#something that would flesh out his character

[realcube]

⋆˙⟡ KEEP IT ON

doing it in your halloween costume

characters ☾ all pro-heroes! bakugo, todoroki, izuku & iida

tws/tags ☾ fingering, oral (receiving) // plugs, vaginal // oral (giving) — MINORS DNI

BAKUGO KATSUKI ☾ x playboy bunny

you're straddling his lap while he's sat on the couch, bodies pressing into each other as your lips weave together.

his hand moves from fiddling with the black cotton tail of your bunny costume, to groping the flesh of your exposed ass, making you yelp slightly at his harsh touch. he kneads the skin in his palm, growling against your lips, "slutty fuckin' outfit."

just as you were about to deepen the kiss , he spins you around, then pushes down on your back so you are bent over with your ass up. he delivers a stern slap to your thigh, and the fiery sting causes you to gasp. "no tights or nothin'. whole ass out." he grumbles, idly slipping a finger underneath the fabric of the costume that was covering your pussy, pulling it to the side.

"and you thought i was gonna let you leave the house looking like that?" he scoffs, narrowing his eyes and wetting his lips at the sight of your tight cunt in front him. so damp and needy, begging for him already. he runs a calloused thumb over your soft folds, admiring your sweet form.

his hot breath tickles your sensitive skin as his face nears your pussy and soon, he plunges his tongue straight into your sopping hole. your back arches as he does so and a high-pitched whine is strung out of your throat. you can feel him smile at your noises, before he starts to feverishly thrust his tongue in and out of you.

relentlessly eating your pussy. the only time he pulls out is when he senses you are getting close, then he'll pull away to utter coarsely, "you're lucky you look hot otherwise i would've blown that costume right off you." even then, his tongue is instantly replaced with his thick fingers stuffed into your hole, fingering you impossibly fast until you come undone over his hand.

TODOROKI SHOTO ☾ x scary black cat

after you showed him your paws, cat ears, tail and tiny black dress, it was only natural that he'd have you bent over the bed while he hit it from behind.

his teeth grind together from so suppress the deep moan that was brimming in throat from how your tight cunt devoured him. his hips moved steadily against your ass; a moderate pace yet his thrusts were powerful enough that they would cause your body to shake if he didn't keep a hold of you by the hip.

with one hand, of course. as the other one was tempted by the fluffy black tailing laying on your leg. originally, he assumed the tail was clipped to the bottom of your short dress, but while he stroked it, he accidentally pulled a little too hard. and instead of unclasping from your dress, a staggered gasp was forced from you and your whole body tensed, as he could tell by your pussy clamping down on his dick.

his lips curled into a smile as he realised how that tail was connected, and he continued to toy with you, giving it a small tug every now and again, then relishing in your cute, flustered reactions.

"that good, kitty?" he teased in a low, hoarse voice.

you roll your eyes, partially at the stupid nickname but mostly due to the fierce sensations his cock was blazing through you repeatedly. the pillow your face was buried in muffled your sweet noises, so he was quick to grab a fitful of your hair and pull you up, so your face was hovering over the sheets and he could hear every single lewd moan that dripped from your sultry tongue.

you groaned in protest, as his harsh grip on your hair stung your scalp, but he was quick to redirect your attention by yanking your tail again.

TENYA IIDA ☾ x latex devil

as soon as tenya saw your costume, he was opposed.

he raved on about how offensive and profane it is, and how — as his wife — you are closely associated with him and therefore, if you are seen wearing something with such sacrilegious overtones, it will reflect poorly upon him and the entire ingenium lineage.

though it was hard not to notice the growing tent in his pants. a part of you suspected that his discontent was coming from a place of jealousy; maybe he just didn't want to admit that he doesn't want other guys seeing you in such a raunchy outfit.

regardless, you enjoy teasing him so when he demanded you take that costume off, you retorted saying that he'd have to rip it off your body.

he was taken aback at first, yet then he apprehensively tried; shuffling towards you so he could slowly undo the zipper at the back of your suit. but it only made it around halfway down your torso before you roped him in for a heated kiss.

he reciprocated for a while, and you were intimately locked together, moving in sync. your hands even began exploring each other's bodies and wandering astray, as he fumbled with your bra strap and you worked on undoing his belt buckle. albeit, the second you both part for air, he rasps, "i sitll think it might be a good idea for you to rem—"

as you throw his belt to the side, you drag down his trousers and drop to your knees, "please be quiet." you whine, then without warning, you welcome his whole length into your mouth, wrapping your smooth lips around his base and causing a deep moan to cough right out of him.

IZUKU MIDORIYA ☾ x nurse

he's sat on the couch and you're straddling his lap, facing him as you give him a check-up.

with the the metal part of your fake stethoscope pressed against his forehead, your eyebrows knit together in concentration as you listen to the silence, then you nod solemnly and drop it and let it dangle from your neck. "i see. you're heartbeat sounds fine." you politely inform him.

"thank you, nurse (y/n), but what's my heart doing in my head?" he chuckles, awkwardly clutching his scalp.

"you know, i'm not sure either." you shrug, as you both titter at the silliness of your whole charade. seeing him smile, you can't help but lean in and engage him in a long yet gentle kiss. equally, upon seeing your legs spread in that short nurse's dress, he can't help but hook an arm under your thigh, under the guise of pulling you close to deepen the kiss, while his true intention is to slip his fingers up your dress and massage the damp spot on your panties.

the feeling of his fingers stimulating your desperate heat causes you to moan into the kiss, prompting him to continue and tug your panties to the side, allowing his fingers to plunge right into your needy hole.

eventually, you fall back from the kiss and meet his heavy gaze, staring longingly into each other's eyes while you bounce steadily on his thick fingers, "you're giving me a check-up now?"

