#Sunburst Signals

[idkyetxoxo]

Two | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 2400

Warnings - Joust

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"Viserys, I do not like the girl," Alicent muttered under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the growing crowd below. 

The arena buzzed with the fervour of a Dornish celebration—nobles and commoners alike filled the stands, eager to witness the spectacle of the tourney. 

Sunlight bathed the sand-covered grounds, shimmering off the banners that fluttered in the warm breeze.

Viserys sighed, already exasperated by her complaints. The king's gaze swept across the sea of eager faces, his weariness palpable. He had no patience for Alicent's endless fretting, not today.

"It does not matter whether you like her or not," he replied, his voice clipped, eyes fixed on the arena below. "Your opinion changes nothing."

Alicent's lips pursed in thinly veiled disdain. She flicked her wrist as though swatting away a bothersome fly. 

"She is bashful," she remarked, the word soaked in contempt. "A weakness, a problem waiting to happen. Mark my words."

Viserys turned to her, his frustration flashing in his gaze. "Well, aren't you lucky you're not the one marrying her," he replied dryly, his patience fraying at the edges.

Alicent huffed, folding her arms across her chest, her expression cold as ice. 

"Yes, but you have burdened my son with that fate," she whispered, her voice laced with venom. 

She leaned closer, her words meant for Viserys' ears alone. "Don't think for a moment he'll thank you for it."

Viserys rolled his eyes, waving her off, uninterested in prolonging the argument. 

As their whispered exchange fizzled into silence, my father and I took our seats next to the royal family, our arrival a momentary distraction from their quarrel.

I settled into my chair, my back straight, hands delicately folded in my lap as I surveyed the bustling scene before us. 

The air thrummed with anticipation, excitement rippling through the crowd like a palpable force. 

This was Dorne at its finest—a kingdom alive with the thrill of spectacle, where honour and blood were intertwined.

"Who fights in your honour today, Princess?" Viserys' voice broke through the hum of the crowd, his gaze briefly flicking to Alaric, who stood beside me rather than readying himself in the lists with the other knights.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I leaned back, eyes gleaming with confidence. 

"My brother, of course," I replied coolly, my voice laced with pride. "There is no finer swordsman in all of Dorne. His name has crossed every corner of the Seven Kingdoms." 

I cast my gaze toward the arena where Nymor was already waiting, armoured and poised, his presence commanding the space as though he was born to it.

Nymor caught my eye and offered a quick wave, his expression one of cool confidence. He knew exactly what was expected of him, and so did I.

"He is quite skilled with a sword, your brother," Helaena's soft voice cut in from beside me, a gentle contrast to the tension that hung thick between Alicent and Viserys. "But Aemond is one of the best. I've seen him in practice... he's remarkable."

I turned to her with a sharp smile, the challenge in my eyes unmistakable. 

"We will see," I said, my voice cool and unwavering. "But no one has bested my brother yet. He was shaped by Dorne's blood and sand. He fights like a storm."

As the announcer's voice boomed through the arena, signalling the start of the matches, the crowd roared in excitement. A few early contests played out—mere distractions. 

The true spectacle, the event everyone was waiting for, was the clash between Nymor Martell and Aemond Targaryen.

The sun hung high above, casting a brilliant golden light over the tourney grounds as the trumpets blared, marking the start of the joust. 

I leaned forward in my seat, my hands resting lightly on the armrest, eyes glued to the field where my brother rode out. His armour gleamed, the sigil of House Martell emblazoned proudly on his chest, the sunburst of Dorne shining brightly for all to see. 

He moved with the confidence of a man who knew victory was inevitable, every gesture filled with calm certainty.

Across the field, Aemond rode out with a tension that spoke of battle-readiness. 

His silver hair gleamed beneath his helm, his posture rigid and controlled. He was not here for games—he was here for war. 

But no matter his intent, no matter the fire of the dragon behind his gaze, I had no doubt Nymor would make quick work of him.

After all, the stories of my brother's prowess were not just tales. They were fact.

"You seem very sure of yourself," Helaena said softly, her voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd, though her smile held no malice—only quiet belief in her brother.

"I am," I replied, my gaze never leaving the field. "Nymor is the best. Today, Aemond will fall."

The first clash was as brutal as expected. The two horses barreled toward each other, hooves pounding the earth in sync with the beating hearts of the crowd. 

Nymor's lance struck true, hitting Aemond squarely in the chest. The force of the blow knocked Aemond back, and the crowd let out a collective gasp, the impact nearly unseating him.

I smiled, pride swelling in my chest. Of course. This was exactly as it should be. My brother—unstoppable, relentless—was proving why Dorne's warriors were the fiercest in the realm.

Round after round, he dominated, his lance finding its mark with precision and force, each strike driving Aemond closer to defeat. 

The Dornish crowd erupted into cheers with every blow, already celebrating the victory they were sure was imminent.

Viserys glanced at me, his face taut with discomfort. "Your brother is quite skilled," he said, though his tone lacked warmth, and his eyes betrayed the tension gnawing at him.

"Quite skilled?" I laughed. "He's magnificent."

But as Nymor circled for another pass, something shifted. Aemond, bruised but unyielding, gripped his lance with renewed purpose. 

As they charged again, the air between them thick with tension, Aemond leaned into the strike. This time, my brother's lance met nothing but air.

Aemond's lance, however, hit its mark with deadly precision, splintering Nymor's shield and throwing him off balance. 

My heart lurched, disbelief cutting through the certainty I'd felt moments before.

"No," I whispered under my breath, my hands gripping the armrests of my chair.

The crowd grew quieter, sensing the change. Aemond, seizing the moment, struck again—harder, faster—his fury a sharp contrast to the precision of Nymor's earlier blows. 

My brother, the unshakeable, was teetering. 

On the next pass, Aemond's lance slammed into Nymor's shoulder with a sickening crunch, sending him tumbling from his horse. The sound of his fall reverberated through the arena, followed by a stunned silence, then a cacophony of cheers.

I blinked, shock rippling through me. I hadn't even realized I was standing until my father gently pulled me back into my seat. My mind raced, unable to process what had just happened.

My brother—my brother, the unstoppable force of Dorne—was on the ground, defeated. Beaten.

Aegon, somewhere behind me, laughed with smug satisfaction. "I suppose Aemond is better than we thought."

My mouth tightened, words failing me for the first time. 

I wanted to argue, to say something snide or dismissive, but the sight of my brother being helped to his feet below, armour dented and pride bruised, silenced any retort I might have had.

Aemond dismounted, walking toward Nymor with a cold, composed grace, offering him a hand. 

For a brief moment, the two warriors locked eyes, and I knew that though Nymor had lost this battle, he would not forget this humiliation.

Neither would I.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

I sat beside Nymor as the maester worked, carefully tending to his wounds. My fingers drummed restlessly against the edge of the table where I perched, each tap a rhythm of mounting frustration. 

My lips thinned as I chewed on them, eyes fixed on the cold stone floor. Anger bubbled just below the surface, threatening to spill over.

"I cannot believe you lost," I muttered, my voice cutting through the quiet of the chamber, sharp with the weight of disappointment.

When I finally lifted my gaze, Nymor's eyes met mine. They were not the proud, confident eyes I was used to—today, they were clouded with a sadness I had never seen in him before. 

His jaw clenched as the maester tightened the bandage on his arm, and he winced.

"He was... better than I anticipated," Nymor admitted quietly, his voice filled with a reluctant acceptance that only made my chest tighten further.

I scoffed, sliding off the table and pacing across the room. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, suffocating me with the bitter taste of failure. 

"So because he beat you, that makes him worthy?" I snapped, my voice rising with every word. "Worthy of me?"

The thought of it—of being bested before all those watchful eyes, of their whispers spreading like wildfire—made my blood boil.

Nymor looked up, his brow furrowing. "Of course not," he replied, voice steady despite his wounds. "Don't be ridiculous. A single victory does not make him your equal, nor does it make him worthy of you." 

His words, though meant to comfort, only fanned the flames of my anger.

I halted in my tracks, hands planted firmly on my hips as I faced him. "If I refuse this marriage now, after today's spectacle, I go back on my word. Do you know what that means for Dorne?" 

My voice dropped into a harsh whisper. "Do you know what that means for me?"

He remained silent, his face a mask of guilt and resignation. He had no answer, no words to fix what had been broken. 

Nymor had lost something far greater than just a joust today—he had lost the unshakable faith I had in him, in us, in our edge over the rest of them. 

Now, the world felt as if it was teetering on the brink, and there was no one to blame but him.

"One of us lost our pride today, brother," I whispered, my voice a razor's edge. "And I refuse to be the next."

With a heavy sigh, Nymor slumped further in his chair, saying nothing as I stormed from the room. 

The echo of my footsteps followed me down the corridor, each step a reminder of the sting of defeat that clung to me like a second skin. 

