#The Wandering Story of the Great Sage

[the-monkey-ruler]

The Wandering Story of the Great Sage (2016) 大圣流浪记

Director: Xu Haiyan Starring: Xu Haiyan / Hu Jiale Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Duration: 65 minutes Type: Reimaninging

Summary:

It is said that 5 million years ago, Tang Sanzang and his three disciples went to the West to obtain Buddhist scriptures and passed through the Flaming Mountain. The fire from the Flaming Mountain prevented the four from getting close. Only Princess Iron Fan's banana fan could put out the fire on the Flaming Mountain. Sun Wukong settled his master down and asked Bajie and Sha Seng to take good care of his master. He went to Princess Iron Fan to borrow the banana fan. Unexpectedly, Princess Iron Fan and Bull Demon King started fighting without saying a word when they saw Sun Wukong. It turned out that Princess Iron Fan and Bull Demon King had long hated Sun Wukong for bullying Red Boy and sent him away from them. Princess Iron Fan took out the banana fan and accidentally sent Sun Wukong and Bull Demon King to the modern 21st century. Sun Wukong lost his magic power and became an ordinary monkey, while Bull Demon King still had strong magic power. When they met the same girl and fell in love with her, how could Sun Wukong pursue the heroine and face all kinds of traps from Bull Demon King! So the following hilarious and touching story unfolded...

Source: https://movie.douban.com/subject/26839140/

Link: N/A

[genderfluid-insomniac]

Mechanic Wukong and Street Artist Macaque with a poly reader

Artists: pedrinho_lmk (left) and @scotchy-pie-art (right)

Mechanic Sun Wukong

Originally met you when your car broke down for seemingly no reason on your way to work and called a tow company that took your car into his shop. Wukong’s always been a morning person, even though he loves sleeping in, so he’s working down his list of chores with a white tank top covered in spots of grease and oil.

Wukong usually has his hair pulled back and will ask you to tie his fluffy ginger hair back so it doesn’t get caught in any car parts or dirty from oil. Loudly purrs when you comb through his mane, carefully detangling knots and cleaning any bits of dirt or grit.

Whenever you have a day off to stop by the shop he’ll purposely wipe off anything on his face with his tank top which shows bits of his bare stomach. He’ll use any and every excuse to take off his shirt, saying it’s too hot out or he doesn’t want to ruin his clothing which is already covered in oil and grease.

Wukong’s very strong already from training but his job only enhances that because cars are a couple of tons and he has a habit of sticking part of his tongue out when he’s focused which makes your mind wander.

A good part about your mate being a mechanic in addition to being the great sage is that with his powers he can find the issue with the vehicle quickly with the help of his eyes of truth which helps him end the day early a lot of the time and lets him get back to you earlier than usual.

You both love it when he throws and catches you in the air or carries you in an absurd but secure position partially to show off to others and you. You love it because it gives you butterflies and you’re never scared he’s going to drop you because he cares so much for you and he’s not that much of an airhead when it comes to you.

He's a great multitasker cause he can use his tail which comes in hand for both working and at home ;) Unfortunately, it is usually used for the various colors of paint splattered on a car, sometimes in a design or pattern, while his main focus is the engine or undercarriage.

Street Artist Macaque

Speaking of paint, Macaque is a well-known street artist who only leaves a special signature of his and so because of that he doesn’t have to worry about being recognized or harassed by police. All of his work is done with passion and originality, very rarely his art is on private property or people’s belongings and some are inspired by things he’s seen or people that are interesting to him (i.e. you).

However, a fair amount of his work is purposely painted on cars because he knows Wukong’s probably going to be the one to deal with it and adores the groans of agony from his frenemy. You’re kind of disappointed at his smug grin whenever Wukong throws a wrench or whatever is in reach of him at your boyfriend who partially deserves it and shouts an apology to the mechanic who greets you kindly.

He first met you when he was spray painting a unique design about a recent protest to raise awareness in his special way on a sidewall of a coffee shop when you walked out to take out the trash and saw him floating mid-spray as your eyes met his golden ones. You turned your head to call for your manager but got silenced by Macaque’s hand covering your mouth and gave him 2 minutes to explain, long story short you both intrigued each other and started to have dates discussing both of your jobs. Mainly he doesn’t solely rely on his work as an artist but also as a performer and combat instructor.

He does adore it when you sneak out with him to help with his art or to provide company as he paints although he’d much prefer you get a healthy amount of sleep each night even if he feels a bit lonely without you. Your health is a priority to him but if it’s during the day and in a more discreet place whether alleyway or back of the building he’ll bring you with him, often taking breaks to eat lunch while you both talk about certain aspects of that design that could be improved or highlighted.

You’re well aware of his artistic gifts because of the looks he gives you before you leave or anytime you’re near a work of his art and usually the crowd surrounding the artwork gives it away as well. It’s never expressed obviously that it’s you in the piece of art because if it was then you might be questioned about the identity of the rogue artist who is secretly your boyfriend and Macaque wouldn’t want that ever. So a lot of them have the symbolism of you and what he loves about you, some of them having somewhat clear images of your face if you squint and those are personally his favorites.

He assures you he’s very good at remaining hidden when doing his “illegal” street art because of his advanced hearing shadow powers so with both it’s very easy to make a quick escape if he hears the police or sees something that’d get him caught. It also comes in handy when you’re out with him if he’s ever in danger or if someone attacks since it means he can get you out of there quickly. This goes the same for if you run into trouble with him at night since you have self-defense and your boyfriend has helped by giving you tips on how to improve. He’s going to prioritize you if anything happens despite any claims from you and he won’t let anything hurt you regardless if it’s to get back at him or not.

Mechanic Sun Wukong + Street Artist Macaque (poly)

Surprise surprise you met both of them when they were trying to spite one another which as one could guess is when Macaque was trying to get back at Wukong so he spray-painted your car with a crude design and so you had to forget heading to work. That led you to Wukong’s repair shop and saw the very annoyed look on his face when he saw the trouble you were facing, especially since you both found the other very attractive eventually when he was able to remove the paint you both exchanged numbers. He threw out some obvious flirts about how beautiful you were and you couldn’t ignore how he was shirtless surely because of how hot it was showing off how toned and gorgeous he was.

Macaque however followed his “victim” through their shadow and relished in the annoyance he saw he gave the king, turning to see the no-doubt pain on his victim’s face only to see your divine face twisted in a frown and now regretting defacing your car. On the one hand, he was glad he met you but on the other, he already ruined your day and you seemed like a nice person. The fact that Wukong flirted with you only made him annoyed and he already wanted to know you more (after he apologized first of course), spiting him by becoming closer to you was a bonus now since he’d already planned to ask you out and now he had the perfect introduction planned. Shortly after you got out of work, he popped up beside your car and apologized in his own special way, flirting with you with a smirk proudly on his face and genuinely apologizing before getting your number.

Both of them ended up finding out they were attempting to date you and only tried to one-up each other in terms of winning your heart, making it a bit too obvious that you were the center of their affections and trying to make help understand you loved them both. You were able to get them both inside your apartment and sit them down to say that you loved them both dearly and couldn’t choose, all of you agreeing to a polyamorous relationship and ending the night in cuddles.

In your free time, you can often find both of your boyfriends playing their silly game of back and forth which leads to a repeated war of the whole thing. Meanwhile, all you want is to just be cuddled and not pay for excess repairs if it’s your car even with your boyfriend doing it free of cost. It takes little to convince them to give up their squabbles and give each of them kisses or any kind of affection and they’ll melt into your hands. Both of them will protect you from any harm (whether it’s from police from Mac’s illegal art or enemies who want to use you to get to Wukong) and it’s one of the few things there’s never any arguing on, focusing on your safety and taking care of the threat while the other makes sure you’re alright or hidden.

[stardustdiiving]

Thinking really hard about Nahida hiding/repressing alot of her more childish mannerisms because the Sages openly resented her for having them and being an inadequate god as a result in her early life, but these traits are things Wanderer actively likes about her because he gets along well with kids :(

Like say She gets a little embarrassed when he notices her splashing in puddles when it rains, or tinkering with human toys because as it’s mentioned in her character stories the Sages refused to give her some (if any at all), but he always just goes along with it and doesn’t mind her being silly (him giving him the Hat Guy nickname would fall under this). Wanderer strikes me as someone who finds childlike joy & innocence kind of comforting/cathartic to be around especially as something he can trust so I like to imagine this is an extra thing that makes him just genuinely enjoy Nahida’s presence. And it’s great for Nahida because I think she really benefits from having someone on more equal footing as her who doesn’t hate her for being a child

[szynkaaa]

02. In Which the Monkey King Is a Lightweigt

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“You were not jesting around when you said you can hold your liquor well!” 

Cups were refilled, the white liquid spilling out, but everyone was too wasted to care about the precious bit of wine being wasted. 

“So what d’ya say lassie, did uncle Shen Monkey outdone himself this time?” 

The cup was of wine was downed down in one go, with the wine liquid running down his fur around his mouth, which he quickly wiped away with his arm.  

I sniffed the wine cup carefully. It smelt faintly like rice flour, followed by something more flowery. I couldn’t place what that smell was though – not that I care too much about it. In my old traveling days with the Destined One, I learned early on that sometimes it’s just better not to ask or question what ingredients were used to make certain brews and soaks. As long as it gave you a good boost when taking a sip, it was good enough for me.  

