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whumping-valentine · 16 days

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Hey you guys, who's ready to finally watch me live up to my username???

This piece is focused on Valentine and Vittoria. I realized that I don't have to wait until the main series arrives to talk about them, so I'm writing this!

Any little things like this I'll tag as "Butterfly Blood Extras" while the eventual main series will just be "Butterfly Blood."

So yeah, anyways, enjoy finally seeing Valentine in action! If you like the dynamic and lore feel free to stick around for the eventual chronological series 👀 it'll be out once Fawn and Hunter is completed.

Content: Slightly cocky (ex-)royal whumpee. Intimate whumper. Non-human / magical characters. Fantasy setting. Elemental magic. There's also very detailed, intimate, vampire neck biting at the end of this. Also stripping and nudity, but it doesn't lead to anything sexual. Also also whumpee has a collar.

They/she whumpee (Valentine)

She/her whumper (Vittoria)

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After being cooped up underground for such extended periods of time, Valentine was overjoyed to finally be getting some fresh air, even if it meant they had to sneak out. The cool wind against their face, the sound of the chirping birds, the slight crunch of the earth beneath their feet, it could just about be Heaven. Even when they'd get to go outside, it was always at night. They could hardly remember the last time they saw daylight.

It was cloudy that day, and it looked like rain was soon to come. While it was Val's favorite weather, they'd much rather see the sun at this point in time. They'd do anything to feel its warmth against their skin, even if it defied every rule of magic itself. But let's be honest, that was only but a dream.

It didn't stop Valentine from trying, though. It never did.

They tried everything they possibly could to move the clouds and change the weather. Every possible thing their mother ever taught them. Every stance, movement, and motion that their siblings mastered ages ago. Though for them, not even a single gust of wind bent to their will.

Of course, they knew this would happen. They were nothing but the first-born disappointment. The destined Princess of the air and wind, heir to the Kingdom of Hearts, and yet they couldn't make even a single breeze.

Princess Valentina Rose Papilio, the butterfly who never got her wings.

They fell to the grass, hugging their knees to their chest as they wept against a tree. They should've been holding their mother's royal scepter, wearing her crown, making all of Heriviks proud. But she never even made it to phase one. Never got her wings, or her powers. Couldn't even control the Hearts' element of wind let alone the other three like the rest of the Papilio family could.

She had cousins from the Kingdom of Clubs, who's dominant magic was earth, do flawless air maneuvers. Who could control the Spades' fires with ease, and make formidable waves that even the most skilled Diamond would be jealous of. That was just the nature of her family, they were more than just royals, they were gods, too.

She was powerless without magic, and that powerlessness is exactly what Vittoria took advantage of. That magic that made her who she was, that should've ran through her blood. The magic that should've made her a god. Because without their magic... what difference does a god have to their subjects? There wasn't one.

There was a certain humble humility to that, of course. It's important for powerful, gifted beings to not be too full of themselves. It's their responsibility to use their powers to keep balance and peace in the world. A responsibility she was always told she would one day have, but would never be granted. A raised and bred god denied their destiny.

Vittoria always said it was fair. She was born into royalty by random chance, so it would be fair to take it all away, too. Maybe she was right. Maybe she deserved this. Maybe this was her destiny. Maybe a punishment from the universe. She wasn't too sure.

The thunder rumbled quietly in the sky, small drops of rain falling from the clouds, tapping against the leaves, hitting the earth. Wind rustled through the tree branches as autumn leaves fell in their breeze. Valentine turned their head to the sky, closing their eyes as their tears blended with the rain that washed down their cheeks.

It was the weather of her people, as was the autumnal season. The Kingdom of Hearts, the Land of Eternal Autumn. The Heartis butterflies, the creatures with air magic. Their heart longed for home so much in the early days, but now she could hardly remember her mother's face, or her sister's laugh. Even the sound of her brother's arrogant, whiny dramatics would be like music to her ears. All those things once took for granted, now a bitter, distant nostalgia. A time she could never go back to.

They sat there with their thoughts for so long. Even when the droplets began to pour they still stayed put in the grass, letting the storm cleanse them. It was almost meditative as they listened to the fierce wind, and rumbling skies. It was a warm, comfortable rain, and in it, they found themself back to a memory they'd almost forgotten.