"guess so." he mouths.

[steddiebang2024]

I was a teenage dirtbag  |  Mature  |  75k

Author: @hellfireloserclub

Artist: @academic-clown

Beta Reader: @kaypie91

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington , Erica Sinclair, Dustim Henderson, Nancy Wheeler. 

Tags: Slowburn, Future Fic, Year 2000, Post-season Four, Bisexual Steve, Bisexual Eddie, Comedy /angst, Long distance friendship to lovers, Radio Host Eddie, Hairdresser Steve, Wedding fic.

Trigger Warnings: Sex, Alcohol, and Recreational drugs

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

“So…” Dustin started.

“So what?” Eddie asked, fixing his eyes on the side of Dustin’s face, trying to work out what way this interrogation was going to go.  

“I don’t have my own ringtone, Wayne and Mom don’t, but Steve does?” Dustin avoided looking at him, staring at the overhead signs pointing to the short stay parking, acting like they weren’t at the airport at least twice a month with the family coming and going. 

“I thought it was funny,” he said in his own defense. 

“And I totally believe you.” It sounded like a question. 

“But?”

“But are you sure there's not more?” someone shouldn’t look so smug as they reverse in a multi story, yet here was Dustin excelling at it. When Eddie didn’t answer he cut off the engine turning to look at him, all signs pointed to the next few minutes being incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Spit it out, I have to get to the gate,” Eddie grumbled, he felt like he was under a microscope, his little brother's eyes boring into him.

“Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Steve?”  Eddie wanted to yell- yes, I just don’t know what? But he bit it down, this wasn’t the time to trigger a Dustin intervention. 

“Just because you can't procreate outside of the close knit circles you were dragged up in, doesn’t mean we all have to hook up within our little friend group.  You gotta stop trying to pair us all off dude, it's not cool. Remember when you used to keep trying to pair off Steve and Robin? How did that work out for you?” Eddie questioned. 

“In my defense-”

“No. Say less. Stop. I broke up with Yumi two weeks ago, I don’t need you to help, I don’t need your psychoanalyzing me with Max over the phone. I don’t need you to try and set me up with a rebound. I’m a big boy alright. I’m going to Boston to get stupidly drunk with Steve, talk shit about you all lovingly, and lament the fact that both me and him are probably gonna die old and alone.” He reached over the back of the seat and grabbed his duffle bag, before reaching over and tapping Dustin on the cheek. “But look at the plus side, if me and Stevie don’t bring a plus one to the wedding that will save you two meals and a headache with seating plans.”

“You make my resolve to not meddle in both of your love lives impossible, you know that right?” Dustin asked, leaning over the center console. 

“Cause you were doing an absolutely stellar job of it before this conversation?” Eddie closed the door behind him. “Dusty, I love you like you’re my own flesh and blood. But please, let this one go?” 

Dustin looked poised to say something else but Eddie didn’t have time for it. “If the words curiosity journey come out of your mouth, I’m not speaking to you for a month.”  Dustin snapped his mouth shut. “That’s it, save it for Applejack, I don’t want to know.”

Eddie gave the car a courtesy wave as he went through the doors of the airport, but he didn’t look back. He was pretty sure Dustin had hit the nail on the head with his observations, but as far as anyone was aware Steve was just his friend, and letting go of any control on that narrative was like letting a fox off in a hen house. It would be chaos. Although Eddie was starting to think it was a lost cause. This was so much easier when he and Steve hated each other, enemies to fuck buddies was a much easier story arch, with a lot less emotional baggage.

[valentine-cafe]

Hi there! I normally walk just past this place, but something smelled particularly good. The croissant, maybe? Chocolate? (Dark content, smut)

Yeah so like this is a bit of a weird ask and I know that... but the aesthetics of your page just made me think of an enigma whose body was like that of taffy? Squishy, soft, sticky, and most importantly, stretchy. I was thinking reader would be a man, who was working for the Resistance but ended up in the clutches of some very nefarious people.

Maybe they can start out with just invasive physicals, but it slowly worsens and... yeah. Do as much as you feel comfortable with, please!

Yours truly, Hush~

. ˚◞♡ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒃𝒕𝒕𝒎 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 209 jingyi / bttm male reader ꒱ you caught the mad doctor's eye. he hated the idea of feeling attracted to an experiment. and no matter how much he tried to sate it, he needed to get his hands on you

𖹭. content warnings◞  dark content . experimentation on reader . implied torture . dub con . mind control . explicit content . rough sex . penetrative sex . 0.7k

𖹭. receipts◞  glad that you decided to stop by dear customer<3 one croissant coming up! this honestly was so much fun to write and quickly became my favourite request because I have been itching to write some dark stuff with the herrera husbands<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

𖹭. the mad doctor of valence has certainly seen many peculiar enigma around, but you by far were quite the special case. he is well aware of the classification of “body morphers” under the enigma hat, but you caught his eye in quite the special way.

𖹭. jìngyí had seen you around his brother a few times. he was uncertain why the depths of his soul burned with bitterness. he assumes it was the idea of an enigma type being out there that he had not quite explored. in reality it was you. the fact that a lowly enigma had sparked his interest in a way he never thought it would.

𖹭. he was disgusted, yet thrilled. like a snake eager to sink its fangs into new prey. one can imagine his excitement when his husband admitted to the same dark desires.