The liquid inside my cup had a milky color, but the texture was waterier than milk. I swirled it a couple of times in my cup, before also chugging it down in one go. The wine went down my throat smoothly, leaving a sweet aftertaste as it settled into my stomach, feeling warm. I could barely taste the alcohol. 

“Hmmm.” I pretended to be thinking hard about the answer, before raising my cup towards Shen Monkey and replied with, “I’ll need another cup in order to give you an answer.”  

Shen Monkey let out a hearty laugh, very pleased with my reply and grabbed for the gourd to pour us more wine. Then we held up our cups and shouted “Gānbēi!” 

“Wait wait wait!” I interject before the Shen Monkey could take a sip, who looked the most offended that his drinking was interrupted. “Eye contact, otherwise it’s seven years of bad luck.” When I first started to become drinking buddies with Shen Monkey – and then his in official soak-and-brew-tester – he asked me about my home world. And then the conversation turned to alcoholic beverages that I liked, which then at some point turned into a conversation about all the drinking games played in my years as a university student. 

We raised our cups again, opening our eyes comically widely open to keep the eye contact and then downed it one go.  

“I’ll give this a nine point eight out of ten.” I said. “It’s good, but there is always room for improvement.”  

“You wound me, lassie.” was Shen Monkey’s reply, as he placed a both hands over his heart.  

The facts were these: You, the Great Sage Equals to Heaven, proclaimed that of course you know how to hold your alcohol, which great leader doesn’t. To which I pointed out, I wouldn’t know because when you were still a nameless monkey wandering the four lands in search for relics, we never really sat down to get shit-faced together. And then you said, well now that things have settled, we should catch up with the gentlefolks from the Zodiac Village and get ‘shit-faced’ together (new word that you learned from me). You were sure Shen Monkey has a good stash somewhere, and you were right. 

The facts were also these: After the first round, your face was red. But you were in a really good mood. Laughing and jesting with your comrades, telling them stories of your adventures as Sun Wukong. Yin Tiger rolled his eyes, probably having heard the stories many times already. Shen Monkey and Chen Loong indulged you, while Xu Dog was looking at you starry-eyed, like you were the coolest person walking on this planet (he was right but I would never admit that to your face). 

And I have to admit, you are a good story-teller. Or maybe I just liked listening to your voice talking about anything and everything. If you would record an ASMR of you reading out loud the Terms and Condition of whatever, I would listen to it before my bedtime.  

After the second round, it looked like you were stumbling a lot more over your words, and you had a bit trouble walking in a straight line. When I offered you some water, you declined stating once again that ‘the Great Sage Equal to Heaven does not need that’ – words you probably came to regret in the morning (which you’d never admit).  

What I learned about two-drink-Sun Wukong is that you start to seek out close proximity of people. And by people, I meant me. Here’s the thing: I like being close to you. I like it when you grab my hands and rub them when they’re freeing cold, or when you just grab one of my hands to give me three reassuring squeezes. My most recent realization is that I sleep easier when you’re next to me. At some point, our ‘hey do you wanna stay the night here’ turned to ‘so will you be sleeping in your own room tonight or mine’, just so we know later in which bed we’d find each other.  

However, I was not prepared for two-drink-Sun Wukong to put his arms around me in front of the others. I did not mind us being physical affectionate in private, but in front of others in a time where this could be considered highly inappropriate? There was also the whole matter of that I’m still trying to figure out how to get home, and I’m still getting adjusted to the new you.  

You felt how I stiffened up the moment you settled your arms around me – I didn’t mean to do that, but my body reacted faster than my mind could catch up to and by then you have already removed your arm from my shoulders. I glanced at you but you kept your eyes at the zodiac villagers while telling them about how the rebuilding of Mount Huaguo is going. There was a brief of flash hurt in your eyes, but it disappeared quick enough that I could have mistaken it for the flicker of the fire reflecting in your eyes.  

I didn’t mean to hurt you, so I reached out with one hand to grab your hand quickly and gave it a firm squeeze - ‘I am sorry for my reaction, I did not mean to hurt you’. You gave me three squeezes - ‘everything is okay’.  

The drinking continued into the next round and by then, most of us were either wasted, or passed out.  

By the fourth round, your face was beet-red and your eyes unfocused. Some of the fur around your mouth and chin were wet and covered in wine, as you throw your head back laughing at something that Xu Dog said, your canine teeth in full display.  

I wondered in that moment how they would feel like if I ran my finger over them. I must have been staring for too long, lost in my thoughts because you flicked my nose with your finger. “See something you like?” At the sight of your wide shit-eating and toothy grin, and you leaning back on your two arms with your exposed chest and hair puffed out, I felt my heart beating faster and my ears flushing. 

“I see a stinky monkey.” I replied and held up my cup towards Shen Monkey. A gesture asking him to kindly refill my cup. 

You pouted at my stinky monkey remark, and I thought that was the cutest face expression you ever made. Cute wasn’t a word in your vocabulary that you would use to describe yourself as. I knew you weren’t angry at the stinky monkey remark though because your tail was swishing back and forth. 

Happy monkey, happy life.  

Eventually Xu Dog and Chen Loong have retired for the night, the latter stating that he is not as young as he used to be (probably hitting 2000 years old or something), and the former saying that he needs to check up on his furnace. The pills he was making needs to be regularly fanned at a three hours interval, which means tipsy or not, he has a job to do. Yin Tiger left after the first round already, stating that he has to clean up his workshop and make preparations for work the next day. 

Which leaves just me and two monkeys. One that was barely holding it together after three rounds of drinks, and another one that brewed the drinks and was able to hold his drink much better than you.  

By the time Shen Monkey and I were toasting our sixth rounds of drinks, you have decided that the most comfortable spot for a Great Sage to sleep off the alcohol was my lap. You didn’t even ask if it was okay to use my lap as your personal pillow. No, you just shuffled over, plopped your head down and didn’t respond to anything or anyone anymore. My ears caught the faint sound of snoring, and my eyes watched Shen Monkey’s face breaking out into a huge grin. “Ah, young love.” The wine was slowly getting to him now too, seeing how he barely managed to pour himself a clean cup of wine without spilling over half of it.  

I rolled my eyes at him, while taking another sip from my cup. Amateurs. Can’t even hold their liquid well.  

Here is a secret: I can’t really get drunk. Sure, sometimes I do feel the room spinning a bit when I stand up too fast after a drink, but usually after a glass water I am all sobered up and ready for more drinks. I have never had a hungover in my life, and never been wasted to the point of black-out drunk. I could never figure out what it was that way just assumed it had a very very very high alcohol tolerance, until I came to this world and learned a thing or two about my ancestors and some weird hidden powers locked away in my DNA.  

Ah well, stories for another time.  

With your head resting on my lap, it meant that I was stuck at where I was sitting. I knew from sharing a sleeping space with you that once you have decided to cling onto something (me), that meant getting out of your clutches was nigh impossible and I had to held onto my pee until you were awake before dashing for the loo. In this particular moment, I wouldn’t even be able to push your head off my lap. It was there to stay until you decided to wake up and take us home.  

At the eighth drink, Shen Monkey has decided that he liked having a functional liver and also retired for the night, leaving only me and you, the few empty gourds that need to be cleaned away and the dying fire. I bid him goodnight and watched him disappear into the night, and then took a deep breath to mentally prepare myself for the next task at hand.  

Waking the Great Sage up.  

I knew from past experience that sometimes waking you up was not a good idea. During our travels, it would trigger your fight and flight mode, and I have found myself enough times staring at the end of your staff, thinking that this was it, this is how I’m going to die and dammit I didn’t even get to see Taylor Swift live.  

“Alright mate, time to wake up.” I said, lightly scratching the fur under your chin. No reaction, you just kept snoring lightly.  

Then I patted your cheek few times. 

Still nothing, the most I got is a nose scrunch from you. I tried moving my thigh up, but your head was like heavy rock, keeping my thigh locked in spot. As much as I love the Zodiac Village and desperately wanted to live out my cottage core dream here, sleeping under the open sky with no blankets and pillows was not something I wanted to again for the next few years at least.  

Sighing, I propped up one arm on my free thigh and rested my chin on it, while I used my other hand to continue gently scratching the fur on your face. Your fur is very soft, it was almost like giving a cat the scratches. Stinky as you can be sometimes (not literally), you always put a lot of time into making sure that your fur was well kept and combed through and not tangled up. It certainly was a lot more care than I put into my own hair.   

My eyes swept over your face, illuminated softly by the dying fire light. A memory flashed before my eyes. The same face but smeared in dirt and dust and the fur around it was matt and sticking in clumps together in dire need of a good scrub and wash Your brown eyes still shone brightly and your canine teeth flashing from grinning while listening to a lonely six years old girl telling you about Alice Adventure in Wonderland and how she is Alice and the monkey stuck under the mountain was her rabbit and-  

Your body twitched and for a second, I hoped that you were waking up and we can finally go home, but then you rolled you head briefly to the side, which also gave me better access to scratching your fur there. And the snoring continued.  

I stopped what I was doing to ghost my fingers over your eyebrows that for once were not stuck in a permanent state of focus and scrunched together. You looked like you were at peace; this is where you are meant to be and you’d rather be here than anywhere else. And then my fingers hovered over your mouth. You didn’t have lips like humans do – and that made me even more curious about what it would if our lips brushed against each other, or what it would feel like to have your canine teeth lightly biting down on my lower lips. 