They were out on the beach with their family when they were young. Their mother was teaching them and their siblings how to make rain. None of them had gotten their magic yet, so it was all just practicing the motions, with their mother actually creating rainfall by the end of the lesson. Valentine remembered getting their royal gown soaking wet, covered in sand.

They remembered feeling scared about the mess, until their mother encouraged them to have fun, chasing the four of her children with waves, springing sand castles up from the ground, letting the rain get them soaked. Amora Papilio had always looked to Valentina with the most pride in her eyes, being the first born.

It hurt so bad to watch it slowly turn to disappointment. Some days they wondered if the family ever even came looking for them. If they even worried. If they were happy about it.

Valentine sat out there for what felt like hours. They didn't want to go back to Vittoria, to the dark. They contemplated trying to find their way back to the Kingdoms, but they knew that was hopeless, and trying would just cause them even more trouble. Using whatever scarce strength they had, they stood back up and started the walk home.

The walk home? They scoffed at their own thoughts ...Since when did Hell become home?

Valentine eventually made it back to the entrance. A small hatch in the grass among many that would lead to an entire underground city of torment. They hopped down it and made their way through the various empty stone hallways, until they made it to the horrid front door. They nearly felt like throwing up as they turned the knob, willingly walking back to the worst place they knew.

"Out playing in the rain it seems." Vittoria said as they entered, causing Valentine to jump, "Trailing mud and rainwater all over my floors. Don't beg for my attention when you get sick. What were you doing?"

"Walking," Valentine replied, shutting the door behind them, "You know, like you said that I could."

"I never said that. When did I say— ah, ah, ah! No trailing mud and water all over the carpets, you're a mess and you don't need to bring it in here. Take off your clothes, and tell me— when did I say that?"

Before the order was embarrassing and down right horrifying, but now it felt no different to taking off their shoes. They talked casually while they stripped without a second thought.

"You told me this night that you did not need me today. You said that I could do whatever I wanted, sunrise to sunset. So obviously that means I did not have to sleep during the day then, yes?"

Vittoria looked displeased, but not angry, "I suppose so," she sighed. She always watched her words when making deals with Val, finding ways to twist them around while still being truthful. It was only fair they did the same back. She could only blame herself for this one.

Valentine smiled. They knew it would work at getting them off the hook, though they still worried, "Great! I had a good time outside."

"How the hell did you even get outside?"

"I took your keys." They casually replied, taking them out of their pants' pocket before taking them off. They tossed the keys to a very surprised, wide-eyed Vittoria.

"You… you took my keys? How- when- you- you took my keys and just… came back?"

"You and I both know how well things fared the last time that I attempted to leave. Besides, it is not like I even know how to get home, so even if I tried it would be all for naught."

Vittoria sighed in frustration, rolling her eyes as she placed her head on her hand, "I thought you finally got rid of those stupid royal speech patterns."

"Oh, I have. I just do them to annoy you now."

"You used to be afraid of me."

"You used to be scary."

Valentine bit their lip as soon as the sentence left their mouth, and the mood instantly shifted.

Vittoria stood up, "Oh, what's that? You think I'm not scary?"

"I— n-no, ma'am, I just—"

"You think I'm not scary?" She repeated, stepping towards them. Valentine slowly backed away. "You think I've grown soft? Lenient? So much so that you think you can just take my keys and sneak off in the middle of the day?"

Valentine shook their head vigorously, "No, no, it isn't that at all! I just— I know how your games work, I'm just playing by your rules! And— when you know the rules things just... become... easier?" They quietly squeaked, unsurely, shrinking down as she stood over them, backing them into a corner.

With a quick, simple motion, Vittoria hooked a leash onto their collar, "I'm not going to have to keep you leashed all the time, am I?" She asked, putting her hands on the wall, boxing them in, leash around her wrist.

"I— I sure hope not."

Vittoria narrowed her eyes, "What games are you playing, Papilio? Because they're sure not mine."

"I'm not playing any games!" They squeaked, voice strained as it started to fill with fearful tears.

“Oh, you’re not, are you? Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Valentine was shaking like a frightened dog, trapped between her arms, stuck against the wall. Her gaze always felt uncomfortable and obtrusive, and in times like this where it was frightening, Valen felt like they could just combust on the spot. No matter if they avoided her eyes or squeezed their own shut, they could feel her staring, they always could.