𖹭. lucky them. you’d found yourself caught in the last hunt and now found yourself along an examination table. jìngyí did well in exploring your limits. how far your body could go. viscosity? durability? compressibility, torsion, extensibility and temperature? oh he was salivating like a kid in the candy store.

𖹭. he especially loved the way that you would scream. how your voice would change depending on the shape and condition your elastic body was in. he found himself especially fascinated with how you’d cry when his hand would bury into your squishy side or around your sticky neck. even your tears tasted sweet.

𖹭. no matter all his experiments, he couldn’t rid himself of those dark desires that plagued his very being. so what better than to offer you a place in his circus? to perform, to live - while he induced you with a mind control mechanic?

𖹭. oh how you begged for him. how he adored the way your body would wrap around him and cling like a lovesick fool while he pounded your tight, gummy walls. one strong arm wrapped around whatever amalgamation your figure took while the other palmed at your squishy ass.

𖹭. you felt amazing. his mind would swim with pleasure every time his thick cock buried and throbbed into your warmth. he’d cream you so many times an over. it mattered how much or how long he fucked you over whatever surface he could find — he’d always end up cum drunk.

𖹭. jìngyí would be in a state when you started wrapping around him more intensely. extending your hands to provide him more pleasure as well. he’d bite down on whatever soft, messy flesh he could and buck his hips into yours like a feral animal.

“god you are so tight,”

a pant. a ragged groan. snake pupils constrict and his lips part. displaying fangs extended and blood on his tongue. soon to be more when he buried his cold face into your chest and bit again.

“h-hngh fuck -” your hand reaches to cling onto his hip. feel the way that he’s pounding your poor ass raw. filling it to the brim and fucking out his cum onto your thighs from the sheer intensity of his thrusts.

“d-don’t stop - dontstopdontstopdont -”

you choke out when strong fingers squeeze around your dick. a calloused thumb rubbing messy circles around your tip.

“you are disgusting.” the deep hiss finds your ear. followed by a hiccupping moan. his brows crease and he messily thumps his hips against yours as he tenses and squirts your walls white once more.

“d-disgusting little creature. but ah, d-damn. . . do you feel so good.”

he’d hoist you up. twisting your limps into whatever way he wishes as he presses you up against the examination table and goes for a third round. a fourth. a fifth. anything to ease this insatiable sweet tooth.

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[smolvenger]

Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter 22 (Loki x Fem Reader Crossover Series, Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury and onwards. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: Being invited to a dinner party, you and your companions seize the chance to get the first trove.

Series Masterlist

Word Count: >4K

Warnings: Some spicy flirting, but no actual smut. Not much, some angst. Greif and mentions of bullying. If I miss anything, let me know! Proceed with caution, but I take full responsibility for how I portray dark subject matter and if it is not done tastefully or well. If I miss anything that could be triggering, it is your responsibility to tell me as soon as possible so I can tag it here. Otherwise, enjoy!

A/N: I have had major writer's block since moving into an apartment and starting grad school, but maybe something will come up and I will be blocked from Character AI bc I waste all of my time there now. Anyways, it is not perfect, but I just wanted it done. Ta da!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract@eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@fandxmslxt69@skittslackoffilter@mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

You, Edith, your husband, Stella, and Sif huddled on a cafe table. The building was painted in pastel greens and pinks, with wide windows filtering in sunlight as guests chatted around all of you. But it was not so noisy that one could not focus on the manuscript. Edith sat at the other end, nervously drinking her coffee, her sandwich untouched. The rest of you huddled together tight to read it together, Sif being the one to turn the pages. 

Loki did raise his eyebrow at a few points, Stella’s bulged out. Sif only had no facial reaction.

Edith’s story was about a ghost who haunted a woman in her home. She added details of the dark house and creaking wood. Of the ghost's skeletal fingers, a skull-like face was blank except for a wide mouth, open with sharp teeth. The characters seemed as real as flesh, with little details that only someone who observed others could make. At one point, the woman was asleep when the ghost screamed. The noise rattled the house and would not stop, waking the woman up in fright. It made you shiver. 

The heroine had a past, as did the house, but it was not revealed. As you got to the end of the snippet, you were eager to know the truth, but Sif set the pages down on the table.

“Miss Cushing, that was incredible!” Stella cried, a hand over her heart. Perhaps it was still racing from the terror of the story.

Edith nodded with a smile, a blush coming up on her.

“Oh, thank you!” she replied. She sat up straighter, and her voice brighter.

“I had chills!” you added on.

“It…wasn’t bad at all,” Loki admitted.

“Well, when I was young. I saw something- and heard noises. I believe I encountered a ghost. I never forgot it,” she admitted. “Father never believed me, only a friend did.”

“A ghost?” Sif asked, she folded her arms.

Edith reached over. She carefully put her papers into the folder and wrapped her arms around it like a baby.

“Yes.” was all she said.

“And has this ghost been to you since, Miss Cushing?” Loki asked.

Edith set down the folder.

“No…. I wrote to explore that. I had an idea and it would never leave me. It was like a fever- I had to write it down. Besides, I always loved stories and books…Mama was the only woman I knew who loved them too and then she…she passed.”

She slumped, her eyes growing vacant. Stella reached out and held her hand.

“She would be proud of you now. Creating something and putting it out there, takes great courage,” you consoled.

A small smile flickered on Edith.

“When did she pass?” asked Stella.

“When I was ten,” answered Edith.

“All this while still a child? You poor thing!” replied Stella.

Edith let out a deep sigh.

“I hope you get published. There are women writers out there- you will be one of them in enough time if you keep at it,” you encouraged her.