Maybe, just maybe in that moment the wine did get into my head. I found myself slowly lowering my head and moving it closer and closer to your face, until my lips almost touc- 

In a quick practiced movement, your hand grabbed mine and flipped me over. The word spun and everything was a blur and then I felt the cold hard grass on my back, a thigh pressed lightly between my legs and both of my hands being held down by a pair of strong hands – your hands. 

You were hovering over me, looking very smugly down on me, as your tail moved to wrap around my leg. The red flush was still very visibly on your face, and your eyes not entirely focused – meaning you have not slept off the alcohol yet. But clearly you were not drunk enough to not notice what was going on, or what I about to do. 

“Taking advantage of defenseless Old Sun now, are you?” You teased. You didn’t seem annoyed though. In fact, it seemed like you were quite happy with knowing what was about to occur.  

At this point, I felt how my face was glowing bright red – because I almost got caught, because I didn’t fully comprehend what I was about to do until you flipped me over, because of the compromising position we are in, and because this position was also giving a full glorious view onto your fur-covered chest.  

I may be not drunk, but I am drunk on my current view.  

“Defenseless is the last word I would use to describe you.” I shot back, trying play it off cool and tugged on my pinned down wrists a few times. Of course they didn’t even budge an inch, proving that you are the one with the upper hand here. Your grin widened, flashing your canine teeth at me.  

If my heart literally jumps out of my chest now and runs away because it couldn’t handle the slightly feral glim in your eyes, you’re getting me a replacement heart.  

“So what was my little yīnghuā about to do, hm?” You asked, running your tongue over your pointy teeth as you leaned down closer to my face, your tail also sliding up my thigh further along with your body movement.  

The whole universe knew that Sun Wukong has an ego the size of a black hole, ready to suck in anything that vaguely resembled a compliment and there was no way in hell I was going to feed it more, or give you the satisfaction of knowing that I was about to kiss you your dumb face.  

Admittedly, it was also a matter of pride to me. This stupid crush I have on you is killing my last braincells, and I really hated how it made me feel sometimes. The constant back and forth feeling of yearning to be just close to you but also wanting to push you as far away as possible. My unhealthy coping mechanism of having a crush on someone is to bury those feelings as deep as I can, and if they threaten to bubble up again, shove more dirt on top of it to push it even further down. I would eat a durian than confessing to anyone that I may or may not have inappropriate thoughts about them that includes as holding hands.  

At this point, all of the three realms knew that your feelings towards me were not entirely platonic – not that you were trying to hide in the first place. You were never shy about your own feelings. If you were angry at something, you made it known by reaching out to your ear to get your Jīngū Bàng out. If you found something funny, you would often be seen laughing out loud, sometimes to the point where you were clutching your stomach and doubling over. As the Destined One, you made your jealousy known by standing really close to me and glaring at whoever was trying to cozy up to me; sometimes you’d just out your arms around my waist and rest your head on top of me and holding me like that (although since you became Sun Wukong, I noticed that streak of possessiveness has mellowed out a lot).  

You never outright said that you have romantic feelings for me, but I’ve had my fair share of wild phases in my student days, and at some point, your gut just learns to pick up on those things. Additionally, a lot of the people we have met, including uncle Bajie, make tons of teasing remarks that are not very hard to miss, and you never. 

Unfortunately for you, I have what people call these days a wee bit of a commitment-and abandonment issue. So many what if’s running through my head. What if for some reason I was wrong, and you were always this flirty with anyone. What if after a while you find out I am not that great at all and lose interest? What if you meet an immortal that is everything that I am not, and a much better match for you? I’m used to people leaving, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less when it happens again. What if, what if, what if.  

I’ve been meaning to go to therapy for some time now, but finding an appointment takes ages, and now that I’m stuck in Ancient China, that search has been put down to the very bottom of my priority list. And my final goal still remains to find a way back home to my own time and world. You promised me you would help me with that.  

If I never admit that I have feelings for you, then it means they are not real – that was my childish excuse. If I close my eyes, you can’t find me.  

Instead of answering your question, I turned my head away, to look at anything but your face. You didn’t like that, and swiftly I felt how you move my arms from my side to above me, shifting from being pinned down by both of your hands to one. With your free hand, you grabbed my chin and gently turned my face to be facing you again. 

Your brown eyes seemed more focused now, but your face was still flushed red (the asian flush from drinking?). I could faintly smell the alcohol from your breath, with a peachy undertone. It’s a very addicting smell, which also seems to be clinging to me whenever you decide to be physically clingy again (which is like 75% of the time).  

In a last-ditch attempt to escape your clutches just to avoid having to answer your question, I kicked up my leg that was trapped between your legs. Low move, I know. As expected, you saw it coming and immediately trapped my leg between yours, preventing it from ever kicking your balls.  

“Oh, come on!” I shouted. Your nose scrunched up in laughter at my feeble escape attempt.  

And in an instant the atmosphere between us shifted and you stared at my intensely. You moved your hand from my chin to caressing my cheek, your sharp fingernails carefully gracing the skin. My hair was tussled up from being suddenly flipped over and spilled all over the place. Your fingers grabbed few strands from my face and tucked them aside, behind my ears, and then your hand stayed there, playing with my two helix piercings.  

At this point, you must have been able to hear how hard my heart was hammering against my chest.  

Then I saw how your eyes flickered down to my slightly parted lips, your gaze turning hungry. With half-lidded eyes, you began to lower your head again and this time, I didn’t struggle against your hold. A big part of me wanted what was coming next to happen.  

Your hot breath was against my face, I tried to take slow breaths to calm my beating heart down.  

The smell of alcohol became more intense, muddling my thoughts more.  

I closed my eyes, waiting for your lips to brush against mine. How would it feel if we kissed? I have never kissed an anthromorphic monkey before – how would it even feel like if we were to make out? 

FAAFO. 

Fuck around and find out it is.  

The kiss never came.  

Instead, I felt your lips lightly brushing the corner of my own lips, sliding down from the side of my face and your head was then lying there next to me, snoring again.  

The grip you had on my two hands also slackened, your whole body coming down to lay on top of mine, pinning me down.  

You... passed out again. 

I used my free hands to push you off of me, but of course you didn’t even budge and inch.  

I let out a shaky long sigh, part of me glad that nothing happened in the end because you were drunk after all; another part of me felt this immense disappointment that well, nothing happened.  

Looks like it is going to be another night out in the open.  

The fire finally died out. I moved one hand to put it on top of your head and gave you head scratches. In response you nuzzled your face into my neck, still snoring away.  

Slowly, as my eyes got adjusted to the dark, I then spotted a figure up in the trees not too far away from our drinking spot. It was the Shen monkey, who decided a drunk sleeping on a tree branch was the best way to cure a hungover. Only he wasn’t asleep, and judging by that shit-eating grin he has, he saw everything that happened. 

With my luck, by the next time I visit the Zodiac Village, every villager will know about the drunk almost-kiss.  

I decided that this was for future-me to deal with, and closed my eyes to finally get some sleep. Maybe you will not remember anything by tomorrow and we can both pretend that this never happened.  

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

I keep a bottle of rice wine at my apartment. Sometimes, when I’m feeling homesick, I pour two cups – one for you, and one for me. I would drink my cup down in one go, thinking about the evenings when it was just you and me and some good alcoholic beverages, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. 

I miss seeing the red flush on your face and your cocky smile whenever you noticed me staring at you for too long. The red flush looked good on your face.  

Your cup always remains untouched.  

Chapter notes:

干杯 gānbēi - is what you say when toasting your drinks, literally means dry cup 桜花 yīnghuā - cherry blossom. It's Sun Wukong's nickname for Oz, because she has pink hair. Also everyone uses peaches as a nickname and I wanted something different LMFAO #notlikeothergirls

Eye contact or seven years of bad luck (even bad sex) - toasting tradition in Germany. You're supposed to be looking at the other person when toasting, not your glass but when you tell someone to keep eye contact you usually just end up creepily staring at each other xD

And no, Oz cannot get drunk - which I will proooobably explain in another chapter, if not I will definitely write up post on my tumblr about it. Still hashing out some of her backstory details.