Her gaze was a threat, a predator stalking their prey, looking for insecurities. A fucking creep lusting after them like they were nothing more than a pretty toy. A gaze that could practically burn into their skin. Always intrusive, always threatening something, always felt. They just prayed she didn’t say—

“Look at me.” She demanded, her hands going from the wall to their shoulders, causing them to tense and freeze, squeezing their eyes shut, tears leaking down their cheeks.

“Bug…” She said, tone more irritated, growing darker. She slid her hands down their arms, “I won’t tell you again…” she grabbed tightly onto their wrists, and growled, “Look at me.”

Valentine hitched a breath as they forced themself to open their eyes, staring at her like a deer in headlights, afraid and now unable to look away. Vittoria slightly tilted her head, and when they felt her lips kiss their neck underneath their collar, near their collarbone, their silent tears turned to crying.

“P-please, no! No, don’t, please!”

“You know much I love the taste of royal blood, baby bug.” She whispered into their ear, “I could do this allll the time, everyday, but I don’t. I know how much… distress it causes you. How much you hate it. I only do it when you fuck up.” She said, louder. Valentine cringed both from the volume and the curse. “You have no one to blame but yourself, you know that, yeah?”

"Y-yes, I know, ma'am, I'm sorry."

"You better be." She said, trailing her hands back up their arms, unlocking their collar, letting it fall to the ground. Having it off their neck made them feel more exposed than if they were fully naked... which they were, but now they really felt like it.

She planted slow kisses all over their neck. Valentine had never been more tense as their face flushed from the vulnerable intimacy, just waiting in anticipation for what was about to happen. Vittoria slowly turned kisses into licks, then to dragging her fangs across their skin, to nibbling, still not yet biting. Until she did, fast and suddenly, yet gentle. Valentine hitched a breath, and their breathing became labored.

Her fangs lightly pierced through their flesh, just on the surface, so agonizingly slowly. It went from a simple pinch, to something that only got more and more unbearable. A mix of crying, screaming, and incoherent begging came from Valentine, getting worse as she sank her teeth deeper and deeper, penetrating their muscles as delicious, royal, godly blood seeped into her mouth.

She may have been presenting as a vampire, but her inner moth cravings didn’t just go away because of it. She had to fight against her instincts to just tear into their flesh and eat them alive. The insatiable hunger that a moth had was impossible to satisfy, but at least with blood, thirst could be quenched.

She sunk her teeth firmly into their neck, holding them in place. By this point Val stayed quiet, focusing on their breathing, getting used to the pain. They winced as Vittoria sucked the blood. The horrendous throbbing, the feeling of the suction, her tongue, their own warm blood dripping down their neck. It should’ve been unbearable, yet they still managed to take it. They had no other choice, they never did. A butterfly at the mercy of the moth’s ravenous teeth. The teeth she was always warned about, a warning she never headed.

Curiosity always bit the butterfly.

Vittoria could practically feel the blood flowing through their veins. She could sense the tension, and wild beating of their heart. She could feel their pulse on her teeth, and in their arms that she held tightly onto. She could feel their tension slowly slipping away as they grew more and more weak and limp. That was her sign to stop.

Finally, she pulled away, releasing her bite. Valentine was exceptionally pale, looking lightheaded and faint.

Vittoria chuckled, "Hm hm! Took a bit too much, didn't I?"

Valentine could only blink slowly in response. When Vittoria removed her hands from their arms, they collapsed forward, forcing her to catch them. "Oh, you poor thing." She cooed, holding them in her arms for a moment, dragging her fingers through their hair.

Oh, how she absolutely just loved them like this. So weak, fragile, and relaxed after putting up such a fussy fight. So calm, tired, and passive. A limp little ragdoll she could do anything to. The fact that it was caused by drinking their precious royal blue blood just made it all the more better. A part of them, now a part of her.

Though despite how great it was, it wasn't something she often did. It was reserved for special occasions, or spontaneous ones like this. The scarcity just made it more delightful for her, and more frightening for Valentine. She lifted them up into her arms, and carried them into another room.

Vittoria wiped the wound clean while Val sat and sniffled. All that was left was a throbbing puncture wound accompanied by the bruise of a hickey. She placed a bandage over it, securing their collar back on over top it. She reached her hands up to their face, wiping away their tears with her thumbs. Val winced from her gentle touch. They always found it insulting and invasive. Such a gesture of fake, loving intimacy.

