#Reformed Sage

[coffeeman777]

😂😂

[ladysnowangel]

[duckapus]

Episode idea: the kids decide to invite Welony to a sleepover, because even though they don't fully trust her yet they've seen that she is taking responsibility for her past self's actions and is trying to be a better person, and anyway they were willing to give Root a chance after All That and are friends with Sage despite her being a currently active supervillain so they don't really have a convenient excuse to not extend a figurative olive branch. Unfortunately, Lil Coding's programming has been acting up a little ever since he recovered from getting Reset(those little bug viruses can do a number on ya), and he accidentally pulls them into a shared dream.

Initially they just use this as an excuse to goof off in a world with no rules and check out everyone's favorite dreams, but things slowly start going awry as little bits and pieces of everyone's nightmares start seeping in.

And then they eventually end up in Welony's dream, a dark, twisted forest made entirely with Majora's Mask assets where a bunch of Skull Kids with watermelon masks start hunting them down. At first some of them think she's doing this on purpose, revealing that she's just as bad as before...until they find the current version of her getting tormented by a nightmarishly exaggerated version of her past self, both verbally and physically attacking her in an...uncomfortably well-acted scene. Thankfully the kids manage to help her fight off her demons by using Dream Logic to their advantage and also having a Big Emotional Honesty Moment, and when they win they all wake up.

The reactions afterward are a bit of a mixed bag. On one hand this is a big step towards the group fully accepting the new Welony. On the other hand, nobody's getting back to sleep tonight.

[sheilamurrey]

We are grateful

Silver Birch was a spirit guide who spoke through Maurice BarbanellWe are grateful

[fnvbennygecko]

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS THE CASINO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THAT'S WHAT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[linusjf]

Elizabeth Rundle Charles: To know and to dare

“To know how to say what other people only think is what makes men poets and sages; and to dare to say what others only dare to think, makes men martyrs or reformers, or both.“ —Elizabeth Rundle Charles, writer (1828-1896).

[yourlocaltreesimp]

if I was the guide I would try to help link more then just help him with puzzles and where to go next. I would try helping with enemies and bosses by distracting them, help with stealth missions by making noise to distract guards, scavenge for things like rupees, bombs, arrows, food ect, for them, watch over link while he slept,help teach them how to play instruments cuz i doubt they would automatically know how to play, help keep them warm at night, let link vent and not bottle up his emotions,ya know cuz the poor boy deserves some help. Maybe guide reader help teach the links how to fight, cuz time, wind, and maybe legend, hyrule and how to sword fight cuz there's no way time and wind would know how to sword fight when their journeys first began, they were just kids, legend and four might have cuz legends uncle knew how to use a sword and fours grandfather is a blacksmith and in the four swords manga his father is captain of the hyrule knights, hyrule I don't honestly know if the fairies taught him how to fight with weapons, twilight was taught by rusl, sky, warriors and calamity were training/were already knights, wild would definitely have to be re taught how to fight again, and sage already remembered/ relearned how. I don't know how old first, korodai and courage were when they first learned,How would the chain react to that if they remembered? Sorry it's so long.😅

Sorry this one’s been sitting so long! This is going to be a bit of a ramble, but it’ll make sense! Took some liberties!!

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Player/Guide!reader is the epitome of comfort to the boys. Much of their lives they have been taught through experience to trust no one —not even their own goddess— lest they get a dagger in the back. And at first they are cautious. A person with no ties to hyrule who is so eerily familiar with the heroes and utterly bewitching? They’re half convinced you are a trick, meant to play on their insecurities and trauma.

Time gathers his recollections first. He remembers your calm voice correcting his form and swings, your encouragement to keep improving— not with the intent of killing, but with only his safety at heart. He’d buried his blade within the thick trunk of a tree and heard your old whispers through his ears, and it all made sense. That even as his bones were cracked and reformed and the threads of time unraveled, you were consistent. Even when he wasn’t the same him that you loved before, you were back again. Protecting him, even if he didn’t need it. You were arms for him to return to and someone to hold and love.

Legend remembered almost on accident. He’d bolted up from the solid earth, rings snagging at his hair as his fingers tugged at the root. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like that of a frightened animal. You’d cautiously found your way in front of him, talking him down from the world within. Your hands massaged his palms easing the tension and removing his hair from his grip. You’d done this many times before, he realised. You were all he had for the months after leaving Koholint, your unconditional love despite his less than stellar attitude was something he felt guilty to forget. But perhaps now he’d be content to make up for it by letting you keep him there, curled up against your chest… even if he’d get some teasing.

Twilight didn’t actually remember on his own. In fact, he’s so stubborn and protective over the ‘pack’ that he likely wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Epona. For a large part, he trusted her judgment. Most animals did have a keener sense for natural disasters, but she always seemed to have a good sense of character. Sure, it was odd enough she ate right out of your hand with a happy nicker, but she just really liked apples. She’s a horse, she’s easily bribed. But even then, he’s not sure how much bribing it would take for her to lay down and let you braid flowers through her freshly brushed mane. It was trust. From all the other times you did it absentmindedly —occasionally even to him— it seems her trust in character was still sharp.

Warriors was actually slightly embarrassed by how he came to remember. Dripping wet from the rain and favourite cloak littered with mud and holes, he was rather cranky. He got showered and changed —thank the three they were at an inn— and decided to leave the stained and worn clothes as a tomorrow problem. That was until his prized blanket scarf found its way into to your mits. He tried to snatch it back, earning some odd looks and the shutter of the sheikah slate. You were frustratingly difficult to catch. It seemed that hadn’t changed. When he was ultimately successful, however, he realised that you’d actually been making an incredibly successful job at washing and repairing it as you’d done thousands of times before. He remembers you my firelight, cobalt swathed over your lap as your needle glided through the fabric. He remembered trying to imitate your stitches. He remembered how he never quite got it right.

He let you finish working.

Four was having a crisis. Do not let his indifference fool you, this man is a wreck. Best believe that beyond his surprisingly stubborn stoicism, the colors are shaking each other by the shoulders and screaming. Red recognised you immediately. His heart was quite literally moulded after your soft words and carefully love, he couldn’t forget you so long as he had a soul. Green being the mediator between them all and heard his quiet utters. The most honest a man could be that his adoration was infectious. It was you who taught him who he was. Blue took a while. So strong-willed in his stance, the he forgot you were the one to teach him to take a stand. He forgot it was you who willed him to fight for what he loved. Vio fell last, what would you expect of the mind. He hardly noticed it. The way his thoughts timed to you, the way he sought your presence and craved your voice. It was you who taught them how to be separate and yet loved them wholly. And such loyalty could only be payed back.