[ezlo-x]

NO LET’S TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE i’m willing to come to botw defense in some cases because i feel that there’s some strong substance there but totk?! did me so dirty, i must be truthful. did me so dirty and left a lame smell behind it.

botw:

zelda characterization is actually something i love about this game; while she isn’t always the strongest/most depthful persona, the fact that her lack of agency and empowerment in that story is actually focused on as the central struggle is a great way to have the typical damsel-in-distress formula while not compromising the characterization of a main character. link’s memories of zelda are the sharpest evidence we get into how hyrule suffered from the calamity, both before and after it passed—we only learn about how hyrule has suffered in the scars of the calamity and the echoes of a dead kingdom, but zelda’s cutscenes turn that suffering into a personification. zelda’s struggle with unlocking her power was relatable, touching, and substantial, and the way the memories end up culminating to her sacrifice makes for an excellent and heavy-feeling conflict. her character is central to botw, and i only wish that they had characterized her much further, so that she had more of an arc in the past, and so that the time we see her would be more valuable.

mipha was done DIRTY. princess of a realm, successor to the king, skilled aquatic warrior, and pilot of a divine beast, and all we get of her is that she has feelings for link? NINTENDO. make it make sense for me, i beg of you. while there’s nothing necessarily wrong with only depicting her feelings for link, it does not really inform us to her character (because link is mostly more static and ambiguously characterized in relation to others), and fails to actually make the tragedy of her defeat feel substantial. still, the details of her character are fun, and the character traits we have of her are good material—it is such a shame that it wasn’t used properly.

urbosa is obviously is a very likeable character, and ostensibly the wisest of the champions. she’s a strong-woman in a sense, but but that characterization isn’t reductive to her persona. her role as a chieftain isn’t very thorough, but nor is daruk’s, so i wouldn’t necessarily attribute that fact to a misogynistic approach. the misogyny (and exoticism??) in the characterization of the gerudo kinda plagues every part of the story/every location that involves them (for example, how most wandering gerudo are on the search for a voe, which is an amusing gag, but not all that funny when we don’t have much else of gerudo culture, or a good sense of their society, in comparison to say, the zora. the rito don’t have it all that well either, to be fair). urbosa’s characterization as a fierce warrior and wise leader isn’t done badly, but it’s very one note, which is disappointing to say the least.

i have conflicting feelings on riju. she’s the young ruler of the gerudo, but it feels as though there’s not much else to her. the moments where her youth shines through (like the stuffed animals in her room, and the fact that the lightning helmet is too big for her) are very endearing, but we don’t really get a sense of how she struggles as a leader, or of how her history informs her person. she’s gerudo, and a later successor to urbosa, so she also exemplifies the same strong and wise traits, which isn’t a very honorable persona to the facts of her character. it is a shame that riju isn’t given as much depth as her character implies, especially when the timeline of the gerudo desert/vah naboris quest is so strong, and when it seems like she has so much potential substance that goes unrealized for the rest of the game.

impa plays the village sage, and is very fun in that role, but there isn’t much more to her than relaying the story of the calamity and offering short comments to things memory or sheikah related

of course, there are other female characters in botw, but none of them star (or enjoy cutscenes) like everyone mentioned above.

totk:

the characterization of zelda in this game is just… ruinous. calamitous, if you will. that person you met in the last game is dead and gone, and the zelda in her stead is heartbreakingly inactive in this story.her sacrifice to bring the mastersword to the present was so strong, and while i hate that it’s essentially a repeat of the damsel-in-distress setup from the last game, it’s technically a different type of conflict, one which i normally imagine wold set her up to take an active character role, but she is so very upsettingly passive in this story, just constantly in the backseat. not a single action of hers (apart from the eating-the-secret-stone bit) impacts the events of the past, which wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t have the power/knowledge to do so, but she does! her knowledge of the calamity, of the cave paintings, of the incident that brought her to the past are all pieces of information that should have impacted the events of the past! and the fact that they don’t is more than mischaracterization, it’s just a gaping plot convenience. it’s already dismaying to see her characterization from the last game discarded, but the fact that she isn’t recharacterized anywhere near to the same depth or complexity as the last game is just. a source of apathy, as a zelda fan. the events of the past do not expand on her much at all, but nor do they expand much on ruaru or ganondorf or sonia, nor anything related to the zonai, which is kind of a recurring thing in this game.

sonia was fridged, one and done. kind and caring mother character killed off for an emotional payoff. in almost every cutscene of sonia, she is consoling or caring for zelda, so that when ganondorf kills her, the moment carries emotional weight. her only role in the story is to be a tragic loss, and not in any poetic way, but in the storytelling 101 way. she’s quite depthless, and while her persona and design are quite likable, her characterization is undoubtedly poor.

mineru… doesn’t get enough time in the story. every aspect of her character is defined in relation to the conflict with ganondorf (besides being smart/techy), which is a conflict she doesn’t really have any personal stake in, besides her relation to ruaru. this wouldn’t really be a problem if we were given any insight into the relationship between the two of them, but we aren’t given much of anything. at all. so the fact that she’s a zonai and ruaru’s sister is doing a lot of the heavy lifting to sustain our belief in her personal investment and motivation in this conflict, which simply doesn’t make for a good story. her cutscenes outside of the past really isn’t all that different to the other sages, and the sages are so characterless that they don’t even have names.

purah being redesigned the way she is feels like… a choice by the developers. she has about as much of an active role in the story as impa did in the last game, so her actual characterization isn’t necessarily all that important, since she doesn’t feature much. nevertheless, it leaves a bad taste in the mouth that the essential leader of the effort to redevelop hyrule is given less characterization/character conflict than many npcs in that same location, not to mention in the whole game. the fact that she’s redesigned to be older and… modelesque feels less like a development of her character and more of like a cheap ploy by the developers to put a baddie on the opening of the game to appeal to the demographics of gaming who have, well, a typically misogynistic view of women (and their roles in stories), to say the least of it.

i haven’t actually finished totk and i haven’t seen riju’s arc firsthand, so i don’t know enough about her new character to reflect on it.

i don’t know if you can tell but. i don’t like the story of this game. i’m not saying there aren’t things to like (definitely a super cool gaming experience! even just the story itself, good king ruaru defeats bad king ganondorf is a successful trope), but i feel like the story is just incoherent. characters aren’t really given reasons, motivations, or interest for acting the way they do (at least, in any way that implies that these characters are multitudinous or complex), or they’re taking reactive roles to the events of the story. the main conflict of the story is how ganondorf is threatening hyrule, but we see nothing of his motivations, nothing of how his actions impact ruaru beyond separating him from sonia (what of his kingdom? the livelihood of his subjects? the history of the zonai?), nothing of how it impacts zelda (the most we get from her is her reacting to sonia dying and her sacrifice to become the light dragon. so. three cutscenes), and nothing of how it impacts link. the events of the present are entirely disconnected from the conflict of the past, and it doesn’t do justice by a single one of its characters.

i should have probably just made this my own post, it’s waaaay too long, but i had to. let it out.

yknow in animal crossing when you're fishing and you catch a big fish like a whale and one of the quotes says "THAR SHE BLOWS!!" feeling like I caught a big fish rn. This has to be one of my longest asks I've gotten!!

I REALLY DONT GOT MUCH TO SAY CAUSE YOU HAVE SAID IT ALL except for the TotK Riju part! If I recall correctly her arc is that she wants to master her skill in summoning lightning, after that she kinda plays as Urbosa 2 or the "wise one" of the group. Someone can correct me abt that but she pretty much gave me those vibes, but I can't really go off w botw cause we really don't know much abt her personality wise! So in TotK she's grown...and that's pretty much it

[notelcol]

A rivals desire 🌹

Non gender specific rival/lover✨

A little story inspired by the Wanderers ‘about us: rivals’ voiceline. In this story, reader is studying in Vahamuna with the Wanderer and is his only true academic rival. You and he are the only ones able to really challenge each others work. It will, of course, be set in Sumeru post it’s archon quest.

Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes🫶

——-

“So, you're still stewing over our run-ins from before? Huh. Well, what are you going to do about it? Take your time. I'm in no hurry.” The Wanderer scowled at you, referring to the time you helped thwart his plans to become a god.

“For the last time. No!” Your voice became faster and louder as you continued. “Unlike you, I can let things go!” You glared at him.

“If you aren’t out for revenge, then why would you rebuke my paper?!” He leaned closer as he waved your latest paper around. “Why else would you make a point of disputing every paper I submit?” His voice became quiet, full of venom with a touch of vulnerability.

“I rebuked your paper because it was short sighted. Same as all the others.” You told him. “Your takes on history and society are factually correct and full of potential, yes. But, you always fail to see the true story.” You say, slightly distracted by how close you stood to him. “You miss out the heart of everything by only focusing on the tangible parts. True insight comes from mixing the facts with the feelings that follow in their wake.” You explained, eyes flicking to the ground as you finished talking and realised how long you’d been maintaining eye contact.

When he didn’t reply, you returned his gaze again. He seemed to be lost in his mind, you could almost see the churning of waves behind his blue eyes.

“So you’re telling me, that to reach academic greatness I must tap into my emotions to find the heart of things?” He asked incredulously before scoffing. “You realise I don’t have a heart right?” He folded his arms and raised a brow as he spoke. His words made you chuckle.

“The heart just pumps blood around a body. The brain is where all thoughts and feelings lie….surely you have one of those don’t you?” You smirked.

“Yes. Very funny.” He deadpanned. You rolled your eyes.

“Well, if we’re done here?” You gestured to the path you were on your way down before he interrupted your journey.

“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you began to turn away. “If you think you know so much, then show me. Show me how to achieve ‘true insight’.”

You deliberated his request for no where near long enough, given the task it would be to get this man to view society in a sympathetic way.

“Fine. Lesson one. Tell me one emotion you are familiar with feeling.” You looked expectantly, assuming he would give you an immediate answer. After mulling it over he opened his mouth..and then closed it again, before finally speaking.

“Desire.”

“Good! That’s good, you can tap into that. Think of something you want and go after it. Study that feeling. Then when you succeed, focus on how you feel when you get whatever it is you want and it will lead you to another emotion to study.“

“This is ridiculous. Talking about feelings to better writing, how warped.” He grumbled.

“You sound like Azar.” You shook your head at him, remembering the former grand sage.

