in this au the bats & birds are more morally grey and will kill people, but only the worst of the worst/repeat offenders. jason still becomes a crime lord but he only kills when necessary and has no pit madness.

dick and jason notice their young neighbor tim drake is often home alone/without his parents and convince bruce to let him in on their secret and have him stay over at the manor. bruce eventually agrees and they later adopt tim. tim never becomes robin but he does know about their vigilante identities (og way- recognized dick as robin and connected the dots).

tim will help out on comms and basically this au’s Oracle. babs does not become a vigilante in this, instead she becomes a lawyer, but she is still paralyzed by the joker as a civilian (pre-jason’s death, bc bruce kills the joker after that)

steph works with the bats as Spoiler, and is eventually let it on their identities. she and tim bond over being the only ‘normal’ ones

when cass comes along, she is gifted the same powers as bruce, including bat wings. she goes by Black Bat and mostly communicates using sign language

bruce is never lost in time and damian eventually arrives in gotham. damian is given robin and the gifts that accompany it

since duke already has powers, the Guardians don’t give him any, but they protect him as their own

JUST. CRYPTID BATFAMILY <3

[dommelody]

cw:male!reader,18+,hawks in heat

enjoy ur stay ~ ♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~♧♧♧♧♤♤♤°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

have you ever imagined hawks being in heat ?♡ because i did aloot !

hawks while in heat will seek your touch every second of the day . he will try to push you on the bed and do it his way, since he can't control himself . he's too impatient and needy . he will start kissing you roughly as if he's trying to eat u alive♡ he won't give u the opportunity to breath the only way to break the kiss is when he needs air . hawks loves kissing and when i say kissing he loves kissing every inch of your body ♡.

he will start kissing your neck while touching your ears with his warm hand, then will go his way down to your chest . he will nibble ,kiss and suck on them as hard as he can while he is panting hardly he looks at you with those piercing eyes filled with need and lust .

but just wait ? u think u will just let him have his way with u ? not in a million years. because here starts the fun.

tie his hands behind his back with a necktie and start licking and sucking his nipples above his clothes getting them to harden thru the shirt look at him trying to untie the tie♡. moving left and right and with each movement his wet shirt passes shivers to his nipples, they start getting itchy seeking for more attention.

"y/n hngg- , please please please touch me! ill be a good boy i'll indure it so good so please ahhn-"

u interrupted him with a deep kiss making his eyes roll back from the intense makeout while kissing him u were squeezing his nipples and pulling them then going in a circular motion♡.

-if anything hawks's nipples became sensitive because of u -

as u teased his nipples u started jerking him off while his underwear still on seeing the straps of precum gathering at the base of his clothed cock looked so lewd and sexy ♡♡.

when u purposely slowed the pase of ur hand hawks starts humping ur hand shamelessly moving his hips roughly seeking for the slightest fractions.

"y-y/nnn , please please hngg-i -i wanna cum so fucking bad pleaase"

as soon as u noticed that he's about to cum u moved ur hand away and went ur way feeling his juicy ass . not wasting a second u pushed three fingers at once inside since he was already soaking wet because of his heat . as soon as u found his sweet spot u started abusing it repeatedly and made him cum only with ur fingers♡.

and not giving him the chance to rest u pushed ur dick in him and started to fuck him so hard that the room was filled with his lewd moans. fucking him from behind while grabbing his tied hands.

"look at u, even tho ur supposed to be a mighty and a prideful hero yet ure a moaning mess under me now♡. have u ever thought of what others will say if they saw u in this state ? eyes rolled back, lewd tongue out, red face and this ass of urs that dont want to let my dick get away .this birdie over here needs some discipline don't he ?"

as u finished ur sentence u pushed him down the bed on his stomach and kept fucking him as if u were trying to breed this birdie ♡♡

room was filled with the lewd noises of ur cock slapping on his asscheeks♡.

as u were close ,hawks was already cumming for the fifth time ,all that came out from his cock now was only transparent liquid .

"y/n ahng-♡ please give me ur seed, breed me like the good submissive boy I'm ♡ i need u to cum inside pleaase"

"thats out of question baby bird ♡ . im going to fill u up so much that u might get pregnant♡ "

as u fastened the pace hawks kept moaning ur name . as u cum inside ,u stayed in him for a while as he told u not to pull out fast .it makes him feel comfortable being one with u♡ .