My heart pounded in my chest, my thoughts swirling like a tempest. I needed air. Space. Anything to tear myself away from the weight of humiliation.

But I was not alone for long.

"Princess," came a voice, clipped and cold, like ice against the heat of my anger. Alicent.

I froze, inhaling sharply before turning to face her. There she stood, draped in her regal gown, her posture impeccable, her chin raised in that haughty way that made my blood simmer. 

She looked like she had already won.

"Alicent," I greeted my tone a deliberate mirror of her frost, omitting her title with the precision of a dagger. 

Her lips twitched ever so slightly, and I caught the flicker of annoyance in her eyes before she concealed it behind her mask of royal decorum.

Good. Let her be rattled.

Her gaze sharpened as she stepped closer. "I do not like you," she said, her voice a venomous whisper, each word dipped in malice.

I crossed my arms, a wry smile curving my lips. "I do not care," I shot back, my defiance standing tall between us. Her opinion of me had never mattered, and it certainly wouldn't start now. 

She was nothing more than a thorn—an irritation I could easily pluck away.

Her jaw tightened, her eyes flashing with a fury she struggled to contain. "You are to marry my son," she spat, her words biting like cold steel. "And it saddens me to know he will have to endure such a fate."

Her insult was meant to wound, to slice deep, but I did not flinch. Instead, I met her icy stare with a fire of my own. 

"Your son," I began, voice as calm as a still sea before a storm, "may have won today, but don't mistake that for a victory over me." My smirk widened. "He will soon learn, just as you will, that I am not so easily tamed."

Alicent's nostrils flared, her eyes narrowing to slits. She stepped closer, her presence radiating contempt. 

"You speak as though you have a choice," she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You will marry Aemond, and whatever pride you cling to will be shattered. You will do as you are told, like all women must. You will bend."

I felt the heat rising in my veins, my fists clenching at my sides. 

She was wrong—so terribly wrong if she thought she could command me, mould me into something docile, something weak. I took a step forward, meeting her fury with my own. 

"Do not presume to know what I will or will not do, Alicent," I warned my voice steady but seething beneath the surface. "I am no pawn in your game, nor am I a prize for your son to collect."

Her lips curled into a cruel smile, eyes gleaming with the malice of someone who believed they'd already won the war. 

"You have no power here, girl," she whispered, stepping so close I could feel her breath. "You will marry Aemond. You will bend. And eventually, you will break."

Her words struck like a hammer against steel, but they did not shatter me. 

Instead, they ignited the fire in my soul, the kind of flame that burns until nothing is left but ash. I took a slow step back, my voice trembling with barely contained rage as I hissed, "I will see you burn before I break."

With that, I turned on my heel and stormed down the corridor, my heart pounding in my chest, hands shaking with the fury of the confrontation. 

Her words echoed in my mind, but I refused to let them take hold. I would not bend. I would not break. And I would certainly not let her think she held any power over me.

As I moved deeper into the castle, away from her poisonous presence, the weight of the day threatened to pull me under, but I would not drown. 

My resolve hardened like steel in a forge. This wasn't over.

Alicent Hightower may have thought today was her victory, but she had no idea what storm was coming. 

Not by a long shot.

A/n - Next chapter is going to be insane (probably one of my favourites out of the whole series)... stay tuned!!

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

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[random-fandom1984]

Hi welcome to tumblr for my first request can I get the tfp decepticons finding a pod and imagine their surprise when inside there is a bunch of sparklings I always head canon sparkling to look small and squishy looking like mashmellows and making beep and squeaky sounds I just love sparklings so much they are so cute

Coming right up!

Decepticons Meets Sparklings

●When coming across a signal, it was a medium-sized cylinder pod that reaches up to Megatron's *Clears throat* snatchable slutty waist- WOAH! Who said that? ●Anyways, a group of Vehicons managed to bring the pod back to the Nemesis before the Autobots could arrive. No one on the Nemesis knew what it could be, so the Vehicons made bets as to what it is. Is it a bomb? A shield that can stop an enemy from attacking? A sword that can control your opponents against their will for the rest of eternity? Definitely not 5t3v3's lame sparkling theory! ●When they opened it up, they found... 7 sparklings? 5t3v3 will forever and always rub it in the face plates of the Vehicons who doubted him. ●Some of the crew thought that this was a waste, but Megatron had an idea. If this war continues far longer than it should, they will have Younger Decepticons continuing their legacy, defeating the Autobots that have grown old, ensuring the Decepticons victory! ●So, the Decepticons were split among the crew.

Megatron

●Of course, he picked the one that was aggressive and looked the toughest out of the eight. He wasn't going to have an heir that was weak and pathetic. How he did this you ask? Simple. The one that bit Starscream's finger and wouldn't let go no matter how hard Starscream swung him around. ●Would definitely teach his sparkling how to swear, even having his kid's first word be a bad word. It's basically that one scene in Steven Universe where Peridot was trying to get Pumpkin to say "Clod". ●If he had somewhere to be, or just fight Optimus, he would let Soundwave babysit, he trusts his T.I.C. with anything. There's no way he's letting that incompetent seeker watch over his adopted child. ●He would name the sparkling Sunburst; a mighty name for his mighty sparkling to strike fear into his future enemies! ●Would teach his sparkling everything there is to know about fighting from his glory days in the Pits of Kaon as a gladiator

Starscream

●He would be last to choose, unfortunately, and get the runt of the litter. But that's fine, he can work with this. ●He would try to teach the sparkling to say "All hail Lord Starscream". The sparkling would end up calling him Sire. Starscream wouldn't act impressed in public, but in private, he would be squealing with joy; He's already, unintentionally grown attached to his sparkling. ●The bot he would allow to babysit his sparkling would be a Vehicon, mainly 5teve. ●The name he would give his sparkling would probably be Thundercracker or Skywarp, something to remind him of his old trine mates. ●Would try to push his sparkling to be better than Megatron, which would unknowingly put a strain in his relationship with his sparkling because, to his sparkling, nothing he does is ever good enough for his sire

Shockwave

●Finds Lord Megatron's reason to be... logical ●Would be the one to instantly find out which would be best for him. Don't question his methods ●Would name the sparkling Prodigy ●Will teach his sparkling all about the logics of science. Anything that his sparkling does that goes beyond the knowledge of science, proves something of his illogical, or both... he would be so proud. What is this emotion? Pride and joy? Logical. ●Would trust Predaking and or Soundwave to babysit his sparkling

Soundwave

●Others might not see it, but Soundwave would pick one that strangely looks similar to two of his old minicons Rumble and Frenzy. ●Would be the most overprotective of his sparkling. Sparkling gone from his quarters? He knows where he is; wandering the halls and is close by. His spark swells when he finds out that the reason for his sparkling's escapades is because the sparkling was looking for his sire: Soundwave! ●Would be recording and photographing his sparkling's milestones and accomplishments ●The sparkling's name would be Hightop ●Would trust Lord Megatron, Shockwave, or Knockout with babysitting his sparkling

Predaking

●This one was the closest to dying and required an Energon transfusion, and Predaking volunteered. Luckily, the sparkling survived, and because the sparkling now has Predaking's Energon, not only are they related by blood, as humans say, but now the sparkling has grown Predacon features. ●Predaking was glad to have a Predacon that wasn't made in a lab this time. He made sure his sparkling was by his side until it can do things on it's own. ●The sparkling's name would be Inferno because it can transform into something that was Phoenix shaped along with abilities. ●He will tear Starscream a new one if he'd dare lay servos on his sparkling. ●Predaking would trust Knockout, Breakdown, Shockwave, and/or Dreadwing to babysit

Knockout & Breakdown

●Knockout would pick one that was better looking than the others, and Breakdown had no say in this, but didn't complain. He knew better. ●Would act the most like real parents because they always wanted a sparkling. ●They would named the sparkling Wildbreak. ●Breakdown will trust Dreadwing to babysit his sparkling, and Knockout would trust the Vehicons. If anything bad happens to his sparkling, he wouldn't repair any Vehicons as punishment, his words not mine. ●Knockout and Breakdown will always take pictures and/or record milestones or adorable moments with their sparkling: His first words, first steps, first friend, first fight and won, etc. Next thing you know, he gets a Conjunx Endura-

5t3v3 & Other Vehicons

●Since he called it, he called dibs on being the sire ●Spends every waking moment hanging out with his sparkling, playing games, spending time together, worries that he isn't doing a good job, only for those thoughts to completely disappear when his sparkling's first word is sire, goes towards him when attempting to walk, always goes, and cries for him when the sparkling gets a nightmare. ●Would do anything for his sparkling to ensure it's safety ●When looking for a babysitter, 5t3v3 would have one of the sparkling's Vehicon Uncles take care of it if he's on duty. He wouldn't take them with him because what if the Autobots show up, kill him, and take his sparkling away? No. No way! ●The sparkling's name would be Meteoroid