Wind remembered you in fragments. He remembers his parent by oath, who shielded him from the vast world he was so desperate to see. He didn’t understand it at first. But loosing you, especially when his memory wasn’t fully gone like the others, was rough. He mourned and grieved, even if he didn’t realise it. He missed being cared for. Without the looming question of what favor needed done or when it would go away. He missed you. It took a while to heal. For him to feel ok trusting in people again, even eventually curling up next to Wars when he’d try to sleep. He felt guilty, as if he were betraying you when you dug up dead feelings. But it’s hard to be a rebellious rascal when your partner in crime is finally returned to you especially after you were concerned you killed them. It takes him a while to process your back, but he’s back at your side, tugging you along by the hand as he explains his next devious prank.

Hyrule remembers you through his magic. The way your heart stutters as he heals you is familiar, a beat he’s fallen asleep to many times before and the life within it is one he can’t help but feel… connected to. He keeps a close eye out, his ears wiggling at the familiar music of your laugh and his skin unfamiliar without your own to cradle it. You share a spirit with them, a bit of your soul and theirs and a small both of theirs in you. And yet his mind can’t call out to why. It keeps him awake, taunting at him. But he knows his soul yearns for the part with yours. He knows the rush of your blood and song of your soul. He knows he loves you. Even if he doesn’t get why.

Wild takes so long to remember you for exactly the reasons you’d expect. His mind hides away the most crucial parts of itself in plain sight, never to be noticed or recognized until the memories are far too warped and rotten to actually remember anything. Anything of note, that is. But for what it’s worth, he never really perceived you as a threat. You were homey and comfortable, a trait so unfamiliar to his life of travel, he didn’t care if it left a sword in his stomach. Besides, not any yiga could take on an act that long. He took off the cooked eggs and set them onto a separate plate as you sat quietly, Wind strewn over your torso. You hummed softly the same work song he’d sung for years. One for which he didn’t know the origin, not until hearing you for what felt like the first time again. He couldn’t help but hum along.

Sky was cursed to forget you.

I must preface because he is a lover boy first and hero second. He wouldn’t care who Demise was, nor his business, so long as you were safe and loved. He loved you more than each and every star in the sky. And he’d already began to start planning your home. He knew he loved you. He knew he was made to love you. And that was exactly why he was made to forget you. That loyalty was scary to the gods. That one would devote themselves to another for little more than love in return— Hylia could not risk her heroes to stray. But try as she might she couldn’t surpress you. Not when you were already married, souls intertwined through every timeline. Your role varied, a healer, a helping hand, a comfort, a home, a parent, a lover, a souse. But you were always someone to Link. No matter what the gods declared. He remembered you only after all the others had, but he’s alright with that.

[fashionsfromhistory]

Dress

1893

Conventional in style for its time, with a close fitting boned bodice, defined yoke, tight sleeves with epaulettes and full puffed top sections, this two piece dress nevertheless shows the influence of artistic dress on the materials from which it has been made. Originating from the attempts to reform ugly aspects of women’s clothing, artistic dress favoured muted colours and softly textured fabrics, and by the 1890s some of these preferences had found their way into more mainstream fashion worn by middle class women with cultural interests. The fine silk twill of the dress’s body, the velvet and soft wool of its sleeves, collar and hem, and the ‘antique’ lace of its yoke were all favoured components of artistic dress, as were its simple grey shell buttons that celebrated the unpretentious beauty of natural materials. Sludgy shades of green such as olive and sage were a reaction against the brashness of synthetic dyes, and both greens have been used in the silk’s printed design of ‘faded’ pink and yellow honeysuckle with light sage foliage on a dark olive ground. This design, albeit on a different scale, evokes some of the textiles and wallpapers produced by the firm of Morris & Co, set up by William Morris to provide items of interior design that accorded with his artistic and socialist principles. One such example is the block printed cotton ‘Honeysuckle’ of 1876, depicting pale flowers and foliage on a dark ground.

John Bright Collection

[candiezmanzion]

metal sonic and belle

yall are SLEEPING on belle and metal as siblings

and i dont BLAME yall bc idw havent done that much with them yet. HOWEVER....

they have way more potential than sage and metal do SORRY.

i think its pretty clear we're gonna have an ongoing ordeal with belle trying to help and/or reform metal over the next few arcs

i think, arguably, belle has shown the most true care for metal compared to ANY other character in the series EVER, and DEFINITELY the most care in idw.

she had no reason to help metal other than she wants to help other robots. she even drags him to a safe place when things become dire, showing how dedicated she is to helping others.

and on metal's part? well...

metal, upon first awakening, saves her from a badnik. now, this may be just because she's also an eggman robot, its just part of his coding, however, i also think it shows that metal is treating belle better than he does most others, considering he killed a badnik for belle.

next, their interaction with eggman together

firstly, i freaked out here because while the 'both' here seems to be referencing belle and starline, the fact hes referencing being called father specifically almost makes me think hes referring to metal and belle... another post for another time.

i think how metal reacts is very subtle in these frames, but i think it shows he has some sort of respect for belle.

im SO intruiged by how metal looks at belle when she says shes leaving and moving on. almost a look of shock? confusion? its hard to read metals emotions but i feel like his body language here displays more surprise than anger. it's also important to note metal has specifically had any trace of rebellion coded out of him, this is probably somewhat shocking to see a fellow eggman creation just... up and announce leaving !

i also think that eggman eagerly asking if belle wants to fight metal, and her refusing and saying she fixed him, helped him, 'just like all the robots [eggman] abandon[s]', shows that she wants to help metal. i think she, even if having just met metal, has become committed to helping him in one way or another. once again, metal looks at her in this scene, and he seems calm, as opposed to preparing to attack.

now, metal and belle meeting a second time.

first, she just calls out to him during a fight, clearly having decided she wants to save him from being under eggman. it shows her care, but i believe it pales in comparison to their next scene together.

in this scene, belle forces herself between metal and sonic. she has such confidence she can stop him [that he wont hurt HER] that she puts herself directly in the line of danger.

and for a moment it.... works?

metal pauses.

now, this may be because of eggman's orders

but i think its supposed to be more than that, and sonic himself implies it is too

and even though metal ends up pushing belle out of the way, he still hurts her much less than he COULD have

and belle, she seems more upset she failed to help metal than physically hurt.

metal moves her out of the way to get to sonic. simply following orders.

i think belle and metal have a LOT of potential together and i really can't wait to see what idw does with them

i also appreciate the fact that metal ALSO seems to care for belle at least a little, so it's more than just hopeless please on belle's side.

plus... she actually knows, at least a little, what it's like to be in metal's position, unlike almost any other characters in the series.

idw please don't fail me with these two

[forgottenphantom]

Hey y'all! I have finished a very rough draft of my fic and wanted to see what thoughts or ideas could go into this first chapter! So anything that you like/dislike/would like to see, the air is free.

Update:

The sunlight made his skin tingle, a gentle warmth running through his body but almost felt like a poison that was trying to cure itself from his being. The flowers surrounding him gave off beautiful hues of blues and yellows, they danced softly to the breeze. His dark gloves cupped in front of him with a small bug resting, he couldn't remember what it was. Someone had told him.. Who was that… Them? Nine of them? Who were they again? Lifting his head as the group was far from him, were they just a mirage? One was waving at him. Closing his eyes as he felt himself fall back, awaiting the feeling of flowers to cushion him. Only to feel an icy cold wave crash over him.