“Thank you I…” there were tears in her eyes.

“Oh, is something wrong? We didn’t- offend you?” you asked. Digging into your reticule, you pulled out a handkerchief. Edith gripped onto it, twisting it anxiously.

“It’s only…I…I…” began Edith.

She hesitated. Her lips quivering, then she hung her head low and began her confession.

“No, you didn’t offend me at all, it’s only…I…I hated girls my age. When I was little, I was so obsessed with all those things- ghosts, death, books, novels. I struggled to relate to them when I was little because I just wanted to talk about what I was reading. They didn’t even…try to make room for me. I was excluded. I misunderstood their games and their words. I tried so hard, but it was never good enough. And as a child they-they…”

She paused.

“Mrs. McMichael’s daughter Eunice and her friends always bullied me. They brought me along to be their fool, something to kick at. And I…I just felt so alone…I always did…I didn’t like them. They laughed at me. Teased me. Locked me in rooms. Called me names. And even now that we’re grown…they still keep at it. And I always have to spend time with them. Trying to discuss ribbons at least and dealing with their jabs at most. And Mrs. McMichael…she…I’m always so scared I will say something wrong, something bad…and they’ll laugh at me again. I try so hard to be nice to them. To not strike back because it will only make things worse. But…I could never be myself. But even when I barely said anything,  they would always find a way to insult me. To make me less. I didn’t want to go to balls. Go to anything. I didn’t want to go somewhere where I’d be a figure of scorn…and I was…I was always alone…”

“They’re cowards and fools,” Sif spat.

Edith smiled at that, wiping a few small tears with the handkerchief. 

“Yes, they are. But…not since…since now I…I never could speak to anyone other than Michael, much less another woman, and I…I…” she babbled.

She smiled lightly, her tears still in her small eyes. 

“Not until today. When I met all of you,” she completed.

“I guess we can all consider each other friends. And I’m glad to have you as one, Edith” you replied.

Edith then handed the handkerchief back, her face pink.

“Oh goodness, I just cried in public,” she sighed.

“It’s alright, it was rather small,” Stella assured her with a smile.

There was a small pause. Edith had gathered herself. Her appetite returned and she ate her sandwich. Topics went back and forth as the mood lightened. As the bill was paid, she turned to the rest of you.

“Oh- there is a dinner party later this week at my place. Father and I are hosting. It’s going to be a smaller, intimate affair but he said I could invite anyone I wanted…But…could I invite all of you?” she asked.

Loki raised an eyebrow.

“I think that-”

Clutching his hand, you cut in, interrupting him with an enthusiastic smile.

“We would love to be invited! Can my husband’s friends come too? In total- that should make eight of us, if you have the seats!” you replied.

Loki looked at you, but you squeezed his fist, signaling him to not speak. 

“Yes, of course!” Edith promised. “Where are all of you staying.”

This time, you turned to Loki. He replied that his friend Mr. Pine found a hotel for all of them and that the RSVPs could be forwarded to the address and hotel rooms. Edith vowed to do so, scribbling the address on paper and saying the invites would arrive shortly. Saying your goodbyes, she then left the cafe with a bounce in her step.

Once the door closed, Loki flipped his face to all of you. 

“What in the seven hels is going to a Midgard banquet going to accomplish?” he asked.

“That banquet is exactly where we need to be,” Sif replied. She made glares here and there to make sure no mortal was watching. Or a possible spy. 

“What?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Edith has the ring. YN’s powers sensed it,” Stella explained.

“It’s in her house,” you added. “And unless you know how to break into a house tonight and not raise any suspicions with Edith, go ahead and say so.

Loki let out an exhale. His face relaxed.

“Oh…well then… we got lucky. Too lucky. To think me and the variants did all of that foolish searching when our dear, fair ladies walked right into it!” he commented.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The invitations arrived on notes the color of snow. The days seemed long and slow before the evening of the fateful dinner party arrived. Five of you, it was noted, all had similar faces and voices, the variants all agreed to tell others that they were distant relations in case someone asked questions. The men donned evening tuxedos. You were in a rich, dark green gown, Stella her sky blue, and Sif one of wine red.

“I should go. I want to be in the search. And I don’t want to be stuck where it’s dull,” Sif insisted.

“I’ll go with you, you need my powers to find the ring. And if Grendel were to strike, he wouldn’t do it in the middle of a crowded party,” you nodded.

It was then decided. You and Sif would look, while the rest distracted the hosts and partygoers.

Your cabs pulled up to the house. As servants took your coats and escorted you inside, you noted the light wood, the grandfather clock and mirrors, and the elaborate glass windows. Warm, light, and sweet.

“One would think this is like a fairy house.,” Thomas commented, looking about.

There were footsteps and distant chatter of a few guests. Then in came Edith, dressed in a cream dress with ruffles at the long neck and sleeves.

“Oh! Our party! Hello- welcome!” she greeted.

All of you exchanged greetings and names, ever polite and gracious to the strangers in your party. She smiled at you and the ones she met, and then she shook hands with Hal, Jonathan, Robert…

She paused with Thomas, locking eyes with her. She partially froze. Her smile dropped. Then she found herself again, her eyes flicking down and then back up.

“And you, sir?” she asked.

“Sir Thomas Sharpe, esquire. And Miss Cushing- and I hear you are a talented writer, too, I presume?” he asked. He smiled back. But it was different than the merely happy-to-be-here-please-don’t-suspect-a-thing manners of the others. His eyes shined on her. 

“Yes..yes, I am,” she admitted shyly. Though you could see her cheeks were pink.