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan

💙 Symmetry

by Vir_Abelasan

M, 13k, Wangixan & Lan Sizhui

Summary: Despite what Jiang Wanyin and his Sect had done, despite everything, baba never once cursed them as they did the Yiling Patriarch's name. Mourn as baba did for Sizhui's family, for the family that had become baba's own in all but name, never once did he look upon the cultivation world in vengeance. Instead, every breath, every shred of life in baba's failing body had been dedicated to keeping Sizhui safe, fed and loved, as if the slightest speck of grudge towards the world would have tainted his own boundless love towards Sizhui. But Sizhui is alone in the world now, and he is not his baba - No one else is like baba, and Sizhui supposes that was what had sealed his father's fate, in a world where one is demanded to serve mere ideas of righteousness and honor rather than the people. And so upon seeing the purple robes amidst the crowd, Wei Sizhui decides that perhaps it would not hurt to start his path of vengeance a little closer to home. Kay's comments: This story is so beautifully written and it's my favourite dark!Sizhui story of all time. I really loved that he got to grow up with Wei Wuxian watching over him, though it was also very heart-breaking with Wei Wuxian suffering the side-effects of having destroyed the Tiger Tally and now dying slow death and I also loved the thirst for revenge that was slowly growing inside of Sizhui, absolutely marvelous execution. Sizhui's and Lan Wangji's relationship in this story is something else I also enjoyed. Not a story for Jiang Cheng fans, but also, phew, the angle this story decided to go for in regards to Wei Wuxian's and Jiang Cheng's and then Sizhui's relationship was creepy in the best way possible. Made the end even more satisfying. Excerpt: But Sizhui is all alone in the world now, and he is not his baba. No one else is like baba, and Sizhui supposes that was what had sealed his father's fate, in a world where one is demanded to serve righteousness and honor rather than the people, even if costs them the lives of innocents and loved ones. Sizhui does not blame his baba for wanting to detach them from that kind of world entirely, for wishing Sizhui a life unrestrained by everything that had torn baba's own life apart the moment he tried to do something beyond his given place. Yet again, he is not his baba. For along with the radish leaves that presses on his palm whenever he grips his sword, there is also the sunburst against his skin - Long gone but not forgotten. He had always meant to go for the Jins first, but the sight of the purple robes nudges at something inside of him. Memories of Popo's quiet gasp as a blade went through her chest, as purple flooded their humble home and Sizhui tried not to sob from his hiding place. Of baba's sad smile when Sizhui asked where the pretty purple bell he always wore was, that day he came home to the Burial Mounds with a stab wound on his stomach. Perhaps, Sizhui thinks as his eyes follow the swaying bells through the crowd, it would not hurt to start a little closer to home.

pov lan sizhui, canon divergence, wei wuxian lives, dead wei wuxian, no thirteen years of wei wuxian's death, kinda, good parent wei wuxian, single parent wei wuxian, revenge, dark lan sizhui, fake/pretend relationship, manipulation, power imbalance, torture, not jiang cheng friendly, jiang cheng's thirteen year murder spree, bamf lan sizhui, sect leader lan sizhui, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[avatar-anna]

Maybe Next Time He’ll Think

just a short fic about harry as the reader’s bodyguard! i did a really short blurb about this a while ago, but i’ll link it here if you’re curious. enjoy!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

“Y/n, come on. You have class in fifteen minutes.”

Harry knocked on the door, but she still wouldn’t come out. He used to pound on the door, but only because his client had a habit of taking her time in the morning, but Y/n said it was rude and unbecoming the first few times he did it. No one had ever called him “unbecoming” before, but he definitely didn’t like it. So now he knocked on her door. Gently.

When she still didn’t answer, Harry rolled his eyes and tried to contain his annoyance. He reminded himself that this was a good job, that he could be risking his life for a government that didn’t give two shits about him. This assignment was practically a paid vacation. Watch the ambassador’s daughter as she attended an Ivy League. Don’t let her die. Easy enough.

“Y/n, please. You know you’re not allowed to skip cl—”

“Um, I’m not feeling well. I can’t go.”

Well that was very out of character for the ambassador’s daughter. She sometimes missed her alarm and Harry would have to wake her up, but she never missed class, not even when she was hungover from that kegger she insisted on going to. And she definitely didn’t sound sick. Something else was up. Still, Harry played along.

“Okay. Do you want me to run to the store to get you something for you? Should we go to the doctor?”

Harry heard a sniffle from the other side of the door. “No, that’s okay. I think I just need to sleep it off.”

Closing his eyes and mustering all his patience, he said, “Y/n, I’m not playing around anymore. Come out so I can take you to class.”

There was silence on the other side of the door for a few seconds, and Harry thought he would have to resort to pounding on the door again, but then it finally opened.

Harry had never seen Y/n so...not put together before. Even when she was just lounging around the house, she was in some sort of matching sweatshirt and sweatpants. The young woman he saw now...

She was in an old hoodie that was perhaps navy blue once, but it was too faded to be considered that color now. Her hair was in a ponytail, but only a small part of it was still being held up by her knitted scrunchie with sunbursts on it.

Y/n's eyes were puffy too, and her whole face was red, which told Harry that the sniffling was a result of crying, not a cold. Why was she crying?

Shrugging, she said. "Ready."

"Y/n, what...happened—"

"Please don't ask what happened because then I'll start thinking about it and then I'll start crying and I can't cry and go to class, so please don't ask me—"

As she was saying all this, she'd begun to cry again, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her frame.

Harry wasn't sure what to do then. He'd done years of combat training, knew how to case a building for possible threats, had even diffused a bomb once. But crying? Y/n crying? He'd never been more unsure of what to do in his life.

"It's, um, it's okay," he said awkwardly. He made the mistake of patting her on the shoulder, which seemed to signal to Y/n that he was offering a hug, which wasn't what he'd been offering, but he wasn't about to push her away as she collapsed in his arms.

Y/n squeezed him tighter than he thought possible while he just stood there, trying to think of where his hands should go. Harry could feel her tears dampening his shirt, but he surprisingly didn't have the urge to pull away. It actually felt kind of...nice? Not the crying, obviously, but the embrace. It felt...right somehow.

"Sorry, I kind of just sprung that on you, and I know you have strict personal boundaries," Y/n said when she eventually pulled back, and Harry quickly pushed away the small, barely there urge to pull her back into his chest.

"It's fine," he said, recovering quickly. "You don't have to expl—"

"I just really thought he was genuine, you know?" she blurted. "He said he didn't mind the curfews or that I needed a chaperone to go to parties. He said he liked me for me." Y/n sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. "But as my mother always says, men aren't worth shit. No offense."

"None taken," Harry said with a frown, but for an entirely different reason than the comment about men.

"He was with some other girl last night. At some party."

Harry vaguely remembered that Y/n mentioned a party yesterday. He told her she could go if she texted him updates every hour, but she said she didn't want to. When he first took this job, he worried that Y/n would oppose his every suggestion to keep her safe, but she rarely put up a fight, and he quickly learned that she wasn't much of the "going out" type, which made his life a whole lot easier.

That wasn’t to say she completely holed up on the weekends. She would ask him to go to a sporting event here and there, and she did go to the occasional frat party. Most nights, though, she was huddled up on the couch watching some show about teen vampires. Harry almost preferred the keggers, but he never said anything about it.

“And ‘he’ is...” Harry found himself asking. He knew Y/n was seeing some trust fund brat, but they all looked the same and had the same names.

“Trace,” she said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Serves me right for dating the campus bad boy.”

Harry did everything in his power not to laugh. If there was anything remotely threatening about any of Y/n’s boyfriends, they would never even have had the chance to say hello to her. But he could tell she was upset, so he tried to appear sympathetic.

“A guy with a name like Trace isn’t worth your tears, Y/n. No one at this school is.”

She sniffled again, but the tears had stopped rolling down her face at least. “You’re right. He probably hooked up with that girl because I wouldn’t put out. Only thing I would’ve gotten from him was an STI.”

“He didn’t force himself on you, did he? You’ve never hit your panic button.” Harry’s jaw clenched as he began to see red. It wasn’t just that Y/n was the person he was tasked with protecting. She was Y/n. Devastatingly sweet, she could hardly hurt a fly. In fact, last week she made Harry set the spider in her room free outside instead of stepping on it. She was kinder than anyone Harry had ever met, and if some idiotic loser with a shit name did anything to her—

“No. He stopped when I asked, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about it,” Y/n said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “And instead of being a gentleman and waiting until I was ready, he just moved on. Why couldn’t he have broken up with me first? Is that all men want? To get their dick wet?”