Chains rattled from above his head, the pitter-patter of water dripping from the stone ceiling onto the floor. His head hung down as gravity pulled onto his muscles, his wrists aching as the metal braced into inky flesh. His shoulders burned, joints felt like they were dislocated out of the sockets as his fingers buzzed due to the loss of feeling. Feet dangling meters above the floor, his body was suspended. A wheeze broke the trance of the water dripping, his conscience slowly fading back in. The air was stale as it invaded his senses, his lungs constricting for any relief. The dark miasma wrapped its tendrils around his throat, squeezing against his windpipe before letting go. A warning of what is to come…?

His hat fell onto the ground.

Who put him here? … Demise.

A pained whine.

What is pulling at his skin? … It H̴͉͙͕́͒͠U̴̺͇̐R̷̮̤͊̑͂T̷̺̱͇͛͌͝Ś̶ͅ…

Heavy fog filled his mind.

Where did he lose this time? The echoes of a war…

The cries of soldiers stabbed his brain.

How did he get back here? He lost again…

A Goddess hum vibrating his bones.

Why is this his destiny? His purpose…

Death?

A groan rumbled through his chest as his eyes fluttered open, the glow of red piercing the darkness of his cell as his eyes groggily shifted around. Unable to focus his vision as he pried his head from gravity’s hold, his head loping to the side as the chains closest to his eyes had a red hue glowing off them. Freedom. Glancing around as his body dissipated into the shadows to escape from the freezing chains that caused his body discomfort, reforming on the ground as his body crumbled onto his knees and hands.

“Shit..” It felt like energy was being sapped out of him, even shifting into the shadows felt like a blinding light had slashed through him. His forehead rested against the cold floor as he racked his thoughts, his memory was walled up. He couldn't remember why he was placed here again, why this room again. He had to have failed, that was the one reason he was being punished. A hand patting himself down as a hiss left his lips once he touched his stomach, a soreness of a wound that was recently healing.

Holding back his tongue as his fingers grazed over the spot again, the stinging running down his spine as he slammed his head against the floor. A push against the psychological wall, a dam being broken as his nails dug into the spot. He was sliced down by that dawned sword… Nails broke the skin as each flare of pain brought more and more. Cia had summoned him to fight her war. Using him as a tool to defeat the Hero, using him as a shield to stop herself from falling. She treated him like a tool, like a puppet. Just like that Sage. Just like Veran.

SLAM…

His head slammed onto the ground. His lips curled as his eyes squeezed shut. He was just a puppet to them. Something for them to use over and over. A Sage learned about his existence and proceeded in using him as some sort of test for a damn Hero that the Goddess had graced. He was nothing but a test, he was just a pawn in the grand scheme. No one cared as his body was continuously stabbed through as his blood sprayed onto the ground, how the so-called Hero didn't take a second glance. All they cared about was that damn Triforce, not him. Not someone they killed.

SLAM..

Veran forced his body to split into four and used him for her own health, how the Hero sliced through him with ease in a weakened form.. He barely was healed from the last time and she had no regrets in using him, all to revive Ganon… Bullshit.

SLAM.

The Master sword sliced into him each time Cia forced his body to block her. She didn't care if he had fears or wishes. Each version of him burning into the next. The Hero looked down at him as his pitch-black blood fizzled off the sword, his curse being rejected. Even the Goddess knew he was nothing. He wanted to be something.

SLAM!

A tool. A tool. A tool. A tool. A tool. A too-

CRACK-

Stars lined his vision as he threw his body back, sitting up on his knees as his head was tilted up towards the chains that he was once suspended from. His eyes shifted left to right as he saw multiple sets, he must have overdone it this time.. His blood trickled down his face as laughter bubbled deep in him, his lips trembling as his cackling bounced off the walls. His hands reached up towards his heart, his fingers gripping onto his tunic. The cell around him warped to that dungeon, to the room with the lone tree. Endless water as his punishment for failing… He could hear the Heroes mocking him, laughing as his body was cut down. The Goddess burning his existence over and over, waiting to snuff out the last of his life. No one was in the cell but he swore there were pairs of eyes staring at him, five sets. Each set was staring with murderous intent. Footsteps echoed between his ears, twitching up towards the sounds with whale eyes. Five different Heroes surrounded him with their blades held high above his head.

Was this real? Was he imagining this? The Heros' mouths didn't move but they laughed. They screamed. They yelled. They cried. Did they know he was praying to the Goddesses that this was real? His lip wobbled as he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Swallowing. Something burning the back of his eyes, he knew it wasn't blood. His hands trembled.

Why was he so afraid?

»»——— +=={:::::::::::::::::> ———««

The world was created by three Goddesses, each containing an incredible amount of power. Din, the creator of the mountains and valleys. Nayru, filling lakes and oceans with wisdom. Farore, placing life with courage to survive across the planet. They left room for other deities to form, one of light that was given the Triforce to protect, Hylia. But when there is light, there is darkness. The corners of the Earth shrouded in eternal suffering, The Demon King Demise. His corruption turned people and the lives on the land to turn onto each other, his own army slaughtering thousands for the taste of destroying the peace.

His existence flickered awake as Demise was being sealed away by Her, his eyes opening to the blue sky as the Goddess took her final breath.

»»——— +=={:::::::::::::::::> ———««

Dark Link kneeled before the destroyed throne, spots in the walls warped from different places as the Dark world's distortion became stronger. Bowing his head as his God gave him an unimaginable task. Attempting to conceal his expressions as he blinked, his eyes scattered around the floor. Surely he heard wrong, surely he didn't hear that Demise wanted him to take down nine different Heroes of the ages.

“Sir, how would I manage to attempt that? There are unimaginable amounts of timeliness to jump through. Not to ment-” His head rising up to be met with multiple large hands of concentrated malice, eyes barring deep into his as he could feel his own breath brushing against him. Able to see his own reflection, he was showing too much emotion. Swallowing his words as he tried to look past the threats, he never saw these before. Puddles of the concentrated power seeping around him as Demise grew more and more impatient. A cold bead of sweat sliding down his back as the hands circled around him, their eyes watching his every movement as the potent corrupted burned his legs.

“Do you dare question your God?! Do you believe I would give you an impossible task, Slave?” The voice boomed through the room, the ceiling shaking as pebbles rained from above, pelting him in the back as he held back coughing from the dust invading his airways. He could feel Demise's patience wearing thin, the Red Malice was seeping into the corners of the room. Smaller hands appearing. Somehow Demise was growing stronger by the minute.

“No-no Lord Demise, never. I just simply wan-” He sputtered as one of the hands grabbed his jaw, stopping his sentence. It's grip had no mercy, for it wasn't a creature that could think. He could feel his lower jaw cracking, his body instantly trying to repair it. ‘Fuck.’ He could only watch as Demise grew tired of him. He slipped up. He was going to die.