“And of ghost stories, I heard?” he added.

“Oh- yes, that is my specialty,” she answered. She beamed at him like there was no one else in the party.

“Well then, I have a particular fondness for them. You must promise to let me read it, and if not- then tell me every last little detail about it,” he said.

She nodded and said she would. Then the door opened with a couple that just came in and she excused herself to greet them, but not before looking at Thomas one last time.

“Ah, the large party,” said a baritone voice.

There entered an older man, tall and broad with an impressive, grey beard. He smiled at each of you. But he turned to you, Sif, and Stella first.

“And you three are the ones who defended my daughter against the notorious Mrs. McMichael, yes?” he asked.

“Yes, we were the ones present,” you answered.

“Well then, I will always offer my warmest gratitude. Mrs. McMichael is fond of kicking the hornet's nest, we shall say,” he replied. 

He reached out his hand and you shook it, his skin calloused. “I am Mr. Cushing.”

Edith led you down the short hall to the dining room. There were lit candles everywhere, making the scene lush and romantic. The table was set with a white cloth and vases of flowers and candelabras. The place was decorated with tall china cabinets, a stone fireplace, and a wall with tall windows. Appetizers were served on porcelain.  Water was served in one glass and wine in another. 

You waited through the courses. Engaging in topics as they came and went. The men seemed to all be doing fine. Though there were a few odd questions about the “business trip” and how they were related, Loki came up with lies on the spot to satisfy them. Sif held her posture uptight and helped herself to the main course, eating heartily and quickly. Stella cut up her chicken into small bits and always smiled.  Edith and Thomas exchanged several glances and smiles, even when others were talking.

“Why, this is such a beautiful place, Miss Cushing! And what an elegant cake!” Stella praised as dessert arrived.

“Oh, thank you. The cook has never failed us once. Wait until you try a bite!” Edith said.

Taking in a deep breath, you calmed yourself. You made your jaw unclench and relaxed your shoulders. Focusing on the blank white of the tablecloth, you reached out your senses.

Ignoring the sounds of eating and sipping, the whispering of servants, you focused on the ring. Something was pulling you above the stairs. Edith’s bedroom was down that hall. It poked at you like an insistent child.

But where exactly was-

“And Mrs Laufeyson, how did you meet your husband?” asked Mr. Cushing.

Snapping back to the present, you looked up and smiled.

“Oh…I was dreadfully ill. And he heard of me and offered his help to make sure I had medical care. He saved my life…”

You turned to Loki.

“And not just my body, far more than that” she replied.

Loki sat up, his jaw a little loose. Then he smiled.

“Oh, how romantic!’ cried one guest.

Taking a bite of cake, you found it was layered, delicate, and sweet. 

Slices were eaten and servants cleared plates. Some ladies went to one parlor and the men were trickling to another, but there were exceptions. Edith and Thomas were by the fire, talking and chatting- you even saw Edith laugh lightly. It was Jonathan who walked up to the host himself, Mr. Cushing, and was asking him about his business. Loki was beside him, in case any gaps needed filling. The rest of the men had the other variants, content to drink brandy and smoke, and seem innocent. Stella was listening intently to old ladies gossip, as they led her to the drawing room.

Loki then went up to you.

“Ah, and is it time?” he asked.

“Yes, it is,” you answered him quietly.

You shared a look at Sif. She nodded her head. 

Both of you walked over to a far corner.

Loki raised his hand and two duplicates of you both appeared. Your husband smirked.

“Ah, now two of my lovely wife? Our nights could become a lot more interesting…” he whispered.

“Oh, stop it!” you teased.

He raised an eyebrow.

“But would you like a duplicate of me? Hm? To have two of your trickster god worshiping you at once? Pleasuring you until you couldn’t remember your name?” he whispered.

Feeling your toes curl in your shoes, you lightly swatted his arm.

“If my husband could control his lust for one hour, we have a ring to find,” you reminded him.

He gave you a wink, and then walked away with the duplicates to join the other men.

Making sure your steps were light, you both picked up your skirts and scurried up the steps. The servants were too busy with the party to take note. But you couldn’t waste time before one of them saw something.

You quickened to Edith’s room at the end of the hall. Reaching out your hand, you made sure it unlocked and got inside.

Turning around, you made sure the door was quietly closed and locked.

It was dark from the night, and full of books and childhood toys. Both of you eyed around.

“Use your gifts, find where it is!” Sif insisted.

Taking in another breath, you readied yourself. Ready to reach out your gifts and-

The door creaked open.

Both of you turned around.

The door opened by itself. The door handle still clicking up and down. It was a warm night and warm from the many people. But the room itself had turned cold. Uncomfortably cold.

“What-what is that?” you asked. Feeling the color drain from your face.

“The windows are closed- there is no wind” observed Sif. 

A figure emerged at the end of the hall, hidden by the shadows.

A servant? No-this wasn’t a servant. It was a tall figure, dressed in black with a long, black veil as if in mourning. But there were no widows in the party guests, much less one dressed like that.

The woman moved over.

No- she didn’t move…

She glided over.

In a heartbeat, there was a gust of cold wind and she flew over. Her veiled face, you realized, was nothing more than a pitch-black skull. Hollow eye sockets. Black pitch dripped over her skeletal features.

She let out a scream before either of you could.

The specter flew over and grabbed you both by each arm. Reaching out, you saw her hands were only bones. Her touch was so cold, it numbed your skin. She shook both of you.

“THIEVES! THEIVES! THEIVES!” she screeched. 

She threw both of you. You and Sif hit a wall and then fell onto the floor. You let out a sound despite yourself, catching yourself onto the rug below.