Harry had never heard Y/n curse before, a result of very intensive media training. She didn’t even say stupid if she could help it. He didn’t like how much this boy seemed to upset her.

“Do you want to do something about it?”

Y/n looked at him skeptically. “Like what? Egg his car?”

Harry wanted to beat him to a pulp, but even he knew that was more trouble than it was worth. Just barely, though. “No, I, um...” Harry hastily pressed his hand against Y/n’s forehead. “Would you look at that, you spiked a fever. It’s probably best you skip classes today and rest.”

Y/n caught on immediately and threw her arms around him. The scent of her perfume Harry knew she sprayed on her pillow flooded his senses in an instant, leaving him a little dumbfounded.

“Thank you, Harry. You’re the best.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said stiffly. Pulling back, he told her to go back to her room. “I’m gonna go to the store and grab a couple things. There’s a detail watching the apartment, but call me if you need anything, okay?”

Nodding, Y/n went back into her room with a sniffle, but not before giving Harry one last hug. Once the door shut, Harry quickly got dressed and grabbed his keys, setting out for the day. He suddenly had a tight schedule in front of him.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

“You don’t have to watch with me, you know. I know how much you hate this show.”

Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes on the television. “I’m invested now.”

He didn’t want the statement to be true, but it was. When Harry came back from running errands, Y/n was on the couch watching her vampire drama. He didn’t plan on sticking around and watching the show with her, but she was looking at him with big eyes behind her glasses, and he caved. “Just because you’re having a rough day,” he told her.

Three hours later and Harry had a blanket and bowl of popcorn of his own.

“It’s addicting,” Y/n agreed.

“I just don’t understand why Elena can’t decide,” Harry said. “Stefan is clearly the most sensible choice.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not about sensibility, it’s about passion,” she explained. Grabbing the remote, she paused it and turned in her blanket cocoon to look at him. “Elena needs to follow her heart, not her head, and her heart clearly wants Damon.”

“Bad things happen when you don’t use your head,” Harry grumbled. Then he asked, “Who would you pick?”

“Neither. I’d go for Klaus,” she said immediately, then blushed at her quick response.

“The evil psychopath?”

Y/n hid under her blanket. “He’s not evil, he’s misunderstood!”

“Jesus Christ,” Harry muttered under his breath. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little scared of you now.”

Giggling, Y/n pressed play on the remote, and they both went back to watching.

It was times like these when Harry forgot that he was working. Y/n wasn’t just his roommate, she was an assignment, one he took seriously. But when she was just sitting on her corner of the couch, and he was on his, both of them in Korean face masks that Y/n swore by, it all felt so normal.

Harry didn’t go into this job thinking he would befriend the subject he was meant to protect. He honestly thought that a girl like Y/n would be an entitled, trust fund baby who was full of herself, but she couldn’t be further from that stereotype. She truly was the sweetest person he knew.

Later that night, Harry was working out in his room. Because he was Y/n’s personal security detail, he didn’t have much free time, so he reserved his workouts just before bed or early in the morning.

As he was between sets, there was a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Y/n popped her head in, her sleep mask pushed up onto her forehead. “Am I bothering you?”

Harry shook his head. “Not at all. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, no creeps outside my window or anything like that,” she said quickly. “But um, I was scrolling on Instagram, you know, as one does, and I came across this post...”

She handed her phone to Harry, who took it. On it was a picture of a car covered in paper. Looking up, he asked what he was looking at.

“Trace’s car,” she explained. “Someone covered it in test results. Positive test results...For herpes.”

“Wow. That’s—”

“Insane, right?” Y/n said. “Everyone’s going crazy over it. Trace will probably never hook up with anyone within a twenty mile radius ever again.”

Harry chuckled and handed the phone back. “Probably for the best.”

Y/n hummed her agreement, and then silence fell between the two of them. Harry figured that was all Y/n came to tell him, but she didn’t leave his room. Instead, she looked around, then at him.

He didn’t really know what to say, but he didn’t have to say anything. Before long, she spoke again.

“Thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said, turning around to put away his workout gear.

“You were gone for a while earlier today,” Y/n said. “And I made a joke about Trace having an STI this morning.”

Harry hadn’t set out this morning to exact revenge on an asshole, but as he was putting groceries in his cart, he kept picturing Y/n’s face—the tears, the red nose, the messy hair. A guy like Trace had no right making someone as kind as Y/n cry. He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.

Harry at least found it in his heart not to do permanent damage to the asshole’s Bentley.

Still, Harry merely said, “There’s no proof that I did it.”

“I’d be disappointed if there was,” Y/n joked.

Then, she stepped towards him and wrapped him up in another hug. Harry stiffened, but was quicker to respond than he had this morning. Y/n squeezed him tight, as if she was trying to press her gratitude into him. She eventually pulled away, but stayed close enough that she had to tip her head back to look at him.

Harry met her gaze, and was surprised when an unfamiliar feeling stirred in him. He blinked, hoping that would somehow make it disappear, but it didn’t. He just kept on staring down at Y/n—her dark eyes, button nose, full lips, warm skin. Harry always recognized that she was pretty, but her features were suddenly all the more apparent to him, like he was seeing her for the first time.

But then her phone buzzed, and the haze he was in wore off.

They stepped away from each other, Y/n backing away toward the door. “Anyway, um, I just wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to do that but,” she shrugged, “It made me feel better, and the whole school is getting a kick out of it, so thanks.”

Harry scratched his head, unaware of his shirt riding up, or the way Y/n’s gaze zeroed in on the small sliver of skin and tattoos that were revealed. “I will neither confirm nor deny such allegations, but if I did cover someone’s car in false test results, I would say it was well deserved.”

Y/n’s eyes lit. “I never said they were—you know what, I don’t need to know. It will remain a mystery, I suppose. Even though I am incredibly curious as to how you were able to—”

“Good night, Y/n.”

“Buzz kill,” she muttered. “Good night, Harry.”

She was about to leave, but Harry stopped her. “No more guys like Trace, alright? Find yourself a Stefan.”

She rolled her eyes as she left, but Y/n’s heart beat just a little bit faster when he smiled at her.

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by anonymous

Rengoku Shinjuro x (Male) Reader

With a life full of hardships and never truly knowing "peace", maybe it's about time for Shinjuro to truly let go.

warnings: NSFW, Shinjuro's alcoholism and depression, hair pulling, some humiliation, lol he's a bottom, age gap

notes: just some angst and Shinjuro getting it up the butt, modern AU where demons are still a thing, written from a past tense and then in present

words: 2.1k

-

Rengoku Shinjuro, by all means, is not the soft, compliant type.

No, throughout his years, it’s always been Rengoku, do this or Rengoku, do that. Hailing from such a prestigious family, he’s never been granted a true taste of freedom, a true taste of himself. Ever since he was young, he’s been subjected to harsh training and grueling lectures of how terrible the real world is. For centuries, the Rengoku name has been a stone in the demon slaying world, and – quite literally – a pillar for others to look up to.

His personality became sour as thus. He was lucky enough to score himself such an incredible wife (at least that’s what the others whispered behind his back). Even more, that very wife bore two heirs. The Rengoku bloodline has never given birth to females; they always relied on outside sources to keep that pure bloodline flowing, to keep the locks of flames and sunburst eyes carrying from generation to generation.

Shinjuro should’ve been happy. He had a beautiful wife, a set of boys, was alive.

But.

And that’s what it is, the but that comes with everything in life.

He would never grow to know true peace. His sons, also born in this cruel, cruel world, wouldn’t be able to dream of it. They are Rengoku’s, after all, and they’d be damned if they didn’t carry on the tradition of their ancestors.

His bitterness only grew when Ruka, his beloved, passed. His sorrows could only be drowned out by limitless booze, the pain in his heart much too suffocating for him to bear. It didn’t take long after that for him to rid himself of the Flame Hashira title and close himself in from the world. He was no longer Rengoku Shinjuro, whoever the hell that even was. He was only the husk of a man, the pathetic wick left behind from a burned-out candle.

Drinking became Shinjuro’s new passion. The bottle became his best friend. His fist rarely became lonely, knuckles long gone white from the ceaseless clasp. Both of his sons became strangers, struggling to withstand the man their father had become. The eldest, Kyojuro, eventually took his brother away, the two of them moving in with Uzui-sama, the smug bastard.

Things had never been easy. Not when he was a child, and certainly not when he grew into adulthood.

The strong pillar of a man became nothing more than a pile of rubble.

It began with a single drink and a prolonged stare.

Shinjuro (unsurprisingly) frequented many bars, usually too stir-crazy to stick with one for too long. It was only when he found a hole-in-the-wall that he finally settled, decided that this was it.

He’d spent too many nights staring into the bottom of empty glasses, wondering if he would pass out in the bathroom and never get up again. Perhaps someone would start a fight and try to swing a stool at his head – no, that wouldn’t work, he’d been beaten up by too many god-forbidden creatures for a stool to do any real damage.