-after some minutes u carried him to the bath room and bathed him because u drained him out from that intense intimate session u had then u slept next to him with one arm around him and the other caressing his hair while his wings went around u and helding u in their warmth as a sign of feeling secure and safe in ur presence ♡♡

even tho in his heat hawks gets tense and super needy but its the period when he needs u the most and u're always right there in time for him ♡♡-

end♡

[kedreeva]

Eris (top), Citrine (middle), and Bismuth (bottom).

What you can notice here is the same thing I'm usually on about- leg length in peafowl. These three birds share a father, and the latter two share a mother as well. Eris was hatched and raised for the first 3 months of her life on a farm that was using a low-protein chow (18-20%, with peanuts for treats, but they're feeding better now!) and kept here in quarantine in a 10x10 for the next month (we're working on a bigger quarantine pen), vs Citrine and Bismuth being raised here on 28% + fresh foods and scratch grains in a 1200ft+coop pen. I don't think that there's anything wrong with Eris' genetics (I've seen her mother, too, and I would be highly surprised if she produced short birds), but this is a PRIME example of how early care can affect these birds for their entire lives.

I have gotten into far too many arguments with people about peafowl care and nutrition. I hear parroted all the time that "high protein twists their legs" when that's 100% not the case. It's not the protein alone. They NEED the protein to grow appropriately. But they ALSO need the SPACE to grow out properly. When people keep them in tiny spaces (brooders, rabbit hutches, 10x10 "run") AND feed them high protein, they have the protein to grow but not the space. When people keep them in large spaces but DON'T give them enough protein, they have the space but not the resources to grow into their legs. I've seen people keep these birds in rabbit hutches until they are 3+ months old. I have seen people keep breeding adult TRIOS in 10x10 cages- the minimum space requirement for them is supposed to be *500* square feet for that many. Once they grow up in that small of a space, there's no recovering from it later in life. They won't ever put on more leg length.

Another thing I want to speak about is tail shape. There are many people online who will tell people bogus ways to sex young birds (particularly whites). Barring/no barring by 3 months (Spaldings can keep it longer, some over a year), spurs/no spurs (plenty of hens have spurs), leg length (a nice hen will have long legs, too), leg thickness (a domestic blue hen will have thick legs, too), chest/neck lacing (I have seen males with this as well), face shape (come on now), "center stripe" chest feathers on males (hens can have this too). There's a lady on FB who thinks she can vent sex peafowl (you cannot, their reproductive junk is too far inside the body).

One of the ways people claim to sex birds on is tail shape. Girls will have an even tail arch, like Eris up there, and boys will have middle feathers on their tail that are taller than the ones to either side.

Except... if Citrine were a white bird with no feather markings, that would get her sexed as a male.

While it's TRUE that ADULT females have a crescent tail and males have a spade tail, until they are 2+, hens can still have the same kind of tail as the males. They're dropping so many feathers so fast as they grow, it can look like anything along the way, and by the time it stabilizes into a proper yearly molt schedule, the male's train feathers will have begin to differentiate.

The most accurate way to sex baby peafowl is blood/DNA sexing, or the LOSS of barring on the backs/wings. Barred wing males do not EVER lose their barring. For solid wing birds, it's blood/DNA sexing or looking for the arrow feathers; hens do not EVER get arrow feathers in their saddles. Anyone that ever tells you otherwise IS guessing- they might be very good at guessing, and some of the stuff it's unusual to see the opposite sex have whatever characteristic (it's /unusual/ for males to have scalloping on their neck, but it CAN happen when they're young), but it's still a best guess until you see a loss of barring or the presence of arrow feathers.

Citrine, by the way, kept her barring til she was almost 6 months old.

[sapphicseasapphire]

Something something Blind Sky something something

Some art that I made of @tashacee’s series “Links in a Chain,” specifically of Sky! Because I just. I love the silly little bird boy. A portrait and then some little stupid sketches, none of which are specific to any event except for the reference to “A Gentle Man.” If you have not read this series, please do! It’s full of a lot of really interesting ideas (and it’s not all Sky centric, I promise this isn’t just my Skyboy bias).

I hope I drew him right!!! (I probably didn’t). This is my first time drawing Sky in his actual LU tunic and gear so please bear with me. Also I started drawing him in my usual shorthand for Sky (I draw Sky a lot) and then realized that in the fic, his hair is described as “messy curls” so I had to restart. I like how it turned out but I acknowledge that it might not be accurate and I apologize!!! One day I’d like to do a lineup of a bunch of different versions of Sky (and laugh as Cryptid au Sky takes up the whole canvas with his wings) and it was such a delight to draw this version of Sky! Thank you for giving me this opportunity!

Anyway, I’ve rambled long enough! I hope this is okay! Have a great day/night, everyone!