“Don’t compare me to that old fool!” Offence tainted the Wanderer’s words. “I am nothing like that failure. I am better.” His breath fanned your face as he argued with you.

“Then stop acting like him and prove it! I wouldn’t ‘make a point’ of challenging you all the time if I didn’t believe you could be brilliant.” You exclaimed. His eyes darted around your face as he seemed to freeze. You watched him wade through his mind, slowly you could see his soul becoming clearer in the distance. You had lost yourself in his eyes and possibly would have stayed that way for eternity if he hadn’t grabbed your cheeks, shocking you back to reality. He almost looked as confused as you, before pressing his lips to yours.

Your eyes widened as the space between you closed, but when his fingers started stroking your cheek as he kissed you, you couldn’t help but melt. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and you let yourself fall into the kiss. You swore you could feel him smile right before he pulled away.

“Peace.” He spoke as he rested his forehead on yours. “The fruition of my desire leads to peace.”

——-

Thank you for reading 🌹

[axelsagewrites]

Sage, my dear! I was reading your Daemon fic's and they are just perfect!😘🤌🏽 (especially the ones with poc!fem reader, there are so few stories where the reader is poc/non-white in this fandom… And it's great to find this kind of representation, and yours are so well written!!!) That said, could I get a shameless smut Daemon x poc!fem focused on his rings, as if reader is very attracted to his hands and rings and even fantasizes about him fingering her and he notices and gives her what she wants please?

Daemon Targaryen*Rings

Pairing: Daemon x f!reader

Word count 2540

Warnings: flirting, teasing, hand fetish, rings, fingering, orgasm, nipple play, biting, smut 18+

Translations Zaldrīzesītsos – little dragon Ñuha qēlos – my star

a/n: first of all thank u annon ur so sweet <3 but also it should not be this hard to find poc ppl for my post headers smh i use pintrest but any other suggestions are appreciated

Masterlist Here

It felt like the small council meetings drew on longer and longer as the months moved by. Sure, the wine was nice but that was only because you had it imported from Essos yourself. Most of the issues these men babbled about were of little concern to you anyhow as you were only here to represent your families across the seas while these men whined about taxes and castles. The only pleasure you got from these meetings was catching your Daemon’s eye across the table.

In all your time in Westeros he was the only one you could stand, and you supposed it helped that he was the one you were betrothed too. The arrangement had only been settled last week and you smiled when you noticed the dragon ring wrapped around his ring finger, a gift you had had carved from Valyrian steel when your engagement was struck.

Your mind began to wander further as the men droned on about something they would never decide upon anyhow. While usually you would stare into the stars instead your eyes were focused on Daemons hands. How they lazily lifted the wine to his sweet lips, how his fingers trailed over the curve of the glass in his boredom, or how whenever he grew frustrated, he clenched them into a fist so tight you wondered if his nails cut his palms.

Some may worry about a dragon being violent or unpredictable, but you were far too distracted by how you could use their fire to good use. Daemon had recently begun to deck his fingers out in fine silvers and stones with multiple rings on each hand. When he learned any man of importance in Essos wore a ring on each finger, he slowly began to adopt the practise. Three on one hand, two on the other. Soon he’d have quite the collection, not that you were complaining.

You wondered what it would feel like if he would leave the rings on. How the cool metal would sting your skin when he grabbed your hips like he so loved to do. Or even how it would feel when his fingers slipped inside of you, bringing you to the edge with only one hand. It was almost a challenge to Daemon; learning what to do to make you turn to water in front of him. It was a welcomed challenged to you.

“my lady!” A sharp voice shocked you from your thoughts, your head snapping up with a bewildered expression you tried to cover but you knew you had failed from the way Daemon smirked holding back his laugh, “are there any foreign affairs this week we should be concerned about?” Otto Hightower asked with a pointed look.

“no, my lord,” you said with a tight-lipped smile. The man was slimy since the day you first were forced to make his acquaintance. “Essos manages to run itself quite well, no issues on our side,” you said as you sipped your wine before adding, “though I think the crowns payment for their latest shipments of silks from the east is still pending but im sure you had that covered my lord,”

Otto did his best to cover his sneer as he nodded his head, “of course my lady. I’ll even see to it myself,” he said, his eyes not wavering from your gaze leaving you both in a stalemate.

An awkward clap from the king himself broke ottos gaze. Ha, you thought, bet you there Hightower. “well, that’s everything for today then. Thank you all for your sage advice and council but you are all dismissed for now. Lord Hightower a moment please?” The king said, barely managing to stand on his own as everyone began to filter out the room.

You had always made sure to sit at the chair farthest from the king so your exit would be the quickest, but it did not stop Daemon from catching up to you as you reached the stairs. “my lady,” Daemon said, and you didn’t even have to look up to see the smirk on his face. “are you quite alright? You seemed distracted today?”

“my mind had elsewhere to be my lord but do not fret,” you said, matching his tone as you took his arm to walk down the stairs, “your future wife is not gone with the fairies quite yet,” Daemon chuckled at the way you had began to pick up the Westerosi phrases the longer you were at court but with no more evidence he could not protest the issue any longer.

When dinner rolled around Daemon had invited you to join his supper in his chambers with three of his highest-ranking gold cloaks. Something about ensuring you had friends in high up places who were good with their swords as Daemon had put it. You tried to join in with the conversation, but your mind constantly wandered, your eyes flickering back to your betrothed, his hands specifically that was.

It was a fascination you did not know you had until the council meeting earlier but now you were fascinated with each movement and each ring. “careful my lord your lady wife looks like she’s readying to rob you of your rings,” one of the men’s jokes snapped your attention back to them.

All the men chuckled, and you did your best to force one out, “that’d be rather pointless,” Daemon chuckled, flexing his fingers to show off his rings. Gods that were not helping the arousal growing in your stomach. “most of them were gifts from her, weren’t they ñuha qēlos?” Daemon said, his eyes flickering back to you.

It was like the wind knocked out your lungs for a moment as you stared into those lilac eyes, “yes,” you eventually managed to stutter out, ignoring the curious look from Daemon however luckily the rest of the men had drunk so much wine they hadn’t the faintest clue this was out of the ordinary for you.

“perhaps we should call it a night,” Daemon said after a moment, standing from his chair, “before you drink me out of house and home,” he laughed as he helped the men to their feet. You did your best not to embarrass yourself again as the men dismissed themselves, bowing goodbye to you in a way you would never get used to.

When Daemon finally shut the door, you turned to begin gathering the plates into a stack, ignoring how Daemons eyes were fixed onto you. “you were rather quiet tonight ñuha qēlos,” he said, leaning against the door with his arms folded over his chest, “something the matter?”

“no,” you said glancing back at him with a fake smile, “just tired from a long day,”

“tired?” Daemon questioned, not moving from the door. You looked back ready to lie again when you noticed him playing with his rings. Your movements paused, your eyes locking onto the way he twisted the ring around his finger. When you saw Daemon looked up you quickly turned your eyes. “you don’t look tired,” he mused as he pushed himself off the door, lazily sauntering to your side as you tried to keep yourself busy.

“how kind of you my lord,” you rolled your eyes, trying to put your walls up when you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. “my lord- “

“we have servants to clean,” Daemon cut you off, pulling you to face him, your body just inches from his. You tried to think of something to say but you couldn’t as you felt his rings press into your wrist, wondering how they’d feel in other places. There was something about the way Daemon gazed down at you, his eyes unmoving that made your words stick in your throat, “if I didn’t know any better,” Daemon said as his free hand moved to hold your chin up, his lips now so close but so far away, “I’d say you were hiding something from me,”

“what would I have to hide my lord?” You said but now your voice could barely go above a whisper.

Daemon stepped in closer, his body now flush against yours, “I’ve never seen you so quiet. Tell me zaldrīzesītsos,” he mused, leaning down till his lips brushed against your ear, “what has been on that pretty little mind all day?” He whispered, before gently kissing your ear.

“nothing,” you said but you could not hide the shakiness in your voice.

Daemons hands moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest, “you can tell me ñuha qēlos. After all who am I to judge for what the heart wants,” he said, moving to look you in the eyes once more, “I only wish to help you, my lady. After all it is a husband’s duty to keep his wife pleased,” Daemon said before kissing the hollow of your throat, his head moving to rest on your shoulder.

“there is something,” you said after a few moments making Daemons head perk up. “its not important,” you tried to brush it off, but Daemon began to shush you.

His hands moved to cup your face, the rings metal feeling cool against your skin, “all your wants are important to me,” he said, his lips brushing against yours, “now tell me. What is it you want?”

“you,” you whispered as your hands moved to hold his wrists, “your hands, your fingers. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you said, moving your head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand.

Daemon kept one hand on your face, the other moving to rest on your hip, “that’s all you had to say,” he said before you felt his lips crash onto yours. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your body desperate from your mind’s thoughts all day. Daemon gripped your hip tightly, his other hand moving to the back of your neck so you couldn’t escape but you had no plans of that.

Daemon began to pull at your skirts, desperate to feel your skin on his. Your hands moved to the ties of your dress, making quick work of the fittings till you felt your clothes loosen. Daemon quickly pushed the dress down your shoulders, not caring as it hit the floor and got crumpled beneath his feet. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing it harshly making you gasp into the kiss as you felt the cold metal digging in.