Sif reached her hand and put it over your mouth. 

“If you scream, the servants and guests will come up,” she argued.

You had to bite your tongue. The lights in the room flickered on and off rapidly. The temperature was freezing in that room, and the specter pointed a bony finger toward you.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? STAY AWAY FROM HER! BURGLARS! THEIVES!” the spectre hissed.

You removed Sif’s hand, though kneeling, you were shaking. Books toppled from a bookshelf and papers on a desk flew about.

“Who are you? Are allied with Grendel?” you asked in a quiet voice.

The Spectre did not react. She only kept screeching.

“DO NOT LAY A HAND ON HER! BURGLAR!”

Sif unsheathed her sword.

“Grendel, no doubt. Something of his,” she muttered.

Sif ran forward, and with a grunt, she stabbed the woman through the stomach.

But there was no blood. And the specter did not budge. She did not seem the least bit hurt in any way.

She let out another scream- an ugly sound, like a broken sob, one that almost tore you.

Sif’s jaw hung open in surprise. The specter grabbed Sif by the throat.

“DO-NOT-TOUCH-HER!” it warned.

Sif struggled and tried to loosen, but the specter held on tight.

The memories of Edith at the cafe went back to you. It made sense- Edith saw a ghost when she was very young…she must have seen it here…it must have been right after…after she lost…

Everything made sense.

With shaky legs, you got back up and stated.

“I know who you are…you’re Mrs. Cushing- you’re Edith’s mother!” you declared.

The ghost paused, turning her skeletal face to you. The wind in the room vanished.

“We are not here to hurt your daughter- and that is my friend. We are here to help her, please let her go,” you asked.

The ghost released her skeletal hand. Sif fell to the floor, coughing and gasping in the air. You rushed forward and helped her.

“There is a ring Edith has…and it’s one of Grendel’s. It looks like this…” you began. From your pocket, you got out the copy.

The ghost looked at it.

“Do you know who Grendel is? His mortality is stuck in a few items. Including a ring like this. If he remains in power…he could hurt Edith. If we find the ring and destroy it, then he’ll be destroyed…Please…you only want to protect her. That’s why you were always watching over her, all that time she thought she was alone…and she was not. Could you help us?”

The ghost looked at you. It exhaled, the shadows around it flittering.

She took her finger and pointed to a chest. A drawer opened. And out floated a locked box. It unlocked and then floated over to your hands.

Looking inside were a few jewelry items…including that very ring.

You looked up at her.

“Thank you,” you said.

Sif plucked out the ring. You replaced it with the duplicate ring, setting in within the few earrings and trinkets.

The small box floated up, locked, and then was put in the drawer, where it shut.

The ghost let out another sound, like an exhale and a moan. The papers shuddered again and the grandfather in the clock rang the hour.

Then the shadows vanished, as did the ghost. Warmth returned to the room again, as did the light.

You cupped your mouth again, catching your breath.

“Oh…oh gods…” you whispered.

Sif pocketed the ring. Without saying a word, she looked at you and grabbed your hand.

“Hurry, princess,” she urged.

Both of you shuffled at once out of the room. Downstairs, the party remained as normal. It was as if no one heard any screams or rattling coming from upstairs.

Steps light, desperate to escape the scene, both you and Sif hurried out of the room. Your feet light. So there wasn’t a rumble as you went across the hall. Down the stairs. Squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate, you signaled Loki.

“We have it! Send the duplicates!”

Sure enough, your duplicates turned a corner of a wall outside of the parlor. You both walked over. They vanished like mist. 

You took their places and walked in. Sipping coffee with the other ladies making idle chatter. Stella glanced at you both. You gave her a smile and a nod and her shoulders relaxed.

Drinking your tepid coffee, you let out an exhale as if to wash away everything that happened.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You both staid for two more days to avoid suspicion.  But on the last day, Edith hurried to your hotel. She embraced you and Stella warmly, (though Sif seemed a little stiff as she did). The other gentlemen nodded.

“May I…may I write, please? I would like to hear from you…all of you,” Edith said,her eyes glancing to Thomas and then back. You felt bad for her, the poor girl would be at the mercy of the McMichaels again. 

“We will. We’ll visit too if we can,” you promised her. 

Thomas then stepped forward, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“May I have the pleasure of writing to you as well, Miss Cushing?” he asked.

She jumped at first. Her jaw lowered briefly, and then she smiled.

“Why- Yes, please,” she answered.

He took her hand and kissed it. You could feel the fluttering from Edith herself. Hal cocked an eyebrow, but Robert rolled his eyes.

Once she left, Jonathan made sure your keys were all returned. Loki took a hand and flicked open a portal.

One down, three more to go you silently counted out. But perhaps more than just ghosts awaited the next one. Things even worse…

[lynnscove]

Heyyo, I was wondering how would cruel!Dabi react to a reader that self harms to cope

Like, the type that would frantically try and find something the rake across their skin until its raw and bleeding. And they genuinely tweak out if they can't find anything that they consider to be sharp or long enough, or it doesn't glide through their flesh the way they want

Definitely no speaking from experience (；・ε・ ), anywho you don't have to if this makes you uncomfortable but thank you if you do *MWAH*

HI!! (Tw for everything in this post btw)

Okay soooo I briefly mentioned that he'd be a little prick about it and burn them while telling them he's "helping" BUTT what if it was more extreme??

Depending on how deep/big the cuts are, you KNOWWWW he's fucking them. He's feral about wound fucking, literally. If he can't fit his dick in he'll use his fingers. If he can't use his fingers he'll use his tongue. He's a sadist on a level that even I would consider too far!!