Valentine moved their puffy, sad eyes to look at her, though her gaze no longer felt scary, or threatening. It was almost... admiral? Proud?

Maybe sometimes it wasn’t fake.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you liked your first look at Val and Tori :3

If you did, you should be pleased to know that the full series I have planned for them is 50 chapters long, with each chapter most likely being over 3,000 words, at least. Though I tend to get between 4,000–5,000. You can tell I really love these two, I feel like you can just see it in how I write.

If you have any questions about the lore of the world or characters, or just wanna know more about them, please feel free to ask me in the comments or send an ask! I have a LOT of worldbuilding in this, and it can understandably get confusing. As the King of Yapping, I'd gladly go into more detail! I'm practically begging you! Haha.

Stay tuned for more of them! ♡♡♡

#Butterfly Blood Extras #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #whump things #fantasy whump #non human whump #oc whump #oc writing #royal whump #vampire whumper #intimate whumper #royal whumpee

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worldofhurt · 1 year

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Butterfly Collectors (1999).

#Butterfly Collectors #Jamie Draven #Ben Crompton #1990s #90s tv #my gifs #whump #whumpedit #tvedit

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sowhumpful · 6 months

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#whump #knife #held at knifepoint #knife to the throat #terrified #fear #helpless #antonio banderas #Movie Black Butterfly #tied up #duct tape #restrained #tied to a chair #struggle against the bonds #struggle against the duct tape

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secret-bug-pain-blog · 6 months

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[THURSDAY]

Buried Alive - Outlived Family - "Not growing old was fun at first, but then everyone around me started dying."

Hi! Hello! We're here, Late To The Event. Technically, we have plans for all these days! We only remembered this event was ongoing halfway through the week, and by then... well, you know how it is. Technically, this isn't fully compliant with the prompt, but it's close enough that we figure it counts, since outliving his entire family was actually slightly less impactful than outliving his husband for our boy.

Fic below the cut, and @species-whump-weekly we sincerely hope this isn't too late to count.

You have been asleep for long enough that you aren't even sure if he'll still be alive.

His swarm finds you before you find them.

Marina gasps when she sees you. She's years older, now - wings worn at the edges, shell thin and flimsy, aged far beyond the young butterfly you saw her as last.

She looks older than you ever have been. She looks older than you suspect you ever will be.

Her father, your friend – your paramour, your years-long companion – isn’t with her. You fear, for a moment, you’ve stumbled upon them too late. You nearly cringe away from the migration them and there, fearful of discovering yet another thing that’s slipped away while you hibernated.

But you don’t have the heart to walk away.

He’s been waiting for you.

He is old, and frail, and dying. You can taste the creeping end in his veins from the moment you step foot into the tent. His shell is pitted with age, now, cracked and chinked in places, brittle enough that you fear taking his hand will hurt him. Time has weathered him, his wings transparent and paper-thin around him, and you… you stay the same, looking just as young as the day you first met him on the stolen life of those who unearthed your grave.

“I knew you’d come back,” he tells you. “You wouldn’t die that easily.”

You hold his frail, trembling claw in both of yours. You aren’t sure how he can say that so confidently. He has always had more faith in you than you have in yourself.

He invites you to drain him.

You hesitate, at first. Every instinct you have picked up over your long, long life is screaming for you to run. To survive, to keep your secret- he knows, and it's against everything you've ever learned to remain, to let him speak, to not preserve your life-

He knows. But maybe he's known for a long, long time.

You take his offer. You take his life.

You know what it is that killed him the moment you bite. The magic of the wastes, the low hum that seeps into your bones, the constant background noise that sometimes threatens to tear you apart - it gathers within him, down to the deepest parts of his shell. There are lumps of flesh in his heart, his lungs, full of the same mind-jarring, skull-shattering buzz.

He has the wasteland sickness.

You think that, perhaps, he has had the wasteland sickness for a long time.

You drain him until he is dry, until every last flicker of the wasteland sickness is gone from his body, until he is stiff and his flesh holds the texture of jerky, and you let your fangs linger on his shrivelled veins until you can't bear to remain anymore.

You are sick, the next day.

And the day after that, and the day after that.

The buzz is in your bones, now - too close, too loud, rattling through your shell like a twisted beast. You have the wasteland sickness, stolen from his dying body, and it is trying to take you the way it took him.

You do not die.

You don't know if it's a blessing or a curse, anymore.