You began to tug on his shirt and Daemon wasted no time in breaking the kiss to pull of his own clothes. You moved back, sitting on the table as you watched him undress till, he was bare in front of you. Your hands roamed his chest as he finally pulled himself free of his trousers. As Daemon went to reach for his hands to pull his rings off your hand shot out to grab his wrist. Daemon looked at you, his eyebrow raised in confusion, “leave them on,” you said, kissing his shoulder as your hand moved to hold his. “I like the rings,” you said as you traced the precious metals.

Daemon chuckled as he stepped closer, his hands moving to grab your hips, “good to know,” he hummed, his head dipping to capture your lips again.

He squeezed the flesh of your hips, the rings digging in making you moan into the kiss. Deciding to test the waters Daemon placed a soft spank on your ass, loving the way you gasped when the cool metal bit your flesh. After a few moments of enjoying himself and your noises Daemon turned his attention to you.

Your breathing caught as you felt on of his hands trail over the tops of your thigh, inching closer and closer to your wetness where you craved his touch. You whined when you felt him swipe a finger up your folds and heard him chuckle at your noises. “someone’s eager,” he said, his lips moving from yours to your jaw, kissing down your neck as he teased his fingers around your hole.

“please,” you whined as Daemon bit down on your collarbone, “I need you,” you whined as he pushed two fingers in, feeling the way he was already stretching you out. Daemon began to leave dark purple hickeys on your chest, knowing exactly where to leave them to avoid being caught. As Daemon began to curl his fingers you gasped when you felt his rings, loving the way the cool feeling against your wet skin.

“so desperate,” Daemon muttered, kissing down your chest, “so perfect,” he mumbled as he kissed around your nipple making it harden. Daemon chuckled as he saw your body’s reaction before taking in his mouth, sucking on it gently at first.

Your hand moved to his hair, tugging on his silver strands as you felt a familiar knot tighten in your stomach. Daemons spare hand moved to your free breast, squeezing it harshly making his rings press into the soft skin and making you moan again. “such pretty noises,” Daemon said, releasing your nipple for only a moment before he began sucking on it harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

You gasped as Daemon softly bit your nipple. You squirmed as Daemon moved his hand, repositioning it so his thumb could rub soft circles into your aching clit. “Daemon,” you whined as you felt yourself get closer with each pump of his fingers.

“look at you,” Daemon said before biting your chest making you gasp and your hips buck, “do you like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asked, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“yes,” you whined, desperate for his lips against you again.

“you wanna come undone on my fingers, don’t you?” He said, nipping at your skin, his fingers curling to find an all too familiar spot making your body jerk.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, threatening to spill when he gave the command, “yes,” you moaned, not caring how loud it was as your fingers grasped his hair. “please,” you whined as Daemon kissed your neck. “I can’t wait anymore,”

Daemon moved his lips to hover against your ear, his breath fanning your neck, “then don’t,” Daemon whispered, biting your earlobe again, “I wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he said, his curling precise and his lips sucking harshly on your neck. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your legs twitching with each curl of his fingers and rub of your clit before your orgasm crashed through your body, your hands clutching onto Daemon as you rode it out not caring how loud you may be.

As you came down from your high, your legs feeling like mush and your body sweaty, you fell into Daemons chest. Daemon stroked your back, kissing your forehead gently. “so, you like the rings then?” He said, a smirk in his voice.

You looked up, laughing slightly as you regained your strength, “I guess you could say that”

Daemon lifted your chin with a finger, kissing your lips softly, “I’ll have to buy some more then,” he said before pulling you to stand from the table, his arms wrapping around your waist, “but im not done with you yet zaldrīzesītsos,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

[goldensunsetchild]

♱ Odd Eye ♱ | SAGAU fanfiction|

[CW: SAGAU, cult themes, violence, imposter!creator, isekai'd reader, fem! reader. A little self indulgent.] Word count: 2.2k Author's note: please keep in mind that english is not my first language and that there may be some mistakes. I do hope that the story is coherent enough 😅.

Honestly I never ever considered the possibility because it was down from 0.001% so when it happened it surprised me, it really did. I was just laying down on the grass while looking at the clear blue sky completely flabbergasted still processing the situation, everything around me was different there was no doubt about it but what if I was actually dreaming? No, it can't be I already slapped myself to see if I was dreaming but it hurt the hell and nothing happened. Alright but what if maybe is just a lucid dream? Impossible, I already moved around a bit and normally you can't control your own body or anything that happens inside a lucid dream. I sighed before getting up on my feet once more.

What are you supposed to do after getting isekai'd? Interacting with the locals doesn't sound like a good idea, mainly because I don't know if I'm going to understand their language... In these kinds of situations I wish I had the assistance of something like great sage but I guess I wasn't lucky enough to gain a skill like that. I was so absorbed into my thoughts that I didn't realized that I got close to the borders of a city and it wasn't until I looked up from the ground that I noticed how familiar that city looked, I could never forget it... Mondstadt the city of freedom. Then I finally understood that I was in Teyvat.

Oh! Then entering the city might not be a good idea after all, what if I were to be stuck in this whole creator imposter situation? ... Yeah that's not going to happen absolutely not, so I drifted away to the path that led towards Springvale and if I kept following the route that I remember I could perfectly arrive at Dvalin's lair, yep that sounded pretty much safe. I did my best to hide from any person that I could find alongside the path because I didn't wanted to grab undesirable attention that might end up making me have to run away and to be honest my stamina sucks. Right! I forgot that I have bad stamina so is probably going to take me a while to get where I plan to go quickly.

I decided to stop when I entered to Wolvendom, noticing almost immediately that just a couple of steps from where I was, it was Boreas lair. I sat on the ground taking my time to catch my breath as I glanced at my surroundings, there was really no point of comparation between what was shown in the game versus the actual thing. I closed my eyes for a bit trying to catch the sound of the nature as almost no one dared to wander around the wolves territory, then the sound of footsteps startled me making me get up really quick ready to run away.

"There's no doubt, I could never mistake this scent, for is the one that belongs to the mighty creator."

I heard a voice speaking almost immediately recognizing it as Boreas voice.

"Yes, the smell.. It's Lupical."

Another voice spoke and by the lack on their vocabulary it was easy to deduce who it was: Razor.

"Creator? I'm just an ordinary traveler, I was just passing by and... I was about to leave, yes!. If you excuse me, I'll take my leave now."

I said trying not to sound nervous as I stepped back and turned away ready to leave.

But the young boy was more faster than me and he quickly blocked my path by standing in front of me.

"Lupical don't leave. Lupical can stay. Razor knows, the smell and the right eye."

He said and I blinked a little confused. Right eye? What does that mean?, in the end I decided to stay with them but just for a little.

"Alright, I'll stay with you guys." I said and Razor's eyes shined with happiness. "But only a little, I don't want to bother you guys too much."

What in the beginning was only meant to be a quick-stay ended up in a more than a month stay, every time I intended to leave Razor stopped me pleading me with staying a little bit more so in the end I obliged and stayed. But as time was passing by I started to get this feeling of uneasiness, because I soon noticed that the patrols of the Knights of Favonius were starting to come to Wolvendom more frequently like they were searching for something... or someone in particular.

It was only a matter of time before even the Acting Grand Master of the Knights, ended up coming and not greeting me in a friendly way like my instincts were telling me. It seemed that Razor was doing his best to keep the knights away from getting too much close to Boreas lair but the efforts seemed to get more ineffective with the passing of the days. I needed to come up with a strategy for the worst-case scenario: that the imposter alternative universe was an actual thing and if it's truly like this... escaping was meant to be difficult and negotiating wasn't going to be on the table.

If I put at use the variable that, I'm the truly the creator, then there are a few more variations that I would need to include. First, in case that a = me has x = a power I would need to figure out x to see if I could get a chance in scaping from f, the knights, and have a 0.01% of chances of surviving. The game changing is if x is or not a power that would allow me to get away without getting harmed, if it ends up being something useless I'm not going to make it alive and would die at the hands of the super duper loyal acolytes of the fake creator. But how do I figure out if I have powers? Do I just do random gestures to see if something happens? Well I guess that's better than just not doing anything at all.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on feeling any possible sign of a flow of elemental energy running inside of me. But as much as I tried I couldn't feel anything, maybe I didn't have any powers... no, wait; it's too early to give up come on, think! Then I remembered something, according to Hinduism the human body has seven main circles of energy, the chakras and these often can get blocked and misaligned... maybe I cannot feel the flow of elemental energy because my emotions are blocking everything.

Normally one would start with the one at the base of the spine, but for now let's try to unblock the chakra that corresponds to air, or in this world, anemo. Anahata, the heart chakra that it's associated with the air element - located at the center of the chest; it deals with feelings such as love, compassion, emotional security, forgiveness and kindness. But, it tends to get blocked by one particular emotion: grief; so I took a deep breath concentrating once more in finding what was the grief that kept my heart chakra closed. After finding it, I needed to let it go and forgive so the pain would go away freeing not only my heart but also allowing the anemo energy to flow inside of me.

Then, I finally started to feel it and I imagined a wind current lifting me up so, when I opened my eyes I found myself floating in the air high up above Wolvendom. Upon seeing everything on the ground from so high in the sky and feeling how the wind softly kept me up from falling I understood why air was the element of freedom; it was as the imaginary shackles that kept me tied to the ground had suddenly disappeared. Then I slowly started to descend to the ground, it was as if the wind was holding me with care and when my feet touched the ground my body felt more light than before.