Needless to say, when the bartender silently placed another glass of his go-to before him, Shinjuro was surprised. Normally, he would signal for another round with a grunt or a slew of drunken words. The bartender only gave him half a smile, his head jerking to the other side of the bar. Shinjuro’s eyes merely followed, a strong brow quirking up his forehead.

Hah.

You were just some punk ass kid, most likely the same age as his son. Granted, he kept his hair long, but that was about it when it came to feminine qualities. Thick hair, though blond, covered the entirety of his arms and chest, and his face was in a constant stage of stubble. Shinjuro knew he wasn’t a looker. Why had you looked at him from everyone else in the bar, he couldn’t possibly fathom. He figured it had to deal with the dim lighting.

But no, you took that glance as the greenlight and hopped from your stool, scurrying your way to where Shinjuro sat. You gave a simple May I?, body hesitant and eyes hopeful. Frankly, Shinjuro couldn’t care. A free drink was a free drink and if he was lucky enough, he would forget all about this encounter anyway.

Or so he hoped.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment, you were trying to crack jokes and butter him up with saccharine words; the next, he was flat on his back on his mattress, in his home, with you in between his legs. Your pants were hot and heavy in his ear, lips skimming the stubble adorning his jaw as your cock pounded in and out of him.

Shinjuro would never.

He wasn’t the kind to lay dormant and let others take control of the reins. He was a Rengoku, for fuck’s sake. He used to be a goddamn Hashira. He’s a man, not some broken down little whore who’s prying for attention or money or-

And then he came, all hot and thick, coating his abs in a sticky feeling he’s not used to. His mind cleared, heartbeat shuddered, back ached – he’s not cut out for this shit.

But.

It’s always the fucking buts that come with life.

A good lay is a good lay, and god knew how long it’s been since Shinjuro had one of those.

Getting drunk is all that mattered, no matter the method.

­“I need you to relax, love,” you breathe into his ear.

A shiver ripples down Shinjuro’s spine. A shaky sigh graces the air as he snuggles further into the pillow. Splayed out on his stomach, Shinjuro’s completely at your mercy; you straddle his behind, hands slick with oil as they rub and dig into the many knots throughout his back. Unlike you, Shinjuro is bare naked. Your clothed groin grinds into the split of his cheeks, just barely a chub.

Glancing over his shoulder, Shinjuro catches the quick glint of the band encircling your finger. Heart leaping to his throat, his insides squeeze as water gathers in his eyes (it might be because of the particularly deep knot you’re pressing at, but still.)

The universe… finally decided he deserved a break.

After that fateful encounter that night (and the back-breaking sex), you somehow… got into Shinjuro’s good graces. You made breakfast for him the next morning, rubbed his sore muscles, joked about his bedhead and morning breath… It was so domestic. It had been too long since another soul had graced his home, and it was almost too overwhelming…

A date led to another, sex became a regular thing, and Shinjuro found that he enjoyed letting loose and having someone else take hold of the reins. There wasn’t any Rengoku, do this! screaming in his ears, only your gentle tone telling him to take it deeper and praising him for being such a good boy.

It didn’t take long for you to ask for his hand in marriage. For one, Shinjuro never dreamed of remarrying, much less to a person of the same sex. Two, for that someone to be just as kind and gentle as Ruka was, only to totally switch sides behind closed doors, was something else entirely. Shinjuro never pictured himself as the type to be physically or romantically involved with another man, but life had other plans.

“You’re tensing up,” you murmur, your voice stirring him away from his thoughts. You place a kiss to his spine. “What are you thinking about?”

What did I do to deserve this?

It’s not like Shinjuro is a kind man. He did his job, put another generation of Rengoku’s into the world, then sank into a depressed stupor full of alcohol when he couldn’t find the will to live anymore. So what did the universe see in him? What did you see in him?

“Shinjuro, answer me.” Your voice, although soft, carries a harsh undertone.

“I’m a piece of shit,” Shinjuro grunts. It’s all too easy to see your displeased expression in his peripheral.

“We’ve talked about this,” you tell him.

And yeah, you did. He came clean about his trauma, about the demons plaguing the world, his dead wife, his estranged sons. You had some daddy issues of your own (surprise). The two of you were floating in dead space, drifting with the passing days. It was sort of a miracle when you two met.

“I know,” is all Shinjuro says, the words dissipating into a sigh.

Scooching off from his bottom, you easily push the muscular, hairy thighs apart and settle in between. Slicking up your thumb with more oil, you press the digit between his cheeks, slowly caressing the pursed hole.

“Obviously, we have to go over it again,” you tell him. “Tell me why I love you.”

Heat floods to Shinjuro’s face. Mind you, he never blushes. He stares hard at the wall across from him, thankful for the pillow smooshing the other side of his face. He knows he should answer. Last time he disobeyed, you bent him over your knee like a bratty child and spanked him until the skin matched the red in his hair. He almost craves for you to be rough with him, to put him in his place.

“I’m the father you always wanted to fuck.” It’s a poor attempt at a joke. Humor has never been Shinjuro’s strong suit. He does, however, receive a light swat against his behind in warning.

“Horrible answer. Try again.”

He grunts when you grasp onto a meaty asscheek, your hand roughly kneading it. Your thumb barely presses against his hole.

“Brat,” Shinjuro mutters. How ironic. If anyone is the brat in this relationship, it’s him. “Husband loves my physique, the hair on my chest, my ass-“ he wiggles his butt as he says this, “-and how I’m such a good boy.”

You reply with a snort. “Wouldn’t kill you to indulge me a little…”

A groan gets bit short when you abruptly grasp onto the loose strands of blond hair and yank. Shinjuro’s head cranes backwards, his neck screaming from the effort. Hot kisses land on his spine, the thumb encircling his hole dipping in slightly. Easing out and in, you tease him slowly, relishing in his heavy breaths and foggy eyes.

His cock stirs; Shinjuro wastes no time grinding it into the mattress, knees and hips raising to meet your touch. Hardened nipples graze the sheets, his heavy tits heaving with each ragged pant. It takes practically no effort anymore to get him stirred up, to have him hungry for your cock.

“My big, muscular boy,” you say, teeth skimming along the line of his spine, “so desperate to be fucked like a whore. Is this what a fall from grace looks like? To be on your hands and knees, waiting for someone to belittle you and make you theirs?”

Your dominance is unlike anything Shinjuro has ever seen. Usually, you’re all soft words and warm hands, willing to help him with anything. A perfect little househusband, you told him once, a giggle hanging from your lips. Someone to be there when you need them most.

But this…. This is something else.

You grope at the muscles of his back, his ass, his tits – you leave nothing untouched, besides his cock. A hand keeps his hips steady as you slip your cock inside, the hot resistance clasping down in a vice-like grip. Shinjuro moans weakly into the pillow, precum leaking from his neglected cock. You waste no time pulling back and snapping your hips into him, cock plunging in to the hilt. Your balls slap heavily against his ass, fingers moving from spreading his cheeks further apart to pulling at his hair.

“Mine,” you hiss into his ear, but then follow up with a quick kiss. “So soft, compliant… What a spectacle you are. I bet no one would ever have guessed that the former Flame Hashira would like getting cock so much…”

Blood thunders in his ears. With a slight whimper, Shinjuro buries his face in the pillow, shame and arousal making his skin simmer and cock leak like a faucet.

“Ah, ah, ah, honey, don’t hide your face, it’s just us here,” you say, tone switching to something buttery smooth and sweet. Your actions clearly contradict your words; you snatch his head back with a firm grasp, fingernails grazing against his skull. Your cockhead attacks his prostate with a deadly precision. Soon, Shinjuro is nearly sobbing, mouth lax and fingers clenching onto the sheets.

You fuck him to completion, his eyes rolling back in his skull as his balls pull tight and he cums in several long, drawn-out spurts. Your hands easily reach around his chest and clutch onto his pebbled nipples, your lips finding the side of his neck.

He expects you to finish inside him and leave it at that, but…

As he learned long ago, there are always buts.

You never get to let him know what that but is.

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

I have more for the epic inspired lmk au (which I'm calling A Blood Soaked Goodbye) The basics that I already came up with in other posts is that MK fights a villain, spares them in MK fashion, and one of his friends (it's Sandy) ends up dying because of it. MK recklessly fights the villain in another fight, but is still not trying to kill because he knows Sandy would not want that. Macky ends up dragging MK out of the fight cause he was going to get himself killed, which then leads to Wukong showing up and My Goodbye: a sunburst duo falling out occurs.

Now. New stuff.