It is energy. It is vitality, the buzzing, throbbing pulse beyond the heart of a beast on a scale you cannot comprehend.

It is life force, and you can stomach it just the same.

A week passes. Two weeks. The symptoms slow, as you digest it. It becomes your life, your energy, it bends to keep you alive, it becomes you, while you lie weak and dizzy and throwing up blood.

It becomes you. You become it, in turn.

It is the last pulse of your husband, and you refuse to waste it.

You stumble out of the tent two weeks later, exhausted and bearing injuries you cannot see with your naked eyes. You are tired, and hurt, and you have burnt through most of the life you had, but you are alive.

His body is still waiting for you.

#species whump weekly #monsieur scarlet #whump #my posts #writing #my writing #nonhuman whumpee #character death #bug fables #walks up a week late to the week long event. hey everyone whats up #we are going to make you feel sad about a vampire and you will have no choice in the matter #our vampire is very nontraditional but he is still a vampire unless youre gonna exclude a LOT of classic vamps from the category #life force draining ant guy who is kinda sorta immortal and heavily nomadic #his husband here is a monarch butterfly and will be unfamiliar to everyone because we havent talked about him yet #if you are in the bug fables tag looking at this: hi. we're doing crimes to guys for event purposes again #nothing new for us but you may enjoy this later

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blueboxsm · 6 months

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Butterfly as symbol of metamorphosis from plain to beauty. Being touched by a butterfly is luck. Butterfly effect being a small change that changes the whole thing. Butterfly symbolism is cheff kiss

Now, imagine: butterflies as allegory of trauma. Butterflies looks beautiful, but some species like Purple Emperor — the male ones specifically — eats corpses. The female ones eats rotten fruit. If butterflies swarm you, you're rotten. Similarly, it also means cycle of rebirth, which can be twisted to cycle of abuse.

#basically dumping ideas here #i don't have time to write this so #butterflies #tw corpse #only brief mention but uh just in case #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #writeblr #whump #sm writes

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satashiiwrites · 5 months

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Choices and Regrets, Chapter 2

Title: Choices and Regrets, Chapter 2: Cognitive Dissonance

Fandom: 911, Dark Matter

Pairings: Buddie, HenRen, other pairings

Summary:

If you could go back and change the choices in your life, would you? Would you love the same people, go on the same vacations, have the same career? Or would you have regrets?

After the lightning strike, an unexpected visitor makes Buck question all the choices he’s ever made. From dropping out of the Seals to never making a move on Eddie because the time hasn’t been right. He’s going to get an up close and personal look at what could have been because another version of Buck is focused on taking his choices away from him—including Eddie and Christopher Diaz.

Tags/warnings: dark themes, dubious consent, explicit sex, kidnapping, murder, major character death, drug use, identity fraud

Gloved hands grasp his ankles and arms tightly, and the vertigo he experiences is intense as his body is heaved up and not gently dumped on a gurney hard enough to shove all the air out of his lungs, making Buck cough. His stomach feels like it’s turning inside out, and Buck attempts to retch, but a hand shoves him back onto the gurney, and an oxygen mask is applied.

“How did he get outside the Device?” A male voice asks snaps, the sound echoing like it’s bouncing off concrete. “Move people! Follow procedure!”

He’s been found? Where is he?

“He’s waking up, Doctor!”

“Evan, can you hear me?” Buck’s chin is forcibly turned, but his vision is blurry. A man is standing over him, dressed head to toe in a hazmat suit that Buck doesn’t know. “He’s too out of it. Proceed to step one.”

Read Chapter 2 here on AO3

#buddie #911 #Choices and regrets #Chapter update #911 fic #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #dark matter fusion #Thriller #Playing with multiple universes #Butterfly effect #doppelganger #buck’s own worst enemy is himself #Buddie does the traumafuckingolympics #Whump #nanowrimo project 2023

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scratchandplaster · 1 year

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Small Delights

CW: tiny Whumpee, non-human Whumpee, dubious Caretaker/Carewhumper, referenced nudity (non-sexual), it as a pronoun, conditioning

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The sun set beautifully behind the hills, yellows and pinks flowing through the window and letting the light reflect onto the glass panels that separated the tiny creature from the rest of the room. Surrounded by ferns and luscious greenery, they tended to forget that the square they called home wasn't bigger than a tree stump.