“Want? You suddenly want now?” A condescending tone. Mocking Dark Link, mocking something that can't have its own thoughts. “You have no wants, no worries, no fears. I created you as a puppet, a tool!” The hand that held his jaw threw him back as he rolled against the floor, his shoulder taking the blunt force. Biting his tongue as his stomach burned, gripping the spot as his head hung down. He didn't dare look up to see his Lord. The hair on the back of his neck prickling as the skin on his face healed shockingly slow, something about the Red Malice was not normal at all. “The Witch had put multiple Heroes on a quest together, that will be how you will take them down.” Dark didn't dare speak another word, he held his head down as he nodded. Demise would only continue this torment if he gave any more of a reaction, he had to hold himself together. “Failure will not be an option, if you return here without it. I will disassemble your very essence piece by piece. Understand, Dark?”

“... Understood, Master.”

[fanaticsnail]

Something Like That

Masterlist here, Request link and mood board here.

Word Count: 4,048

Hi everyone! This is the last x-mas fic I can push out before my time away over the holiday period interstate. I hope you enjoy reading for our boy Zoro. Thank you @sordidmusings for keeping me motivated! Merry Christmas, Anon! Just in case it peaks your interest @gingernut1314

Warnings: Fluff, Christmas, talks of battle scars, kissing, dancing

Just like all of the times you had ventured to Baratie, this time had every intention of being no more than passing time with delicious food. The floating restaurant atop a mighty ship was your favorite stop-off on your way home to Lougetown to visit with your extended family; the food’s glowing reputation almost did justice to the divine quality and the accompanying drinks were what dreams were made of. The fact that the staff was comprised of reformed pirates also held an appeal, considering your ties to that lifestyle as a skilled archer.

Bidding farewell to the vessel you had bartered onto for voyage, you heard a strange amount of merriment floating melodically from the wide fish-mouth at the bar lounge of the grand restaurant. You furrowed your brows, arching one up as curiosity held you captivated by the songs seeping to the surface with a wide array of demonstrated skill. Some vocals were sung blissfully, others shouted with no skill depicted within their throats. 

Taking deliberate steps with your bow in hand, quiver strapped firmly against your waistbelt and traveling satchel thrown over your shoulder, you sauntered to the grand doors and lobby of the restaurant to meet the matradee. He welcomed you with a broad smile, which rose to sit comfortably and warmly, peaking at the apples of his cheeks. His regular white formal garb was replaced with a deep emerald green dinner jacket, a small bushel of pointed leaves with red shimmery berries strung together by twine.

“Welcome back to Baratie!” He exclaimed with glee, “I have your usual table awaiting you.” He gestured a guiding hand to the right and indicated for you to follow his direction to the bottom of the twirled staircase.

Your confusion seemed to set in further as you took in your surroundings. The usual bare bars of the railing were ornately decorated with vines of sharpened, needle-like sprigs and small warm lights shining amongst the shrubbery akin to starlight. Your gaze was drawn upwards, noticing a small and sporadic assortment of floral clusters clinging to the roof and down the pillars of the supporting canopy. The bunches were of pale sage green, floating romantically down and arching their spindles out to grasp the pearled white flowers amongst the greenery.

As your gaze fell to rest upon the circular room, you noticed individuals joining against each other in embraces of romantic twirling and swaying. Their voices would raise to join with the tune regardless of how skilled they were to carry the tune, prompting you to raise an apprehensive smile to your lips.

“What is going on, sir?” you asked the fishman matradee as he chaperoned you to your regular table, “this all seems rather strange and unusual for a Monday afternoon, don’t you think?” Your tone of playful jest prompted him to chuckle in response, pulling out your chair for you to sit within your corner booth. Wordlessly, he took your bow and satchel while you unstrapped your quiver to disarm yourself to place your valuable items to be placed in the cloakroom.

“One of our kitchen-hands has returned to us, settling his dining debt from his time with us,” the matradee informed you, a playful twinkle drawn up to his eye, “and in celebration, we’re attempting to showcase a custom he had picked up on his travels.”

You hummed in response with a polite nod, brows raising with interest as you pulled your gaze over to view the diners amongst the crowd. Noticing jovial laughter and an uproar of cheers, you pulled your gaze to seek out its source. A young man with a straw hat atop dark loose curls immediately captured your attention, his eyes upturned and jaw hanging wide as he allowed another heartily laugh escape from his chest. His arms were hooked around the necks of two of his companions, drawing them in closer to his chest; a woman with short orange hair clutched within his right arm, while a bandana-clad man with a similar cheery expression lay gathered within his left.

Scanning over the remainder of the party members surrounding him, your eyes first drew to examine the tall, blonde companion. His hair skewed the view of his left eye, but what you could make of his right; he was a delight to look at. After holding your eyes against the blonde for longer than you truly thought appropriate, your eyes met with the final stranger of the party. His dark hazelnut orbs immediately locked on your probing gaze, bearing a protective intensity, his moss-coloured locks raised without much care as to which direction the strands fell.

As his eyes continued to hold your attention, you stared him down to reciprocate his wordless challenge. His brows furrowed briefly before a wolf-like grin rose to his lips, smirking up to the right-hand side of his face with an air of arrogance. Training as a skilled archer had drilled the practice of continual focus on a multitude of targets. This small challenge set your heart alight with a similar thrill to hunting a foe, the green-haired man not shying away from your attention and focus.

He was captivating. His air of protection and loyalty to his companions transferred without question of translation. You watched as he drew his dominant hand to fall to rest against a white blade hilt at his side, his wrist hanging limply against the handle atop the scabbard. He arched his left brow up at you and gestured with his chin, indicating to you that he would not shy away from a fight if one was to be offered to him. You arched up your brow with your own smirk, gesturing lightly with your hands over your torso and falling down to your waist; indicating you were currently unarmed.

Without breaking your gaze from his challenge, you reached your hand below the white tablecloth, shielding your hand from retrieving an item from your handbag beside you. You let out an audible laugh as you watched him fix his posture more upright, his smirk falling from his lips as his frown deepened in partial alarm. After feeling the hard object you were searching for, you raised it to no longer be obscured from view and rotated it within your hands to demonstrate how non-threatening the item was.

His face immediately dropped at his idiocy as his eyes took in the novel you were holding within your hands, closing his eyes and having a small smile rise to his lips. As soon as his eyes closed and soft chuckle fell from his lips, you relished in the knowledge that he was the first to back away from the intense wordless challenge he initiated with his eyes, indicating that you had won the small victory. 

While his eyes were closed, you fully examined his face. Eyes first shamelessly raking over his hair, trailing down and over his closed eyes and settling on his parted lips. His coy smile now completely risen against his lips held a foreign beauty, the creases of his cheeks indicating such softness was not a common occurrence. He was intriguing, someone you would have considered pursuing should you have had more time between your usual meal at Baratie and the upcoming ferry you had booked to shepherd the remainder of your journey. 