After the falling out, MK's mental state is the worst it's ever been. And he keeps going monkey for longer and longer and acting all around cruel and cold and obsessed with destroying this villain. All in all, he's not acting like himself. If anything, he's acting like the ink version of himself from the scroll. And that's because whenever MK is in monkey form at this point, it isn't actually MK. He ends up taking a back seat and watching while this more ruthless monkey version of himself takes over. At first it's purposeful and willing on MK's part. He can't stand failing his friends and he needs Sandy's killer to be brought to justice and himself as he is just isn't enough. But the monkey form is stronger, and could do it. But then Monkey!MK decides to set a trap in the hopes of killing the villain. And it not only doesn't work, but there is collateral damage that includes Macaque and Red Son. (Macky was supposed to get a signal from MK at the first sign things were going wrong, but that signal never came. By the time he realized for himself that he needed to get Red Son out, all it did was cause them both to go down when he tried)

Mei confronts MK as he stands with his back to her, in monkey form. And like Eurylochus during Mutiny, Mei starts demanding that MK tells her she's wrong about her suspicion that MK deliberately let Macaque and Red Son die, and listing past events, past foes, where MK came up with these plans and was detertermined for all of them to make it home. But this time, he didn't stick to that plan. He was supposed to signal Macaque if things started to go sideways, if the villain started heading towards Red Son. He had ample time to signal, to warn them so Macaque could get them out, hell even a late warning would have been enough time, but he never warned them. "You just let them die! Say something!"

And finally, finally, Monkey!MK turns around to face Mei (and Pigsy and Tang who are huddled close together behind Mei) with crazed smile and with a mianical laugh tells her "I can't!"

Mei takes a half step back, staring in horror and disgust at MK this thing wearing her best friend's face. Her expression hardens as she draws her sword and points it at the monkey. "You're not MK." And she attacks.

I am imagining it in my head so clearly of MK, the real MK, in that line style that LBD would cause, watching in horror as his monkey form is relentlessly attacking Mei. Shes putting up a good fight, but Mei has to fight hard to be on equal footing with MK when they do friendly sparing, and this? This is not friendly. Mei might not be holding back, but neither is the monkey. And MK is frantically trying to get control back but he *cant* he's not strong enough. He opened the door with his grief and anger over losing Sandy and his falling out with Wukong and let that dark side of him take over, thinking it would enable him to destroy the villain. But all it has resulted in is more and more loss and heartbreak, and MK can not shut the door. Not on his own.

The fight is continuing and Mei is not doing so well. At this rate, he's going to kill her. Tang is watching all this and he knows he has to do something. And so when Monkey!MK knocks Mei down and is about to crush her skull with the monkey king staff, Tang acts, purely on instinct and fear.

MK gets skewered from behind by Tang and his magical staff. When this happens, his monkey form disappears and it's just *MK* again. And he turns to look behind him, at Tang who has taken a step back and is clutching a crying and horrified looking Pigsy's hand, and croaks out "Dads? Please..." (It's not "why" for this because MK KNOWS why) And Pigsy drops Tangs hand and rushes over to his boy, his son. (Perhaps Tang tries to grab for him and stop him out of fear, and Pigsy shakes him off with a "He's MK! That's my son," and goes for him anyway.) And MK is impailed by a stick that by all rights should not have been able to impail him, especially one weilded by Tang, but we'll pass that off as mystic stuff. MK is hurt and crying and HORRIFIED at what he'd done and almost done, and he's in control again and desperately doesn't want to lose that. He is able to convince Tang and Mei (who had gone over to stand at Tangs side and is leaning against him, injured but alive thanks to his actions) that he is their MK and that he had essentially been possessed by this monkey version and that is what got Macky and Red Son killed, as well as what just tried to kill Mei. Pigsy needs no convincing. Pigsy pulls MK into a hug as MK sobs and promises him "It's gonna be alright, son. We're going to figure this out, get you help. I love you, you understand? It's gonna be alright."

While Pigsy is keeping up this litany of love and reassurances, Tang carefully approaches MK and warns him that he's going to pull out his staff, since MK won't be able to heal from the injury with it still in there. And MK tearfully nods, still holding onto Pigsy, and Pigsy rearranges himself so he's a comfort to MK while out of Tang's way so he can pull it out.

After Tang removes his staff from MK, there's this thing like the quick thought that Athena does? Where MK is faced with Evil Monkey!MK.

"Choose."

MK stares at Monkey!MK, frightened and confused. "Choose?"

"Someone's gotta die today and you have got the final say. You? Or your family?"

MK's answer is immediate, lunging forward to grip the grinning monkey's forearms. "Me! I die! They live! My family lives."

And Evil Monkey!MK smiles, wide and sharp with far too many teeth. "Wrong answer," he whispers in MK's ear.

Back in real time, MK loses control to the monkey. Mei and Tang notice and both step back, alarmed, Mei tensing for another fight, but Pigsy hasn't noticed. He does notice that MK has gone rigid and he assumes it's from the pain of the staff being removed. "It's alright, MK. I'm here, I've got you, son."

Evil Monkey!MK slowly grins, making eye contact with Tang and Mei as he pulls one hand back behind him. Both of them, eyes wide, realize what is about to happen, yelling Pigsy's name. Mei lunges forward, her sword aimed at the monkey, and Tang raises his staff to cast a protective barrier around Pigsy. But they're not fast enough.

Monkey!MK's hand shoots out and he plunges his hand straight through Pigsy's chest. "Thanks, Dad."

Pigsy lets out a wet breathless wheeze of pain as the monkey wrenches his now blood covered hand back out, leaving Pigsy to collapse on the ground.

Mei processes what has just happened and loses it, striking at the monkey with an enraged scream. Tang rushed to Pigsy and holds his husband as he chokes on his blood and dies, his last words a gurgling "M...K."

MK is screaming inside his head, helpless to stop it as his body, his hands, murder his family. The monkey tears Mei apart and strikes Tang down when he shakily rises to his feet to try to protect the only family he has left. The monkey is bathing in the blood and entrails of MK's family, killing the last people in this world that he had left. If he was capable of coherent and reflective thought, he would realize that the villain that sent him on this dark path may have killed Sandy, but it was MK that killed the rest of them. They were, all of them, blood on his hands.

~~

This all started out as a Sunburst Duo falling out over My Goodbye. And it ends in a similar way. Wukong learns of the trail of carnage being left in the wake of a vicious monkey, and his first thought is a resigned "Macaque must have gone dark side again, damnit! I shouldn't have trusted him." And then he learns of Macaque's death, that he died trying to save Red Son, and no. It's not Macaque on a rampage. Wukong is in denial, even as this horrible pit of dread settles in his stomach. And with each discovery he makes, each body he uncovers, greater and greater violence behind each kill, Wukong's grief and anger and dread grows.

By the time Wukong comes across MK, it's not really a question anymore of what happened, only why.

Wukong goes about getting this information very subtlely. "Hey, Bud. Long time no see. Where's all your friends?"

Monkey!MK laughs, his tail swaying behind him. "I'm pretty sure you already know the answer to that one, Bud."

"MK. Where are your friends." Wukong repeats, his tone flat.

"They're all dead. They got in my way." He says with a little shrug. Wukong's heart sinks to his toes.

"What have you done?"

"I thought you would be proud," Monkey!MK says, a permanent smirk on his face.

"Proud? You murdered your friends, MK!" Wukong's face went through a complex myriad of emotions before adding, quieter, "you murdered our friends."

The monkey tilts his head at Wukong, smirk still in place but a small furrow forming at his brow. "You were the one that told me I had gone soft. I'm not, anymore. After you talked to me, after you left, I thought about what you said! And I get it now! I have to be ruthless to those that oppose me! I have to end them before they end me!"

"No. I didn't teach you that."

"What I did was mercy. Killing them before they could kill me."

So many protests in Wukongs mind "that's not mercy!" "They were your friends they would never kill you!" "What happened to you?" And what he eventually says out loud is: "You're not MK."

Monkey!MK throws his head back and laughs, a delighted sound that is out of place in the current situation. "That's exactly what Mei said!"

"Before you killed her?" Wukong asks, his voice sharp and dangerous.

"Nah, after." Seeing the look on Wukong's face, Monkey MK laughs, flapping an arm at him dismissively. "I'm joking, jeeze, lighten up!"

"You murdered your friends MK!" Sun Wukong thunders, rage radiating from him.

The smile drops from Monkey!MK's face. "What are you going to do, Monkey King? Kill me?"

Wukong reals back as if he's been struck. "What? No! I'm not going to kill you, MK."

The monkey features fade and it's MK, truly MK, speaking to Wukong. "You should kill me. I'm a monster, Monkey King. I murdered my friends. I-" MK cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. "I deserve to die for what I did to them. Please, Monkey King, I want to die."

To make a long and tragic tale a bit shorter, while MK wants to die, the Monkey doesn't, and while Wukong certainly does not want to kill MK, in the end, he's not really given much of a choice.