A part of his character which I haven't talked about yet (or if I have, I forgot) is that he's lowk a cannibal, and would be VERY happy if you let him lick, suck, or rip your flesh. (God bless his kind soul.)

He'd grow his nails out long n cut them into points to help you out!! (His nails are basically claws. He'd start an EXTENSIVE nail routine after finding out about your lil habit, cause he doesn't want his nails to break while he cuts u up!!)

He'd slip knives into couch cushions and desk drawers, so even if you're not directly looking for something, you'll find it!

He doesn't often think about how harmful his actions, orr your actions are. He just thinks it's sexy.

He'd find your preferences, if you like something that slides through skin like a warm knife through soft butter, you best believe he's... Not giving you that! Serated knives only. dull knives only. Rusty knives only.

On the other hand, if you prefer those kinds of things because they do more damage, he'll totally find you something that'll only go a few centimeters deep to deprive you of satisfaction.

He likes to watch, whether it's in person or through a video, he just wants to see it. you'll end up with countless infections because he keeps cumming on your open wounds.

If you have any squishy bits at ALL (I mean, ANY. Your tits, ass, cheeks, sides, thighs, ANYTHING WORKS.) he'll tie you down and cut em up, I mean like STAB you, and drag the knife around inside your skin.

There's not a lot else to say💔 he really likes wound fucking and there's nooo way he's gonna try and help you out, it's too hot! He cums the hardest when it's on your cuts!

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[treasureplcnet]

someone on the bodies production team you have to release more layout/bts pictures of charles whiteman's flat please. this is a great start but i need to know him better. particularly if it's got about as much mould as a second year uni house and if he owns as many chairs as it seems LOL

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: a digital illustration of Luz and Hunter from the owl house. Luz sits on the right with her hand on hunter's shoulder. Hunter sits on the left facing Luz. They're both in their designs from the end of Thanks to Them. Hunter has his eyes closed and is crying with a pained expression, while Luz looks on with tears in her eyes. The background is dark and the scene is dimly lit. The second image is a variation on the first image where a spectral version of flapjack sits on hunter's shoulder and Manny's hand in on Luz's shoulder. End ID]

Felt like posting something devious today. Do you think they'll ever talk about what they've lost? Bond over it? Mourn??? Grieve????

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my 1 (one) stardew opinion is shane should not have won the bachelor poll

[twinsarekeepers]

Reading some of the critiques of pjotv and now I know why y’all are on tumblr and not in the writer’s room 💀💀

[goldensunset]

riku’s whole series-spanning journey of redemption and trying to become the hero he was supposed to have been is kind of interesting to me. bc he like hardcore beats himself up over what he did but it’s not even the worst thing he did. yeah he gave in to darkness in kh1 but it’s really hard to blame him for all that much imo. not trying to say it was fine but in the grand scheme of things idk. again in the sequence leading up to kh2 he resorts to using the power of darkness to defeat roxas and in kh2 he’s beating himself up for that again. all like oh man i’m not worthy to be sora’s friend i’m not worthy of anything. meanwhile sora has never once this whole time felt resentment for riku and just wants him to come home and really riku you don’t have to beg him for forgiveness. but riku is really trying to forgive himself. bc he’s so hurt by the fact that he ever hurt sora at all. we see it all the way up to kh3 how much regret he feels for what happened all the way back in kh1. he is deeply devoted to sora and it makes him blind to the fact that hey um. you’ve actually like hurt several other people along the way maybe like apologize to them and earn their trust maybe it’s actually your bond with other people you gotta work on. like maybe go talk to roxas actually maybe go communicate clearly with kairi for the first time in years maybe say hey xion sorry for telling you to uhhhhh do that. like

[wren-likethe-bird]

wren rambles about the borderlands movie in tags

[amiharana]

Link is peak older brother energy I feel that is essential to his character. But the odd thing is that he's equally likely to be evil to his sister or the Perfect Role Model (he seems to be good with kids in botw too) and I think that entirely depends on how big the age gap between him and his sister is (bc link probably matured way too fast after he pulled the sword, not that he had no morals before but any mischievousness disappeared after that)

But either way can you imagine being links sister whether you're close or not like😭 And your brother is literally the divinely chosen champion of your nation. how do you live up to that i know those family dinners were tense. Links dad is out here like so proud of my son who just bested a swordsman many years his senior to become the sovereign royal princess' head chosen guard. and also my daughter for getting a C+ in her sheikah basic history exam. 🙂

What do you think revalis family situation is like. Because I have no clue but I know that guy must have Issues

anon i'm so sorry it took so long to answer this but i've been excited about this question since i saw it in my inbox. the "my daughter getting a c+ in sheikah history" bit had me rolling like here's my kid who is prophesied to save the world vs. my kid who gets into fights with cuccos. giving very much gay son or thot daughter

you're absolutely correct that link is very much Older Brother, but because pulling the master sword made him mature too fast and bear the burdens of the world as its adolescent savior, he's an Eldest Daughter by default (more under the keep-reading because i failed again in making this short)

i honestly like both ideas of link's little sister either adoring him and looking up to him like a role model, or despising him and spitting at him every time they saw each other, but it would depend a lot on whether or not link's parents splitting was amicable or not. my original headcanon kind of implied that after link's parents split, they never saw each other ever again because link and his dad were at hyrule castle and link's mother and sister stayed in hateno, but it would be cool if link's parents shared custody and had each kid go travel to see their other parent and sibling lol. i think that link would definitely write letters to his mother and sister, even if they resented him.