Now, if I can fly then I should be able to escape if things get messy. Though, for the next two months I kept practicing levitation and a little bit of flying secretly awaiting my signal to leave in other words the Knights of Favonius arrival to Boreas lair. I honestly don't have the desire to hurt anyone but if it means that I can guarantee my freedom and survival, I'll do whatever it takes to achieve that... even if it means taking extreme measures.

After a while without them appearing I initially thought that they might have just gave up but when I saw Razor running inside of Boras lair as fast as his legs allowed him I knew that they finally arrived. As I predicted Jean was leading the party that came to face me, of course between all the faces there I saw Kaeya too but the one who surprised me the most was Lisa... because she usually never got involved in things of these matters. I stood up from where I was sitting and put myself in front of Razor in a protecting manner, he was breathless and glanced up at me with a face that was saying that he should be the one doing that and not me.

Jean looked at me and without her saying a word I understood... for them I'm an imposter.

"I see, so the reports are true. There's someone who is trying to impersonate our holy creator, taking her face is enough of a blasphemy but affirming to be her is even worse."

She said.

"That's not true. Lupical does not lie. Razor knows, it's creator."

Razor said in an attempt to defend me from what Jean said. I gave him a glance and shaked my head.

"There's no need for you to defend me, Razor. I know it upsets you but arguing with stubborn people will lead you to a blocked road. If they want me to leave this place, I'll do as they ask."

I said softly to him. His eyes looked saddened, I knew that he was probably feeling so powerless right now but if leaving was the most peaceful answer then all I would have to do was leave. But my peaceful intentions were clearly not what they came for in the first place and I understood that when Jean drew out her sword.

"You are not going to leave, you are going to pay for your sins right here and now. Knights, seize her!"

I sighed.

"Just as I expected."

I mumbled softly before turning around to glance at Razor, I smiled warmly at him.

"Thanks for your hospitality, Razor. I hope one day we can see each other again."

After that I created a wind current that lifted me up from the ground, I floated high in the air and glanced up at where the Knights were. It probably lasted about a second but my eyes never let the eyes of the people gathered in there, after that my body went higher and I left my body be guided by wind. Soon I left Wolvendom behind, the wind currents slowly were guiding me to where I first intended to go: towards Dvalin's lair.

[ Kaeya's POV ]

Right after Jean gave the order to capture the imposter, she suddenly created a wind current and lifted from the ground. As she kept going more higher she glanced up at everyone and when she did that... I don't know why but I felt a sense of familiarity. It was so strange but for a reason I felt like I had seen those eyes so many times. After that failed attempt in capturing the imposter we returned to the headquarters, there Jean summoned me and Lisa to her office so we went there. Upon entering she stayed silent for a while before starting to speak.

"That imposter... I never thought she could be able to hold elemental power. It seems that she has an anemo vision that's the only explanation at why she used the power of the wind to fly and upon hearing what she said it seemed that she already knew about our plan of capturing her. If only we could have arrived way sooner maybe we could have captured her by surprise. Lisa, where do you think the imposter left to?"

Lisa stayed silent for a bit.

"I'm not completely sure but the direction seemed to be towards the Stormterror's lair."

Jean huffed. That was quite the difficult place to get access to.

"Without mentioning Dvalin himself, that place is infested of hilichurls and Abyss mages. It seems we are going to be unable to move without a proper strategy, Acting Grand Master."

I commented. And Jean rubbed her temples, she knew that I was right so even if we wanted to go right now we couldn't do that. It was going to take some time before we could be able to chase her clue and even so... Why do I still keep thinking about her? Why does her eyes look ... so oddly familiar to me?

To be continued.

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

A fairytale we will never forget. (Wanderer/f!Reader)

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ You are a failed writer of the Academia and Nahida gives you something to write about. Post Sumeru Arc! Wanderer x f!academiaReader *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴A/N: OK! LISTEN- I have so much I need to write and My Precious Treasures is giving me trouble. Let me have my small little scaramouche man to cheer me up until my writing gets better (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*). (Side note: not everything is cannon compliant, Im still on last act of story- but have been semi spoiled lol cause Kaveh stole my heart and the event was sooo cute!) *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Word Count: 3.3k *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: if bickering was cute, writing stories together, lots of fluff, light spoilers, writer will do anything for inspiration, poor be'tad

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ───────────────

You've failed again and would you be surprised it's not the first time you have failed.

It might have been the sixth, but you have lost count when your writings could fill ten books worth. You look at the scrolls limply hanging off your desk, the textbooks pilling so high they create a safety hazard of 'homicide by books'.

It's not right. It's not correct. It's not factual. It's not accurate. That's all they say, when they dismiss you with a wave of their hand and close the doors in front of sleepless eyes.

You want to scream, because it's not fucking accurate when a measly academia scholar like yourself cannot even read non-biased readings that do not have the author as Great Sage.

You needed something to take your mind off this.

You needed a break.

"You want to write a fantasy novel?" Aether comments munching on a stick of grilled meat. He looked off put by your comment as his companion Paimon speaks up, "Paimon doesn't understand how more writing is taking a break from writing?"

"It's a break because I can enjoy myself! No need to look at which theory makes more sense than the old. No more citing ancient sages that lived hundreds of years ago that are outdated. A good old fantasy."

Aether rolls his eyes, "And what defines 'good old fantasy'?"

Your eyes shine as you point directly at him. He scoffs as he tries another vendor's dish, "I mean- You have fought literal gods right! Or at least people tell me you have fought monsters that are as strong as gods!" You pause as you comment on your own delusions, "Well- I'm not sure how strong a god is, but it sounds impressive."

Aether is about to stop you as you continue, "Oh! Oh, what about the time you slayed a dragon? That sounds super interesting."

He groans in a way that you sense is that every time someone mentions the words 'dragon', that he must correct them, "For the last time. We didn't 'slay' it. We purified the crystal that made Dvalin sick."

"...So, your saying saved a kingdom from dark magic and that is not fantastical enough!"

You slam a couple mora onto the next vendor as Aether finished his latest dish. Sure, that money was for the breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next two days but what could be better than breathing, live, material!

You plead, "Please! One story, any story! I need something to jump start my brain that is not a library book."

Aether looks up the sky longingly you would narrate it as a 'take me now' moment; but surely not from you.

"Any story?"

You beam nodding as Aether reluctantly says yes.

.

.

.

"So that's the story. Sorry about this but I need to be back in Liyue by tomorrow and knowing (Y/N), she can um- be a lot."

You can't understand the rest of the sentence, but you see Aether talking to a smaller girl with leaves in her hair and flowers that bloomed around her.

At least that is what you say, but behind the boy with a large hat covering his head wore a frown as you could see each flower wilting- dead on the floor fictitiously.

What a buzzkill.

The girl, Nahida is what Aether calls her and she reminds you of sunshine that warms your heart. She smiles as she gives a small wave to you. As she does the boy behind her taps his foot frown never leaving his face.

"I see." And there is an ethereal ring in the small girl’s voice, "Leave it to us, please give the people of Liyue and the him our regards."

"Huh! Us?" A voice speaks at the same time. It was the boy with short purple hair dressed in flowing clothes different than your own. He looked like the wind would parachute him away at any second.

Aether sensing the shift whispered goodbye to you, leaving the room with the small girl and the frowning boy.

The girl speaks up first, "Aether told us of your 'predicament'? She questions because, no, writing a fantasy novel isn't considered a predicament more than getting a thorn stuck in your thumb; compared to how the academia cranks out automatous, encyclopedias of information that are used as the life blood of people’s lives, but in a sweets way she gives respect as she looks in your eyes.

Or so you thought.

"Therefore, he will help you!" And she points her thumb behind her to a balking boy who stomps his foot down. You could have sworn you felt the ground shaking, but that was probably his attitude.

"Wha- I refuse! There is no way I will be helping that baboon." And ouch, because words do hurt but if he had any sense of social norms and could read the room he would not continue. But he did, "You expect me to become one of those mediocre story tellers on the street?"

You glower as you gather any confidence you have in your work, "How dare you. Stories keep people alive!" And he gives you a look as if you are the idiot in the room because stories don't technically keep you alive, but that didn't stop your ramble," They let us share emotional connection with one each other as we can obtain a deeper understanding of people!" Don't say it, remember your manners, “and someone like you that has the emotional capability of a doormat wouldn't understand that!"

You wince as you see the boy’s brow raise underneath his ridiculously large hat, his mouth snarling as he cracks his fingers. It felt like the air was being sucked out of the room.

"Oh, really now?" It sounds like a threat the way his tone bleeds with irritation, "Let’s see who's the doormat once I-"

Nahida, gently places a hand on top of his and the air returns to normal. You let out a gasp that you did not feel you were holding as her voice rings out, "Now children, that's not how to treat each other."

She looks stern? Like a mother that is discipling her child by the way his face writhes into reluctance. She gives you a harsh stare that makes you feel like your own mother is chiding you, "Now, people who ask for favors can't start fighting with the asked. Can they?"

You look down at the floor, digging your heel in, properly chastised, "No... they can't."

She turns to the boy behind, "And people who invite guests into their home..."