Flash forward to some unspecified amount of time later. Wukong is on Flower Fruit Mountain, and he exits his house. He picks some flowers, seven, to be exact. He walks a little ways from his house where there are six grave stones in a row. First is Macaque. Wukong lays a flower at the base of the stone and brushes a gentle hand across Macaque' hand carved name. He lingers for a moment before moving to the next: Sandy. Another flower, another moment of silence. Mei. A flower, a sad pat of the stone. A second flower set next to hers for Red Son. (Red Son is not buried on Flower Fruit Mountain. His parents buried him themselves, and indeed, they end up decimating the villain that started this whole mess, killing them for killing their son.) Next is Tang. A flower. Pigsy. A flower.

Then, at the last grave, Wukong falters, as he always does when he reaches the 6th grave. With hands he pretends aren't shaking, he places a flower in front of MK's grave.

MK's words from the start of this whole mess echo in Wukong's head: "You're alone!" Wukong puts a hand on MK's headstone and whispers, "I am now, bud." And he breaks down sobbing because he is alone. He's alone again, and he did the one thing he was trying to avoid with his split from MK. Instead, it only caused MK to lose it and necessitate him having to put the kid down anyway. And there the Monkey King sits, sobbing in front of the grave of the kid so much like him, the kid that made him care again, the kid who gave him a family again. The kid he killed. There he sat, all alone, with only the dead for company.

[boundinparchment]

Through the Veins

Ignatius Sorrow fell through the veins of Teyvat; in Arkham, he contemplates. [Backstory for my Dottore Segment OC]

He didn’t belong here.

They all felt that way, of course, with few exceptions.  Arkham was not a place one truly belonged.  It clipped the wings of its inhabitants but never quite managed to do the job properly, leaving most passing through a rotating door.

Unless one was unlucky enough to be taken to the morgue rather than the infirmary.  A case could be made that one was truly fortunate in that regard.  No one went to Arkham and came out better for it.

Every Rogue knew each other’s stories and their quirks, or enough of them, at any rate.  Merely a byproduct of the adversary they all had in common and the systems they danced through.

Except for Ignatius.

He had been traversing Irminsul at Prime’s request, navigating the veins of the world’s memories in an attempt to study whether primordial seawater was tainting some of the older roots.  A pointless experiment, if he were to be critical of his creator.  Then again, that same man split himself so many times that he couldn’t keep his own theories straight some days.  Ignatius, although he held faint memories of a string of letters and numbers rather than a name, was only coming back when the internal Segment network failed and he lost consciousness.  

Instead of hard stone and a sneer, he was greeted with hands rifling through his pockets and a swift kick to the ribs.

He got off lucky, he surmised, when he saw the rest of his surroundings.

Gotham City.  

Dreary, miserable Gotham City, and all of its flashing Bat signals.  

At the time, he hadn’t known or understood.  This world was vastly different than Teyvat, than Irminsul, and all the laws combined.  Whatever knowledge Prime passed down to his Segments about the universes connected by the world tree, it had not included Gotham.

A city protected by a masked vigilante who had technology so advanced only those with deep pockets could ever access.  It was like Batman was begging the people to call him out, identify him.  A challenge no one won, although everyone tried.

 Ignatius recalled an incident at Dawn Winery that another once told; red hair and a mask and a sunburst phoenix.  Always the rich, wasn’t it?

The lost Segment flew under the radar for a while.  Got his identification, forged his credentials, found a job at Stagg Enterprises.  Surprisingly easy to do.  Or perhaps he was just used to bending rules for the sake of experiments.

Blue hair and red eyes didn’t stand out all that much here, not compared to the Clown Prince of Crime nor Poison Ivy; Ignatius looked normal by most standards for a director of research and development.  And his face mask in the lab hid his sharpened teeth.

Neurological  and memory enhancement were child’s play.  Boredom set in within a few months.

Alleviated only by those who came to him with special projects or in need of specific compounds only he had access to.

Like Scarecrow.

Fear was one of many facets Ignatius and his brethren played with but only as one part of a whole picture.  But Ignatius could respect the dedication to studying something so deeply that eventually, one might conquer all that it inhabited.  It was not a dissimilar practice to his own, to Prime’s.

The extra cash had been helpful in obtaining more materials for his private work and having a mind who understood scientific practices and the need for objectivity was refreshing.

Until they were caught, of course.

Ignatius’ first encounter with the Batman hadn’t been terrifying in the least but it had brought back unpleasant memories of being tossed around for sport.  His body, almost fully synthetic save the flesh that coated his metal skeleton, was thankfully intact when they shoved him into a cell in Arkham.  

Where he sat now, holding up his earring to the light.  He’d stolen it back from the guard who took it; Irminsul sap shouldn’t be in the hands of just anyone.  Especially those who didn’t even know of its existence.

The teal liquid winked as an errant flash of light ran through it.  A promise.

When he returned to Teyvat, whether it took a year or a century, Prime would pay for abandoning him.

[presidenthades]

I remember reading that Aegon has a personal sigil about a dragon with a pearl or something do all the Targs have one or just Aegon ? And if they do what it represents

I’m not an expert on sigils and I’m very tired as a write this, so if I inadvertently say anything false or nonsensical, I apologize in advance.

My understanding of sigils is that the house has a main sigil, like the Targaryen red three-headed dragon on a black field. Individual members of the house might also have a personal sigil to distinguish themselves. On the battlefield, this can be useful to quickly signal to troops who’s who.

I think personal sigils can be useful in peacetime too. Back in the day, someone stamping their signet ring in wax to mark a document was a way of saying “this document is legitimate.” But if all the members of the family are using the same house sigil for their signet ring, there’s a lot of potential for someone to commit forgery. So I think that in large families, especially important families like the Targs, it wouldn’t be uncommon for multiple members of the family to have a personal sigil that they use on signet rings and for other purposes.

Aegon designed his after the official wedding: a gold one-headed dragon, one foot holding a sunburst, one foot holding a pearl. The dragon itself represents Sunfyre, and the sunburst is another nod to Sunfyre. Officially, the pearl represents his marriage to Jace, who is a member of the seafaring Velaryons.

I’ll let you guys fill in the blanks for the unofficial meaning 🤭.

[mastcrmarksman]

Clint Barton and his trick arrows

Most of these were designed/made by Clint Barton, but other collaborators and inventors of trick arrows that Clint includes in his quiver and arsenal are Hank Pym, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and modified designs of Buck Crisholm's original trick arrows. Special guest arrows by Wanda Maximoff and Stephen Strange.

under the read more is the exhaustive list.

All types of arrows/heads that Clint has used

Sonic / Hypersonic

Explosive Tip / Demolition Blast / Power Blast / Blast

Smoke Bomb

Flare

Tear Gas

Acid

Suction Tip

Cable / Steel Cable

Putty

Bola

Electro

Net

Rocket

Bomerang

Pym Particles

USB

Fire

Freeze

Vibranium

Sleeping Gas

EMP

Adamantium

Tranquilizer

Suction Pulley Cable

Rusting Chemical

Tangling Rope

Razor

Sonar Screech

Stun Blast

Weight-nullifying ulta sonic vibration

Steel Lock

Mageenetic Intensifier

Sneeze Smog

Sulfur

Electro-suction

Tear Gas

Granade

Diamond Tipped

Magnetic

Blackout

Smog

Foam

Electromagentic Cable

Vibro-shaft

Phosphorus

Boomerang Tuning fork

Grappling claw

Incendiary

Parachute

Two prong

Inkjet

Blunt

Hellfire-infused

Electronic Disruptor

Parachute Bouquet

Clamp

Crescent Razor

Turbine

Battering Ram

Screamer

Ant Man Ride-along

Bolo, Net, & Glue

Neutralizer

Fireworks

Immunization Gas

Stink

Buzzsaw

Grounding

Adamantium electro

Training Mount

"Can Opener"

Constictor

Slippy Grease

Cupid's Magic Arrow

Null-field with Wasp ride-along

Heat-seeking Electro

Signaling

Laser

Sonic & Freeze

Tracer

Grappling line

Collapsible

Stasis

Sunburst

Polymer

Scrambler

Chaos Magic

Anti-magic charm

Antarctic Vibranium

Electro-net

Boxing Glove

Asgardian

Photonic

Sonic Suction

Liquid Nitrogen

Barbed wire

Suction sensor

Water

Portal

Cushion

Freeze

Tracking/Tracker

[robfinancialtip]

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[breadandblankets]

i saw this lovely post and went, wait i know some quantum physics! so here is my attempt at some symbolism

☀☀☀☀

Light is both a wave and a particle. A dual nature that cannot be explained one way or the other only ever both.

A wave could not strike an electron and move it from its orbit, creating electricity. A particle could not pass through adjacent holes and create interference. Light is both a wave and a particle.