You shook your head, uncaring whether he would meet his intense gaze against yours again as you opened the pages of the novel you had begun reading on your journey out to sea, picking up where you last left off. The words whittled within the pages were of a variety of archery techniques and forms, a gift bestowed upon you by your favorite uncle - the one you held the most joy in rejoining with in Lougetown. 

A gentle cough interrupts the passage you were skimming, drawing your attention up to the waiter beside you. He placed down in front of you a seasonal beverage, the steam rising from the rim wafting towards your nose to envelop your senses with its rich, velvety and creamy scent. You thanked the waiter as he placed an accompanying biscotti beside the treat, the crumbled texture littering the small side dish with pebbles of its buttery substance. 

Reaching towards the handle, you raised the drink to your face, gently parting your lips and circling them to blow on the scorching liquid. After relinquishing your gentle blows to your particular satisfaction, you drew up the mug and took a quick sip of the contents. Immediately flooded by the indulgent flavor of the caramelized chocolate mixing with the creamy and decadent texture of the frothed milk. You sighed, breathing out your pleasure at being once again welcomed by the perfect combination of flavors offered to you at Baratie. Placing down again onto the circular, ceramic dish, you lifted your novel to continue reading from the last page you left of; blissfully ignorant or willfully ignoring the intense pair of eyes continuing to hold firm their locked gaze upon you.

“Something the matter, Zoro?” the Straw-Hat captain asked from beside the swordsman, clutching the bone of a perfectly prepared tomahawk steak within his right hand while chewing on the sinew, “you’ve been staring at that table for a long time now.” The swordsman remained quiet, not truly hearing the words spoken to him.

“”M’fine, Captain,” He mumbled. It was true, he had become entranced by the person he was currently inspecting. His bewitchment had only intensified as he witnessed your knowing and examining gaze falling to seek out the loud and joyous laughter falling in the air of the surroundings. You had to be a hunter, by the looks of you: whether it be seeking bounties, hunting animals or contesting mark-matching with the bow you allowed the fishman to leave with. 

“You sure there, Moss-Head?” Sanji taunted him, his signature smirk ruffling the temperament of the swordsman further, “you seem awfully focussed on the-... -Oh. Oh, they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” Zoro snapped his gaze up to focus on the chef whose head was now shamelessly pointed directly at you, eyes searching your body and examining him the way Zoro was trying hard not to. 

“What of it, waiter?” he growled in a disinterested snarl. Sanji slowly dragged his gaze from your body over to face the swordsman once more, eyes darkening with a challenging intensity. 

“I think they’re very pretty, indeed,” Sanji’s exposed brow twitched in an upturned flirtatious suggestion. Usopp smirked, leaning in on his elbows to get a better view of the show Sanji was absolutely going to engage against the swordsman while Nami shook her head. Rolling her eyes, she sat back to rest her shoulders against the plush booth, tilting her head down to shield her smirk to remain hidden in her expression of amusement at their rivalry. 

“I think they’re so pretty, in fact,” Sanji snuck another glance at you, watching as you pursed your lips while turning another page of your novel, “I think I’m going to ask them to dance the next round.”

“What’d you say, waiter?” Zoro tilted his head, attempting to hold his composure and feign disinterest at the challenge. The subtle gruff anchor of his voice gave him away, Zoro winced at his own vocal tone. Sanji chuckled at the failed attempt, choosing to draw his elbows against the table and cradle his chin to rest atop his laced fingertips. 

“It’s not like you’re man enough to ask her to dance, anyway,” Sanji’s smirk rose into a broader grin, relishing in Zoro’s physical reaction of sharpening his posture to rise against the jab. The blonde chef chuckled darkly, drawing his lips to press against his fingertips before suggesting with another jab: “Someone like that looks like they’d prefer to be held in the arms of a real man, not something like you, Demon.”

“I’ll let the two of you know when I see one,” the orange-haired navigator murmured in a low tone, her voice immediately capturing the attention of the two bickering crewmates. Usopp feigned pain, clutching at his heart briefly before nodding in confirmation of her comments: both flinging their heads back in unbridled laughter at the motion. Luffy continued to remain blissfully ignorant, finally sucking at the large bone to rid the object from all edible elements of the dish while offering a small laugh of his own. Although he truly had no idea why they were laughing at that moment, he was happy his crew was getting along - to the best of his knowledge, anyway.

That was the occasion after all: merriment and joyfulness being the central point of the entire reason for this celebration. Sanji and Zoro turned back to face each other again, eyes bearing an electric intensity as they met their rival’s challenge. 

“No,” Zoro gruffly growled, his lips curling in a small snarl. Sanji arched his head to stretch out his neck, eyes closing as he felt a gentle ‘pop’ and sighing in reaction. 

“You gonna actually approach them and ask them to dance?” Sanji lazily taunted him, his smirk returning, “or am I going to get there first?”

At that final nudge, Zoro was away from the table and almost stomping his heavy boots against the polished floorboards like a chastised toddler. Sanji chuckled at the response, reaching forward to claim a portion of the confit potatoes to place on his plate. 

“I gotta know, man,” Usopp leant in towards Sanji, his broad smile rising to his cheeks, “were you that interested in them, or just wanted to get a rise from Zoro? I can never tell with you.”

“That’s my secret, Great Captain Usopp,” Sanji’s left corner of his lip curled up in a smirk with a playful glimmer in his eye returning, “I’m always interested in getting a rise out of him. Beautiful strangers are always a bonus. My favorite is when those two things are not mutually exclusive,” he chuckled, collecting an assortment of ingredients on his fork and raising the utensil up to his lips, “two birds with one stone, and all that.”

The thud of heavy boots alerted you to a figure closing the distance between themselves and your body. The thumps of the hard boots against the polished floor reverberated with a sense of danger. Patiently, with a sigh exiting your parted lips, you placed a small piece of parchment back into your novel to tab the chapter and slowly turned to look at the approaching figure. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, a bored tone with a subtle air of cautious warning befalling your cadence. As you drew your eyes up, you noticed the same intense gaze from earlier falling to meet your sat position on the table. His eyebrow seemed to twitch, indicating slight agitation as his jaw was clenched tightly shut. Cocking your head to the side, you allowed a partial softness to grace your features as you danced your eyes between focussing on each of his hazelnut orbs.

“I-, uh-,” the man was stumbling over his words, unable to string a sentence of cohesion together. He raised his hand to the scruff of his neck, pinching the flesh with his calloused hands and grimacing at his expression. 

“You?” you cooed up at him, a smirk rising once more to your lips. You shook your head, hair dancing at the small sway of movement. Your attention was once again captivated by him; the arrogant energy you had initially met your gaze with was dismantled under his apprehensive aura. 

Zoro had every intention of proving how much of a ‘real man’ he was to his crew, although not so much of a display in masculinity; but more of a need to not allow Sanji the pleasure or satisfaction of flirting with someone so enchanting as you. He was going to simply offer his hand to you, smirk in a gesture to ask you to join him on the dance floor and parade you in front of his crew. But alas, as soon as his eyes met with yours once again; he felt helpless and small under your huntress eyes.