Lifting themself up from a mossy stone, graceful wings unfolded and stretched their full potential, they hopped down onto the soft earthy ground. Always cleaned and looked after, just like themself.

They pressed their face tightly against the closest pane, cool to the touch and speckled with water droplets. It liked to make the air around them heavy with drizzle, always misting the plants from above. It would be here soon, just like every evening.

Letting a quiet yawn escape their mouth, the creature barely taller than a mouse let the bright orange wings flutter in the last beams of sunlight. To the unaided eye, the missing spots in their pattern were invisible, chitin scales stacking on top of each other like bark. Stunning to watch, useless as always.

The air began to whir in a familiar frequency; it had arrived and made its way closer towards the transparent world they learned to inhabit. Fear had long faded from their mind, too familiar was the daily ritual it taught them since their rise from the cocoon.

As it entered the room, unintelligible rumbling was directed towards them, and the giant shape removed the cover above their head.

They would love to know what they were saying, but apart from gestures, the communication with this titan was hopeless. It seemed to desire only one thing anyway, so all study would be a waste of effort.

The lid wasn't made out of any material they knew, it didn't feel like natures' product, no living element they could connect with. The hollow branch they used to hide in always provided a sense of comfort, of a home they had to have before...this. Hidden memories of the life prior to their transformation felt like faded dreams now.

Lowering its hand slowly into their playground, the expectant fingers waited for their cooperation. Climbing gingerly onto its palm, a few strong flaps of their wings helped with getting placed onto the rough skin beneath. They were meant to sit now, flipping wayward specks of dirt and moss away from their limbs, uncovered and delicate as a young nymph.

Back in the early days of their amity, they tried to flit and make the whole ordeal easier for both of them, but after a vicious grab and shake they learned to leave such decisions up to their gracious host. Never given the chance to try further, flying seemed pointless anyway. Maybe they weren't made for it after all.

The appendage lifted them out of the glass and up to its eyes, two dark spheres not much different to their own stared down at them.

Today must have been pleasant for it, the joyous expression mirrored clearly by their tiny guest made it act even more excited. A gentle grumble left its lips, nearly a purr. It had to have a successful hunt, they pondered.

Careful not to lose balance, the hand lifted the winged creature onto their chosen place: a cushion seat for their ritual. Bringing themself into position, they prayed to get it over with quickly today, thinking of the sweet reward that would follow.

The rummaging behind them stopped, as it too sat down and began what they could only describe as pleasant torture: hundreds of hairs started to tickle the edge of their wings, stroking leisurely across the vibrant tones one could only see in autumn.

It didn't hurt them as the brushing kept its steady pace, or when it dipped lower on their wing to graze the spot in the pattern that reminded them of an eye. It didn't hurt when the pressure of the bristles against them rose, and it didn't hurt when the chitin plates that gave their wings shape and color began to shed across the floor.

Like snowflakes in a storm, the warm hues gracing their body were dusted off, tearing spots next to the fine veins throughout.

Deep down, they knew it made them lose their power. And this hurt, but only when they listened to the buried instinct that told them to resist against the loving mishandling.

After what felt like an eternity, the strokes became gentle again, like a breeze on their figure, and travelled down to where wing met skin.

Their upper back was being freed of crumbs and remaining scales, as the hairs moved downwards in long strokes to grant their legs and arms the same kind of attention. It worked thorough, leaving their body warm and tingly. Their head was last, patted down with a few quick swoops of its tool, marking the end of the routine.

Freed of any leftover grime, the pleasant shivers lulled them into a calm state, ready to drift off in its care. Before they could rest, it pressed a quick kiss between their wings, earning itself a whimper under its lips.

Breathing deeply, it lifted them up again to lay under the light they prepared in advance. The slight buzz of the heat above made them even sleepier, already willing to settle down onto the soft fabric.

It loved to arrange these little surprises for them, the nest it built allowed for enough space to stretch and settle down. So safe under the watchful eyes of their host, they folded their wings together, keeping them as close to their body as possible.

One could not wish for everything in life, at least they were far away from any predators or storms they could fell victim to.

Flying wasn't necessary then, right?

It meant well, they were certain, but they would give everything to explain the misunderstanding to it.

Still, to stay here was the better option, in the safety and comfort it loved to provide them. They called themself ungrateful, as they bathed the treacherous fantasy of the world beyond the glass.

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Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

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