He is both Duke Thomas and the Signal. When he puts on the suit for the day, he becomes aware of the event horizon off in the distance.

Gravitational waves propagate outwards from a source of mass at the speed of light. Mass distorts the fabric of space time. Like a coin in a funnel, objects of lesser mass are drawn in towards the center. When an object with sufficient mass, such as a black hole, distorts the weave to such a degree, there is a point of no return. Not even light can escape.

For the cave dwellers of Gotham city, the center of gravity is not the sun nor the moon, but a very large Bat.

The man is both Bruce Wayne and Batman. A dual nature that cannot be explained one way or the other only ever both.

He is both Duke Thomas and the Signal. He is not Batman, he is not Bruce Wayne, he is better.

He sees the event horizon, the point of no return, where his light is swallowed up into the all consuming gravitational pull. 

He knows the consequences for orbiting too close. 

The most luminous star in the known universe is 10.9 billion light years away, with a solar luminosity 200 billion times that of the Sun. It lies in the Sunburst galaxy, and its name is Godzilla. 

Before he goes to bed for the night, Duke looks up at the smoggy, clouded, light polluted Gotham sky and thinks: Bet.

[queenofdragons12]

❝ Ugh, Get a Room! ❞ —  Wooyoung

A/N: ive tried not to back off on the things I've done here so just ingore the no info thing going on.

Small sunbursts of sunlight filtered through your window, painting the room in a delicate glow. You slowly blinked awake, your (e/c) eyes shimmering in the subdued morning light. A soft, groggy voice murmured nearby, and you turned to find Wooyoung, your boyfriend of five years, lying beside you.

His strong arms encircled your waist, creating a comforting embrace that sent flutters dancing in your stomach. The sight of his unadorned face filled you with a profound appreciation for his natural beauty. Even in this unguarded state, he remained captivating.

"Hey, Woo," you greeted, shifting in his embrace and leaning closer to plant a tender kiss on his nose. As your lips made contact, he instinctively scrunched it up, releasing an adorable giggle that resonated deep within your heart.

"Hmm, why are you so warm, baby?" he asked, snuggling closer to you. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him snugly against your chest.

"I don't know," you replied, playfully ruffling the back of his head. "Perhaps because we just spent the night together, Woo. You know, intimacy tends to make you warm and sweaty." A mumbled, incoherent response escaped your boyfriend's lips, accompanied by a tightening grip around you. You couldn't help but giggle, aware that you had touched a sensitive spot.

However, you decided not to tease him any further at the moment.

"Well, come on, baby. We should get you ready for your day," you said, gently prying his arms away from your waist. Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, you stepped out of bed, got dressed, and made your way downstairs to prepare breakfast for the both of you. Wooyoung was never one to be particularly energetic in the mornings, but you didn't mind. It was enjoyable to prepare simple yet satisfying meals that would nourish you throughout the day.

As you stood by the black and white stove, engrossed in your culinary task, arms encircled your waist, and you chuckled. "Woo, I'm trying to focus," you playfully scolded your boyfriend, who responded with a huff.

"Wanna be with you, haven't for months," he breathed, his voice laced with longing and fatigue. A tender smile curved your lips as you allowed him to stand there, holding you, while you continued working.

Soon enough, breakfast was ready, and you patted his hands, asking him to give you a bit of space to move around. He reluctantly obliged, grumbling under his breath. Your kitchen boasted a large floor-to-ceiling window, allowing the sunlight to pour in, bathing the room in a warm, inviting glow. It was such a cozy space, and you knew that Wooyoung wouldn't want to leave your side.

However, duty called, and you had to ensure he made it to work on time. Although you had the day off, you planned to spend some time with him before parting ways. Nevertheless, you didn't want to become a burden or distraction to him.

Hearing from Hongjong, his leader, you were aware that Wooyoung seemed to perform ten times better when you were around, perhaps due to his desire to impress you. And he certainly excelled in that regard.

You placed the deliciously prepared food on the table, and both of you settled down to enjoy the meal, signaling the start of the day ahead. The aroma of the freshly cooked dishes filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. With each bite, you savored the flavors, appreciating the simple pleasure of a shared breakfast.

Conversations flowed effortlessly between you and Wooyoung as you exchanged stories, plans, and aspirations. It was these moments, these intimate conversations over a table laden with sustenance, that strengthened your connection. As you relished the delicious food, the day unfurled before you, brimming with possibilities and adventures waiting to be explored.

The world outside beckoned, yet in this cozy corner of your home, time seemed to slow down. It was a sanctuary where the outside pressures and responsibilities faded away, allowing you to fully immerse yourselves in each other's company. Laughter echoed through the air, intermingling with tender words and shared glances, painting a vivid portrait of a love that grew stronger with each passing day.

With breakfast concluded, you cleared the table together, a seamless choreography of synchronized movements and shared responsibilities. As the dishes were washed and put away, the world awaited your presence, ready to be embraced. With hearts filled with love and contentment, you embarked on the journey of the day, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges or joys it may bring.

And so, the day began, with the promise of adventure, the warmth of love, and the unwavering companionship between you and Wooyoung, embarking on a new chapter in your shared story.

~~~~

A/N: will make a part two perhaps but here you go some wooytoung !

[ask-healthy-light]

As he saw his Guardians head upstairs, knowing that they would tell the group that he would not let the Crystal Royals out of his sight as he followed them whither they went, Spike slowly took a deep breath as the realisation of his great responsibilities dawned on him; but he did not listen to his fear, and stayed hidden as he silently trailed Shining and Cadance through the halls of the Palace.

But soon after he started following them, staying high and out of sight by leaping between columns, Spike realised that though the flapping of his wings was almost silent, it was loud enough for both Shining and Cadance to hear; but to his relief, they quietly told each other that they had to rest, as they were far too tired, given that neither of them was even able to use either magic or wings.

Thanking Nox and the Princesses for giving him the tuned crystal to use, Spike waited until the two had turned the corner before he quickly dashed over there himself, all while quietly grumbling that he hoped what he was doing was worth it, as he was starting to grow tired; and he hoped nopony else was affected by the tuned crystal, as he remembered it drained others in a great radius around him.

Many flights up in the Crystal Castle, Eclipse finally felt able to use their wings again, and they quickly flew the entire rest of the way up to meet the rest of the group, and to let them know that Spike was following Cadance and Shining; and they made the final preparations, since they knew they had one chance to make their plan work, and they had to be perfectly in tune to save their friends.

While Starlight and the Sisters each took a number of the shielded crystals, and headed to separate windows around the top of the Palace, Sunburst lifted the spell he had placed on the box, and asked Nox to be especially careful with the pendant; and after Nox made sure the box was closed properly, she gently picked it up with her paws, and nodded to Sunburst, and flew outside through the window.

Flying into the familiar and comfortable dark of night, Nox swiftly passed the spire of the Castle, and she hovered around here for some time while the others waited for her signal, since they needed to drop the cursed crystals before she dove past; and Nox took a deep breath, spread her wings, and glided through the air while she spoke through the Void to her Mother, Aunt, and Light and Stygian.

It was clear to Nox that both Light and Stygian were exhausted, even if they were overjoyed to hear that she was hovering the spire of the Castle, and about to dive towards the dark prison far below; and she asked the two if there was enough room for her to come to a stop safely, since she knew not at what speed she would fly down there, nor what the ground was made of, if a crash was inevitable.

After a brief moment of silence, during which both Light and Stygian tapped the floor for a moment, the two shrugged to each other, and admitted to Nox that they could not tell what the dark material was, as it did not feel like anything they knew; but they confirmed that Nox only needed to make it past the stairs, since there was limitless space for her to slow down and come to an eventual halt.

When Nox noticed her heart started beating more rapidly, Nox opened her eyes for a moment, and just looked at the stars for reassurance as she circled the Palace, eventually slowly passing the spire, whereafter she flew upwards once again; and here, she spoke to Luna and Celestia, and told them she was ready, when she was met with gentle words of comfort, when the Sisters asked her to be careful.

A warm smile grew upon Nox's face as she promised her Family and friends that she would be careful, before she told them she was ready, and she flew out some distance from the Palace, until she could see a dark speck under the Palace; and while Nox flew up at an angle, Celestia, Luna, and Starlight were hovering the shielded crystals out of the window, while Sunburst prepared to lift the shields.

A new star lit up the sky, and at the exact same time, everypony yelled out:

"NOW!"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Nox Lunarwing from @nox-lunarwing Solar Eclipse and Twilight Sparkle as Twilight Eclipse from @asktwilighteclipse

Back from GalaCon and completely exhausted after such an incredible weekend, but I'm taking time to rest and relax, which I can do with writing very easily.

Solving the puzzles that Past Me had created for Future Me for when I became Future Me, making sure everything fits together neatly, and creating something I'm proud of, it helps a lot!