“Well, are you going to stand there all rigid, swordsman?” you taunted, reclining in your seat and resting your elbow atop the backrest, “Or are you going to take a seat?”

Again, Zoro found himself taken aback by your direct approach. He followed your index and middle finger as you gestured to the empty seat in front of you. He shook his head a little to rid him of his prior bewilderment and then apprehensively moved to withdraw the chair to take a seat. You took him in, watching his deliberate movements in the way he sat atop the chair: every action intentional. As he sat, he offered no conversation other than broody silence. His eyes would flitter over to check-in on his prior dining companions and grimacing as his gaze was met with taunting gestures from his crew.

“Friends of yours?” you asked him, brow arched and reaching for the handle of your mug. 

“Something like that,” he uttered in a gruff tone, arms folding abrasively over his chest. You chuckled at his tone, taking a small sip from your mug and eyeing him deliberately. 

“Care to share further, or would you prefer having another wordless exchange?” you placed the empty cup back down on the dish and offered another challenging smile. He snapped his eyes back to yours and his smirk rose again to his lips. 

“They’re my crew,” his rumbly chuckle was withheld in his chest beneath his smirk, “I like half of them, but respect the lot of them.”

You hummed in response, index finger dancing atop the rim of your relinquished mug of hot chocolate. “Would you like to tell me more? I’m all ears about the ones you like and the ones you’re less fond of.”

Over the course of the next few hours, the swordsman and you would swap tales of travels throughout the East Blue and the Grand Line. Foes bested, beasts conquered and sorrows overcome: the tales of injuries you had both granted to opponents and received at the hands of them. He leant back against the back of his chair and slowly unbuttoned his shirt and hooked his fingers within the collar and hemline of his shirt to draw it back to showcase proudly to you. You felt your breath hitching in your throat at not only the physique of the swordsman, but in awe at the large healed mark slashed across his torso. You felt utterly ill-seasoned with your smaller indents of arrows and thrown dagger marks littering your shoulders. As you hooked your middle finger in your left shoulder strap and coyly revealed the small silver, healed markings, Zoro was held captivated by the marks to showcase your tales of battle. 

Enamored, awestruck and enchanted; you both held a small lilt of encaptured silence, leaning in on your forearms against the white tablecloth and gazing into the eyes of one another. Respecting your mutual combatant skill, both you and Zoro’s eyes fell half-lidded in adoration as you held each other’s undivided attention. 

The music and merriment fell into a slow tune, reflective of the seasonal tradition Baratie was attempting to celebrate with succession. Zoro was the first to break the silence between you, placing his left hand on the table with his palm up.

“Would you wanna dance?” he asked, his drawl gruff but attempting to remain polite in his request. You smiled, reaching your right hand to fall within his own, his hand immediately circling around your fingers firmly. His thumb circled over your four fingers, caressing his calloused and experienced hands over your skin.

“You don’t seem like much of a dancer, Zoro,” you commented, both rising to your feet. He drew you in close. Keeping his left hand extended upwards, and raking his right over the mid of your back to draw your torso flush with his, he uttered: “I’m not, but it seemed appropriate. Considering the holiday, and all.”

“Ah, yes. We never did quite get to discussing what all this,” you gestured with your chin, smiling at the decorations surrounding the room, “was all about.”

“I’m not really sure on the minor details,” he shrugged, awkwardly swaying you to the music, “Cap’n just said something about different traditions needing to be incorporated. Something about food, music, dancing, and decoration-...-oh. Oh, no-.”

You furrowed your brows, looking up at the roof to follow after his risen gaze. A small sprig of white, pearled flowers hung over your heads, accompanied by sage-coloured oblong leaves wrapped in ribbons of satin and twine. You cocked your head, left brow raising in curiosity at the flowers and their significance. Drawing your gaze back to the swordsman in front of you, you noticed he was stooping himself all the more closer to you.

“What are you doing, swordsman?” you questioned, halting him in his descention towards you. 

“This is one of those traditions,” he said, unlacing your right hand from his left and wordlessly asking with his eyes for permission to cradle your cheek within his palm. You looked at the hand first, then drew your eyes back up to meet his intense gaze. Smiling, you placed your cheek into his awaiting palm while holding his gaze firmly against your own. 

“Touching a stranger’s face beneath strange flowers is a strange tradition,” you furrowed your brows at him once more in curiosity.

“Kissing them beneath strange flowers,” he corrected you, leaning to join his lips immediately against your own. A small squeak fled from your lips, eyes widening as you felt the intensity falling from his chapped lips onto your own.

This was not how you pictured your return to Baratie to go at all. Sure, you had dreamed of meeting a handsome stranger and sharing an embrace with them. The stars just never aligned for you in any way that drew you close enough to share a kiss with them, only ever moments of story swapping or sharing a meal or two with many travelers accompanying you. 

You allowed yourself to become relaxed into the embrace, reaching your hands up to circle his neck below the assortment of flowers. His brows furrowed in concentration as he inhaled sharply through his nose in reaction to your reciprocation. You smiled, closing your eyes and tickling the scruff of his neck beneath your fingertips; lacing his untamed sea-sprayed locks within them. He expertly opened your mouth to taste more of your lips by angling his chin upwards against your own. A small groan rumbled within his chest, passing from his mouth to fall against your own as he continued to cradle you against himself.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace with your eyes remaining closed. You felt a small pause falling with his next actions, before you felt a warm forehead press against your own. You reopened your eyes, your half-lidded and lazy smile mirrored against the face of the swordsman you just shared a kiss with. 

Interrupting your embrace, an announcement was called over the speakers. The crackle of cables and wires sprung to life within the metal relay, alerting you with a vocal command: “The next vessel to Lougetown has arrived. All those traveling to Lougetown, report to the peer with your documents. Next vessel to Lougetown will depart in twenty minutes.”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” you sighed, eyes remaining closed but lips drawn up in a wide smile. 

“Business in Lougetown?” Zoro’s whisper rumbled within his chest. 

“Something like that,” you withdrew your forehead from its place resting against his own, “much akin to your crew, although I’m held attached by biological relation.”

“Anyone I’d know?” Zoro smirked, eyes remaining partly glazed over enamored by your small daliance. 

“I never ‘name drop’, swordsman,” you cooed up at him while unlacing your arms from his embrace, “but if you’re in the general area,” you retrieved your belongings from your table and laced your handbag and novel over your shoulder, “I’ll be at the G-5 Marine Base with my uncle for the next month for training.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he smirked, eyes upturning to indicate his joy at the thought of meeting with you once again.