from here i'm just gonna refer to link's little sister as aryll until i solidify her character (i'm stuck between two names for her right now) and because it's just easier LOL but the idea of aryll being like a teeny baby 5-6 years younger than link who thinks her big brother is so cool and wants to become a knight just like him, carrying around fake wooden swords with her, wearing an oversized soldier's helm, and telling her mother like "i'll protect you, mama!" is so cute. vs. aryll being a year or two younger and resenting link for being better at everything than her and how no one seems to acknowledge her accomplishments when link's cast a tall shadow over hers. aryll, who does everything to prove that she's just as good of a fighter as her brother is, but her father still brushes her aside for link.

i think the reaction that either version of aryll would have if link slowly went quiet and stopped sending letters or coming to see her after pulling the master sword would be devastating. for teeny baby adoring aryll, she would wonder why link hasn't sent any letters recently and rationalizes it as being busy with being the champion now. as time goes by, link doesn't send any more letters at all and he doesn't ever visit despite there being sightings of the hylian champion everywhere but the necluda region and aryll would slowly become heartbroken and distraught that her big brother isn't talking to her anymore, that he seems to have forgotten about her.

but for resentful aryll, it further proves that link never cared about her and her mother at all and that all he cares about is prestige and status and fulfilling his stupid destiny as the wielder of the sword that seals the darkness (she rereads link's old letters in the middle of the night with nothing but a tiny flame, and cries silently wondering if things would be different if their parents never split or if link was never chosen as a champion).

sorry i made it sad LMAO but yes it would be funny if they still had family dinners with their father being like "today, link bested five men in hand-to-hand combat all at once, fought off ten monster hordes alone, and deflected a guardian beam with a pot lid saving someone's life! how did your day fare, aryll?" and aryll is just like. i fell off my horse shooting 20 bullseyes during practice. their father is just like Hm. That's nice. Your brother can do 50 while standing on Epona's back. cue aryll staring murderously at link, meanwhile link does not give a single shit about this conversation, he's busy shoving his face full of the food that aryll cooked because aryll is a good cook :)

it's would be such a funny perspective, aryll plotting to murder link in his sleep vs. link who is oblivious to aryll's resentment and still thinks that's his little sister who fights well and cooks a great meal. now i'm thinking about link and aryll who used to cook dinners together and learned how to cook from their mother... :(

now revali, my poor dear sweet revali... i've seen a couple fics here and there that mention revali's family situation, but i personally am in favor of the idea that revali was either abandoned or orphaned as a fledgling, and was raised by the elder and the whole of rito village in general. since nintendo gives us no indication of revali's family but implies that revali is around the same age as link, zelda, and mipha as per urbosa's diary, there's a lot of potential and flexibility with this idea.

if revali was abandoned, i think the rito would shun his parents because i like the idea that family and bonds are very important in their culture, and what kind of parents would abandon their baby like that? who even knows why revali's parents would do that but i think there are still no indications of revali's family in age of calamity, so perhaps they fled the village when revali was born and abandoned his egg in the nest. fuck them fr! this could be a good explanation for his motivation as to why he pushes himself so hard to be better as per the DLC champion revali's song memory. his parents didn't want him enough to keep him and even fled the entire village so that they wouldn't be held responsible to care for him anymore, and that stings. it would be a deep-seated insecurity for revali, a sense of betrayal, loss, and desperation to be loved, to be wanted by someone. so he trains to be better, he pushes himself until he collapses, because if his parents didn't want him as he was, then maybe no one else will.

now if revali was orphaned, i would assume that both his parents were revered, formidable warriors who died in battle but most importantly, that they did love and want revali. revali might have already been hatched at this time and present at his parents' funerals, which is actually the saddest thing ever. a tiny orphaned little hatchling who being the one to send his parents off, to honor them for dying a warrior's death. it might be a good origin story and another really good motivation behind revali's character, why he pushes himself so hard to be better. do you think baby revali thought it was his fault that his parents died in battle, that he wasn't strong enough to protect them and that's why he needs to be the strongest warrior there ever was among the rito to make sure he can protect the people he cares and loves for the most? now imagine this version of revali cradling a dying link in his arms lmao

both are good backgrounds for revali but i think at the moment i'm leaning towards the orphaned storyline. it's only thing to be unloved and unwanted, but to know you were loved and wanted but to lose those people so soon is incredibly tragic. to know those people for a short window of time and lose them so soon must tear revali apart everyday. do you think he sits alone in the flight range in the quiet of the night after hours of training, trying desperately to remember his father and mother's faces, how they must have felt to see their son hatch, how they thought they would return home safely to him that day? he's loved and respected by the village and the elder treats him as their own, but it's not the same as knowing you had a mother and father who wanted you as their own too. he's honestly also the village's biggest tragedy. i'm imagining him as a fledgling, fresh out of the funeral, walking past some rito mothers cooking meals for their kids or some shit, openly talking about how tragic it was to lose some of their best warriors and to leave behind a son in their wake. it's too much for baby revali and he runs down the platforms of rito village and hides in a tree in one of the island spires connecting the village to the mainland, crying his eyes out.

my poor blorbo revali, please treat him and link kindly everyone. they're always going through some shit whether it's family trauma or their weird gay courting 😔

[sluckythewizard]

The Altered Beast[FULL SUITE] COULD be arthur bennett or adjacent to whatever hes got going on in tha finale. if ur brave enough. IF UR BRAVE ENOUGH [tldr its just about Things eating Things and becoming New Terrible Things. it also fucking jams]