#headwind

[antspaul]

lestappen | 7k | f/f | e additional tags: comphet, infidelity, cunnilingus, rule 63

Charles has always known who to be around Max.

written for @f1femslashfest ❤️

read on ao3 here!

[4n7160d]

hot🥵

[l8tof1]

lewis talking with his hands (the all in one low quality version)

[amymac1964]

Consumers Hitting the Headwind

[flockrest]

unprompted / always accepting / @gloryseized ( Link )

<< I'm glad you're here. >>

     Revali almost doesn't catch it. Almost wishes he hadn't. It's a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye in the low lantern-light, fingers hurried and tucked in closer than Link's words usually are: as though some secret blurted, or a deep embarrassment realised, or— maybe, maybe, stars, let it be so, it's simply a trick of the dark. Anything else would mean Link really just told Revali he's glad he's here, too furtively for it to be his brand of pity, and that isn't— that isn't.

     Something swells beneath his feathers, near numbing in its capacity yet thawing in all its touch; a sudden rooting of a feeling he can't make out or place. As with every other indiscernible thing this Hylian has roused from him, Revali doesn't want to examine it.

     Ruined as his body still is from that century in Vah Medoh, he can't escape it.

     For all the do-good kindness he practically embodies, Hyrule's hero can be unexpectedly cruel sometimes.

     From the down bed he's been confined to, Revali carefully breathes through this completely fine — completely fine — development and does not move. He's lain in such a way that plausible deniability isn't so farfetched an excuse. He could feign preoccupation and open with, "Did you say something?" Save the both of them the acute awkwardness of trying to do anything with Link's...confession. Moment of vulnerability.

     Whatever it is.

     He turns his head towards the hero in full. The glow of the inn's lights washes over that face with a certain kind of warmth, accented by what more reflects off the curtain screens surrounding them. He's grateful for them to an extent — the privacy of a curtained-off corner is valuable even if the narrowed space feels too much like a narrowed world: with the two of them alone like this, no witnesses but the Windlines and skytrails to what will be shared, it isn't so difficult to see why Link might think it appropriate to...well.

     Revali opens his beak. The lantern by his roost flickers, and he watches its light dance across Link's eyes.

     "I'd hope so," he says, truly unable to escape any of this. He could stand to sound rankled about it, some part of him thinks, or at least a modicum of bothered. He tries for a sigh that only ends up sounding exhausted (unfortunate but unsurprising), then lifts his gaze back up to the roof.

     "...I suppose it's...good. That you're here as well."

[cicero-not-cisero]

Maybe YOUR twenties are about finding an identity in the liminal, poorly defined space between adolescence and adulthood, MY twenties are about fulfilling the wildest dreams of my six year old self (having my hair blowing dramatically behind me in the heavy wind)

[antspaul]

nsfw snippet below the cut

[rowingcentral]

[4n7160d]

逆風

[freakurodani]

new resolution: i am going to stop explaining my similes

YOU can figure out what i mean by that

[headslikekites]

AND LOVE LIKE THE AUTUMN LEAVES OH OUR FATE IT WAS TO DIE AWAY WITH EASE

[flockrest]

ordinary monsters / accepting / @gloryseized ( Link )

     The stars-damned thing is, it'd been his idea.

     With his health improved to an extent where not even the flock's healer or apothecary could honestly say anything against him finally picking up his bow again, Revali returned to aerial archery with the alacrity of someone starved to near death of it. Working to realign his skill with his ken was fulfilling, if also frustrating — in no small part due to those same worrywarts. They couldn't convince him to allow his abilities to languish any longer, but they could certainly convince any willing warrior to decline his requests for bouts with the maddening supposition that he had anything left to recover from.

     Well, any willing Rito warrior.

     He dives at Link, anticipating the shield that rises to meet his talons and rebounding off it with a force that carries him back to the skies and shoves his rival into a stagger. Revali's behind him now, in prime position to strike when he's exposed and busy steadying himself. As he nocks a trio of arrows and aims, the thought flits into place with the lightness of a passing breeze, tinged with a satisfaction found only in the flow of battle — even with the stakes as low as a spar's: he can't miss.

     Then it lingers.

     He can't miss.

     He can't miss.

     A sudden desperation sprouts in his chest, in tandem with the burning that flares in his left side where lesions old-and-new lay. His breath snags somewhere in the depths of his lungs, his heart — already quickened by exertion — pounding a nigh agonised rhythm as the Windlines tear out from his grasp. Faced with the abrupt dread that he's stalled for too long; a certainty he feels in his bones that he's going to be shot down any second now; a memory his body, for all its age, can't forget despite his efforts in restoring it to this point, in building up the strength to simply draw his own bow again, despite everything—

     He doesn't miss — only because he doesn't fire.

     He has the wherewithal, at least, to ensure he doesn't fall flat on his tailfeathers ( or worse, his beak ). But the damage to his pride is done: as soon as he lands, hunched and left leg threatening to buckle completely as though still rent from wounds dealt a century ago, Link is approaching with an expression he wishes he couldn't see.

     "Unless," Revali grits out, remiges still clenched around a strung bow. He latches onto the indignation of being pitied, forcing words where his breaths continue to elude him, "you're coming to strike me down, step no closer."

     In another time, something like that might've been enough to have the Hylian withdrawing. Here, it merely keeps him at bay. It does not stop Link from sheathing his equipment or poising his hands to speak, and Revali — in a move he immediately feels a sharp sting of regret for — turns his head away with shut eyes. It's horrifyingly juvenile.

     He pushes through an inhale, then another, before he's blinking his eyes back open and slowly straightening. The weight of humiliation, coated with an additional layer of self-contempt, sits on his back like newly scored scars. Whatever Link said or didn't say, his saving grace is that he seems to understand just how poorly it'd be received; his hands have dropped into rest by his sides.

     That blasted expression hasn't left his face, though.

     "Enough," Revali snaps, with such venom that his shoulders heave. A grievous mistake: his wingtips, alarmingly, lose their hold on the arrows he failed to release. He twitches — and refuses to look at them as they clatter to the ground, as if ignoring a pathetic blunder of those proportions is possible. "I'm fine."

     Silence. Nothing. It's exactly what he hoped for and exactly what makes the feathers by his neck bristle. He opens his beak, another snarl swelling in his throat, but Link's hands suddenly lift.

<< Your wings are shaking. >>

     Revali pauses.

     His instinctive response is one of denial. It's also one that would only prove Link's point. He clacks his beak closed, gnashing on an inability to say otherwise, because the trembling — even as he tightens his grip on his bow and rolls the pinions of his other wing into something like a fist — doesn't stop.

     It doesn't stop.

     "—A miscalculation," he says, brushing the unwelcome observation, the entire debacle, aside with half of an unwanted truth. He pitches his voice louder, firmer, an attempt at distracting. "It's been, as you know, a while. You will have to bear with my recovery — or is that beneath you?"

     ( Still, it doesn't stop. )

[antspaul]

decided i needed to completely restructure this fic that i’ve written 3k of… and they’re not even in the bedroom yet