[lionsongfr]

Riot of Rot Cuisine- Second Course

Since I promised I would do another one when a Plague venue actually came out. Still ended up mostly using items from Gathering. OTL Previous can be found here: link

Eternal Soup Hotpot- the last warrior to die before the peace between Plaguebringer and Gladekeeper had their bones gifted to 10 Plague chefs. From those bones came 10 eternal soups, their cauldrons are never emptied, and their liquid is replenished as needed. Since food can be scarce in the Plaguelands it is customary to bring food items to dip into the pot and devour as hotpot together. The most common items brought are “dung balls” (ground Gigante chicken livers mixed with Wild Onion), Leechroot Mushroom, whole Glass Minnows, and Banded/Land Snails (slurped right out of the shell!)

Bloody Hearts- despite the name this is one of the few non-meat dishes of Plague. A Gryphon's Blood Sempervivum is first steamed and then the center gently scraped away to reveal a clean heart. Wild Onions, Canyon Ruffage, and garlic are sautéed with Flying Butter, and are then simmered with a Sour Strawberry wine.  Grassland Grain breadcrumbs are added before the mixture is stuffed into Sempervivum and baked till golden. A spicy Ashfall Prickler sauce is drizzled on top.

Hellwell Pepper Soup- in the hot and arid air of the Wastelands, Rapheal (a catfish) are dried out in the open. The fish are treated with a mixture of salt and Herbal Plantain to fend off microbes and hungry Bloodfang. To dine on the fish, it must be first be soaked to remove the salt. The soup base is a paste of Blacktongue pepper, Hot Pepper, Wild Onions, garlic, basil, and Cinnamon added to boiling water. The fish is then added to the pot and cooked till tender. Served with boiled Green Plantains or poured over top of mashed Turnips. A searing spice that must be survived to enjoy. 

Mom's Spaghetti and Meat Balls- the meat balls can be made of any meat scraps, but the most common ingredients are ground Maggots and Diseased Fungus, which is fried in Hissing Goose fat to enhance the flavor. The pasta is made of Crisp-Leaf Amaranth, dense and chewy, and topped with a sauce made of Wild Catsup, sour Flying Butter milk, and Desert Sage. A grating of nutritional yeast is often offered to give a cheesy flavor to the dish.

Plague Bat Adobo- colonies of Plague Bats flying is a frequent sight across the Wasteland and are a plentiful food source. The meat is cut up into chunks and first browned in Mushroom Oil. It is then simmered with Wild Onion, garlic, Butcher’s Fig vinegar, Hot Peppers, and soy sauce. The meat is allowed to cook until it is tender and served over a bed of Grassland Grain.  The primary ingredient, vinegar, inhibits the growth of bacteria!

Green Eggs and Ham Omelet- an Undying Featherback is a ferocious beast, and its meat must be cured in separate caverns to keep it from reforming. This valuable ham is used sparingly not just because of its cost, but also its strong and gamey flavor. The omelet starts out by boiling Wasteland Pear nopales, which are then rinsed under cold water and chopped. Wild onions, nopales, and the chopped ham are seared, and then whisked Gigante eggs are added over top. An herbivore friendly version substitutes the ham with the meaty Leechroot Mushroom, while insectivores prefer fried Fungus Cutter pupae.

Wyrm Jelly- when a tendril of the Wandering Contagion breaks off and dies it becomes hollow. Clans carefully collect these tendrils and fill them with a gelatin mixed with blood, Cinnamon, and Herbal Plantain (anti-toxin).  The gelatin is set in the cold desert night before being squeezed out into long tubes of gummies. It is believed that whatever killed the tendril will colonize the gut of the dragon, strengthening them against any new disease.

Beetle Sausage- long strands of Grapevine and Vineyard beetles dipped into concentrated grape juice and then hung to dry like sausages. The colors can vary depending on the type of grape from the Blue Indigo to Orange Autumn. It is a calorie dense treat that warriors often carry into battle to renew their energy. Also, because somehow Plague has grapes?

Snot Shot- Streak’s Dagger herbal liquor is known for its numerous therapeutic properties, caloric values, and bright neon green color. The shot is layered with a red Sugarmelon schnapps (import from Water Flight), followed by the green Streak’s Dagger liquor, and topped with a Wasteland Pear cream liquor…and then a spritz of Sour Strawberry juice. The drink must be downed quickly before the cream and acid of the juice becomes a curdled mess of sick. (though some Plague dragons prefer it that way)

[ladysnowangel]

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Hi!

I wanted to request something:D

So basically y/n was shadow guide for the fallen heros when they were frist baked.

And when the fallen heros got corrupted..Y/n were taken away by their creator as they watch the fallen heros get sealed away with blank look and their eyes having no sparkles like it used to.

And y/n had went somewhere else when their creator let them go free forever..Which leads y/n to guide gingerbrave and his friends.. And some of them were kinda confused how y/n know everything where ever they go.

And y/n only appears when they want to when they appear black and white little stars would appear with them.

And in the beast-yast when the fallen heros were freed how would they react seeing y/n?

Also love ur writings and blogs<3

Keep up the goodwork^_^

This is very interesting!!

Once a guide for the five Heroes, to help them throughout the world, you were now nothing more than a husk of your former self. You could only watch with dull eyes as your friends were imprisoned, their own greed their downfall.

When the Witches set you free, you left Beast-Yeast as soon as you could. Fleeing far away to a new land - Crispia.

You hid away for the most part, heart still healing from the anguish of before. But soon you happened upon a new little group of heroes, wanting to better the world from Darkness, and you followed.

You provided them with tips and safety, watching as they reformed the old Ancient Heroes and fought against Darkness again and again.

You were reluctant to go back to Beast-Yeast, but you wanted to keep them sage.

Biiig mistake.

When the Fallen Heroes are freed, they're absolutely ecstatic to see you again! They knew you had been locked away prior to their imprisonment, and so they wholly believed you would join them!

When you didn't.. there was lots of confusion.

And you could only muster that dull look again.

[barrenclan]

Everyone is jumping on the theory wagon so here are my personal predictions:

-You made a few posts about how one of the themes of PATFW is finding hope in hopeless situations which makes me think the ending of it won't be completly bleak. I think it'll be bittersweet, although leaning more on the bitter side. Maybe something along the lines of TMA's ending but a bit more melancholic

-Rainhaze is gonna die. There's no hope for him by now. Although, I think it would've been real fucked up if everybody except for him died and he was forced to go on without a purpouse. Fascinating but not that likely to happend imo

-I think both Blacknose and her kits will live, not only that I think at least one other character will survive so they can help her with the children. My bets on it are either Egrettail, Slugpelt or Daffofilpaw

-Barrenclan is DEFINATLY not getting reformed after the defience attack. I mean the previous chapter is literally called the death of Barrenclan

-I think Pinepaw will die at the end of the story, possibly in a murder/suicide in order to defeat Deepdark. It's sad, but I think it's a very likely possibility. Cormorantpaw will survive though and will have to live with only his memory :( Perhaps he'll get to reunite with his siblings though?

-I feel like to parallel the fire that burned down the forest that Roseclan resided in there's gonna be a fire near the end of the story. Not sure yet what it'll do yet tho. Perhaps it'll snuff out the defience?

-I'm not sure how likely it'll be but I think it'd be really nice if Pinepaw got to talk to or interact with some of the more unwilling members of the defience. Perhaps have a bit of a heart-to-heart with them as they're all stuck in the same horrible situation.

-To wrap this up, here are some other characters that I think will die: Redpelt, Beeface and/or Plumstripe (Either they both die defending the clan side by side and make peace with eachother, or only one of them dies and the other grieve the fact that she wasn't a better sister to her in life. Either way at least one of them is dying) and Prowl

YAAAAY I love these long endgame theory predictions so much. :D So much I can't say but I can read everything and nod my head sagely. ALSO I adore the bingos, they're so funny.

[itsabouttimex2]

Hope you’ve been well! I’ve done nothing but lurk on thin internet for years so this may be my first request on any platform. And it’s about a Lego monkey😭

With that said, can I get a romantic yandere Wukong with big feels for his exasperated lawyer? Or just and exasperated reader in general if you want lol

Can’t Fool You

(Well, I hope to receive more requests from you in the future! And I’m here writing about that monkey, so… we’re in the same boat!)

By now, you have your own little “everything” in his house.

Your own snacks. Your own mug. Your own “spot” on the worn-out couch.

And all three are conveniently laid out in front of you, an enticing spread of exotic and varied chocolates laid out next to your trusty porcelain stein, filled to the brim with a steaming brew. The couch cushion has been dusted and sprayed with a floral perfume. Your case files are neatly stacked on the edge of table.

This is probably the cleverest trap he’s created yet- not that it’s nearly enough to fool you.

“Sun Wukong, reveal yourself this instant.”

The Great Sage has learned by now that there’s no real way to argue with you, not unless he wants to spend this lovely afternoon sitting awkwardly on his knees, receiving a very lengthy lecture about wasting your time with petty and ill-built debates.

So instead he sounds a very lengthy whine, groaning and huffing as golden light emanates from the cushion placed right before the enticingly decorated table. It shifts and bends and sparks, slowly reforming into the Great Sage that you had come to know and tolerate.

“Bud, you always see right through me,” he compliments, though there’s still the edge of a soft whine through those honeyed words. He’s growing impatient with the lack of skinship and affection. “How could you tell?”

“Sun Wukong, the real cushion is clearly sticking out from behind the couch, you didn’t bother to clean any other part of the couch, and I heard you giggling as I came through the door!”

“Aww, hun!” He coos, disregarding every single time you had told him to refer to you by first or last name. “You’re SO smart!”

From another mouth it might’ve sounded sarcastic or demeaning. Maybe even spiteful. But in those five words alone has Wukong loaded love, admiration, devotion, and obsession.

“This is why I picked you as my lawyer, hun.”

No the hell it’s not, you want to say. And that would be true- you were picked as his lawyer because no one else could:

1. Stomach his constant jokes and tomfoolery

2. Work around dozens of mischievous and rowdy monkeys

3. Reliably out-scream Ne Zha

And you only kept working at this tedious job because he provided free boarding and food, and spoiled you with treasures. It was an unorthodox manner of payment, but stupidly lucrative.

You won a case. He “paid” you with an ancient relic. You took it to an antiques dealer. They considered scamming or skimping, then caught sight of Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. They paid you fairly.

And you walked away with heavy pockets.

It made for a good routine.

And you could tolerate that chaotic and breakneck lifestyle right up until you came “home” and had to spend half the night warding off both Wukong and his little troop of monsters from your bed.

Those little white-furred monkeys…

“They think you’re their other grandparent,” he had said once, dumping half a troop into your bed beside you as you protested and argued about their thieving hands and loud mouths. “Since you spend so much time with me, hun.”

“Then tell them I’m not.”

“Sorry, Y/N. Too late~”

…it had taken you two hours to pick out all the white strands of monkey hair, and an hour more to clear the smell. You had sworn to put up spikes, wire, fences- anything to prevent

Only to go soft at the begging of a baby; the runt of her troop, and allow her to settle on your pillow as you worked.

Damn the weakness of your heart- it had been a major mistake on your part.

You ended up throwing that pillow away after a very characteristic “monkey mess”, burning it in broad daylight and scattering the ashes amongst Flower Fruit Mountain’s fertile soil.

Ugh.

A muscular hand falls on either of your shoulders, directing you forward- Wukong’s replaced the old cushion and decorated it with silk pillows and peach blossom petals, and even taken the time to light a candle.

He nudges until you’ve reached the seat, then- perhaps with more force than intended- pushes you onto the couch.

“Wukong!” You call in anger, planting both hands firmly onto the furniture to steady yourself, making a move to stand- only for the Great Sage to throw himself into your open lap with a smile. His fur tickles at your thighs, a snug coat of ginger to warm your legs.

“…Sun Wukong, remove yourself from my lap this-“

“Aw, peaches! How can you be so mean to lil’ ol me? I just wanna spend some time with my favorite lawyer!”

“I am your only lawyer, because no one else can put up with your nonsense!”

“That’s what makes you so special to me, peaches.”

It’s a statement that manages to be vulnerable through its own simplicity, straightforward and sincere. If you had been standing, perhaps your knees would have buckled in surprise.

But you can’t, because Sun Wukong is splayed across you with all the might of a warrior, a king, a bogus immortal. He nestles closer, nearly purring in delight with each rub from his cheeks to your thighs.

One hand, clawed and built strong- sharply moves to grip at your wrist. Though you futilely try to pull away, he effortlessly yanks it to his head.

“Pet me,” he whines. “Please, peaches…?”

You pause, and consider the request. The relationship you share is already unprofessional, bordering on unhealthy at both ends. His obsessive nature comes through frequently enough…

The king barges in on your meetings with other clients to ruin them. He nuzzles your suits and dresses against himself until they bear his scent. He wards off friends and family alike- by being so exuberant and “accidentally” destructive that they fearfully retreat.

And you’ve allowed it this long, haven’t you? You could’ve left, or rejected him, or at least told him to stop… but no such words had ever left your lips.

And now that Wukong had settled into the routine that you allowed him to build, it felt like a wall, a cage, a web all around you.

Which brick to pull? Which bar to rattle? Which thread to cut?

This constrainment had built itself high, feeling like an ever-present gilded collar tight around your throat.

Shelter. Food. Money. Love.

He provided it all and more without hesitation- and all you had to do was play along, to some small degree. He could take rebuffs and insults and discouragement, could sit with a wagging tail through your lectures, could handle you kicking him out of your bed every night…

And he’d still come back for more.

You lower your hand to Wukong’s forehead. Under the fur, there’s a deep indent- it feels like a band once sat there. He perks, eagerly pressing his head upwards to savor the touch.

This is all you have to do. This earns you your room, your pay, your food and drink… more than any of your services as a lawyer, or your fervent legal defense of his character…

All that really matters to him is you, your time and attention.

You pet his head. He purrs.

In time, he’s sure that you’ll love him as much as he loves you.

And he has all the time in the world to wait for it.