He looks reluctant as if this wasn't his first time finishing her sentence, "don't blast them away..."

Blast them away?‌ And you think the right answer should be 'threaten, cause bodily harm, or even joke about causing bodily harm' but the small girl looks content either way.

"Now to start good relationships, we shake hands!" She clasps her hands together smiling.

Neither of you move.

"I rather not take my chances."

"I rather put my hand in boiling water."

Oh yes, this will be wonderful...

You sit down on a bench overlooking the landscape of Sumeru. It was beautiful the way the bustling of the city created a divide between the ethereal beauty of the nature itself to the bustling city life that coexisted with it.

Now that's beautifully said. Wait- but you used the word "beautiful" at least three, not four times now. What could you use instead?

You were about to dive deeper into your thoughts before a voice interrupted.

"Hey baboon!" A voice calls in which you wish was with endearment, because at least that be cuter than plain degrading. The boy pushes a plate of sticky rice plated with different types of fresh fruit, covered with syrupy goodness, "This is disgusting."

He's been doing this a while now, ever since Nahida kicked you two both out of the house with a couple of mora to keep you both full (how nice of her). She commented on 'sharing experiences with one each other', leading you to buy your favorite dessert as an olive branch.

You see the way her pushes the plate off towards the side of the table, "Hey that's my favorite dessert you know!"

And he scoffs folding his hands across his chest, leaning against the chair, "You have the tastebuds of a child then." And of course he continues, because goddamnit he does not know when enough is enough, "Oh- I forgot you are a child trying to create a kid's book."

You don't know which is worse. You going back to your small apartment to keep writing a bleeding thesis paper or you having to deal with this punk.

You take a breath in, you strive for peace, "Well. Then what's your favorite food?"

He rolls his eyes, "I don't have a favorite food."

"Everyone has something they like." You counter because he is not getting off the hook.

He pauses before he replies in pure reluctance, "Tea. The more bitter the better."

Now you're folding your hands across your chest, mirroring him.

"Tea?" You deadpan, "That's not a food."

"Were you not listening? I said I had no favorite food."

This time you scoff, "Well then why don't you like sticky rice?"

"It's disgusting."

"That's not an answer!"

"It is an answer you complete and utterly useless-!"

A third voice, "Excuse me."

You both turn to a server that has seen better days in their effort to survive customer service industry. The man looks at you and then at him, "You need to leave unless you stop yelling at each other. There are others trying to enjoy the view."

You look behind him and indeed others do look frustrated with the boy and you. At least you can read the room before the boy in front of you could, he looked like he was about to argue, and it was an argument he would lose. Slamming a couple of mora with a quick sorry, you grab the boy by his sleeve running out leaving your mango sticky rice behind.

By the time you make it to the top of Sumeru you are huffing and puffing. Air feels like fire as you steady yourself on your kneecaps gasping. Next to you, the boy has every piece of flowing fabric in place, his face not even a drip of sweat upon it. In other words, he looks and probably is way healthier than you.

"How- huff aren't you- dying?" And you say it in a way the means 'how are you standing', 'why are you freakishly healthy' or in a comedic sort of way 'are you even human?'; but his jumps eyes wide as he retorts head up high, "Everyone can run at least that far."

You start to think about your counterparts in the academia and how even a mile run would make you want to never leave your room again, and then you rethink, because Aether is his 'friend?' and that blond hair boy is certainly the least normal boy you know but he might fall into the category of 'everyone' to your interviewee.

That gave you hope.

You sit at a rickety bench underneath tarp that give a nice shade in the sun, fanning your shirt to let air in between all your robes. You notice him standing off to the side, like a cat waiting to be beckoned and that almost makes this time bearably. He must have surrendered, because he sees you eyeing him then the chair across from you and he sit down right on the edge.

"So", you start once you’re sure you can say a whole sentence without wheezing, "I know- that maybe, we got off on the wrong foot," and he opens his mouth for another (probably insensitive) comment and you talk quicker, "but I'm ready to listen to any story you have to share!" There quick and simple.

He closes his mouth, the thin line never shifting in his lips before he huffed, "I don't have a story for you."

And all common courtesy went out the window as you breathe in and out, peace! Peace you say! "Everyone has a story." A twinge of sass, "Like how everyone has a favorite food."

"Fine. I'll be more clear. I have no "fantasy" story that you will want to write."

And you blink, that was not the response you were expecting. You feel the academic spirit ignited in you as you prod for more information, "What do you mean by that?"

He's thinking and you can see thunder clouds brewing in his purple eyes as he clenches his teeth, "You want those dumb fairy tales where idiotic princes go save a damsel huh? Someone who saves you no matter what even though there is no one there!" You describe it as lightning engulfing his eyes as it leaks out with every enunciation in his words. You can feel the hair at the bottom of your neck standing up, "How stupid you all are."

A moment of thought, "Well, if you put it that way it is pretty stupid."

His face contorts in a way that you wonder if your face muscles can do that as well, "Huh?!"

"Yah!" You twiddle you fingers as if trying to connect the dots, "I never said I wanted to write a classic fantasy story! Who gets to say what I will write?" You stand up renewed energy as the cogs move in your mind, "I'm writing this because I want to! Stories are meant to connect us and if I can't hear your story then how the hell am I even supposed to know what to write?"

You don't let him even start. His mouth agape.

"You're right I may be an idiot I will admit. I can't even pass a stupid thesis paper because I am too focused on the fact that every paper I have used as reference sucks the living life out of me faster than I can even graduate." You point a finger towards him, your index finger almost touching his nose and he is spluters, "But Im not an idiot when it comes to sharing others stories."

When you're sure he's not going to start on another rampant of the insipid state of his world you say one last thing. A perfect conclusion.

"We haven't formally introduced ourselves."

His brows furrow, "Ha- I know your name!" He says in a loud voice, but there is less venom this time.

You shake your head, giving little tuts of disappointment, "No silly" he preens at the word but it's payback for him calling you a baboon, "I don't know your name."

The boy eyes cross towards your fingertips as he slaps your hands away, "Get your hand out of my face." You can tell he is thinking.

He gives a sigh, before mulling over the possibility of only one-story telling night vs. a determined author who will bang on his door every day until she gets what she wants. At least that's what you believe he is thinking of.

"You can call me..."

His voice becomes muffled under his hat, and you ask him to repeat again. His violet eyes dart to the side darkening, like saying his name is sooo difficult.

. 

.

.

".... hat guy"

You swear your ears misheard him underneath that large hat he wears as his voice projects to the ground, "Sorry, say that one more time?"

"...Hat...Guy"

This time you blink in incredulous response, "Hat guy?" You give him time to at least say a semblance of a normal name, but he is quiet, hands folded over his chest as his final answer, "Really? Hat guy?"

You throw your hands up, "I thought we were getting somewhere! Like I was trying to open up to you about the whole story thing!" Your hands lower in apocryphal delusion, "Hat guy... what type of parent names them hat guy?"

It's so ridiculous that you start laughing.

"Stop laughing! You're looking more like a baboon than before." A sharp comment breaks you out of breath as you hunch your sides.

You wipe a nonexistence tear from you tear ducts as you look at him. A faint mellow glow is left on his cheekbones- the only word you can use to describe the reaction is embarrassment.

Or anger. Probably anger.

The fleetingness of absurdity leaves you as the last hiccup escapes your lips, he looks like a cat that had water poured on him, "Sorry, sorry! I'll be serious now. Nice to meet you pft Hat Guy!" A guffaw escapes again and this time you have to stop because it looks like he's ready to punch your lights out.

You slip next to him, his face a contorting to annoyance. Pulling out a small journal, that has seen better days, kept in the back of your satchel you find a pen. Clicking the pen as you flip to an open page.

"So. Where do you want to start?"

"Wow (Y/N) you really..." Aether pauses finding the words, "stuck to the facts?" He finishes handing the rest of the paper to Paimon struggling to hold the rest of the pages in her tiny hands.

Paimon struggles to flip through the pages, squinting at the words on the page her eyes flicking to the violet haired boy in the back, "Yeah! Who knew that he was a prince of a continent who was known for dragon slaying? Then went on a thousand-year-old journey to find a piece of paper that hold the secret of a war from a long long LONG time ago...?" Even Paimon was awestruck by your story telling.

You puff up your chest in pride, "Well, the dragon slaying idea had come from you Aether. Gotta switch it around sometimes you know?" And you can see Aether facepalm his face mumbling something that's not worth the effort to narrate.

You turn toward Nahida and the boy of inspiration, "So! How do you like the first draft? I’m thinking of adding more details and vocabulary but all and all pretty good right!"

The girl, Nahida tilts her head in wonder, "I had no idea your story was so rich." She holds a secret behind her smile as she looks up towards the boy who hasn't said a word about the manuscript, "Truly, this has been an enlightening experience."

You nod rapidly, she always knew what to say to lift your spirits. You hop over to "hat guy" as he is staring blankly at your hard work. You give a small poke, and he jerks violet eyes catching yours.

"How is it?" You tilt your head to fit underneath his hat as you point towards a paragraph that has to do with the boy falling out of his kingdom in the first act, "Pretty accurate right? I tried combining multiple classic fantasy stories to create this, like you said."

He doesn't push you away, nor does he voice any acrimony. He does look at you like an adult would look at a child who made a mess of their kitchen before presenting equally a mess of a cake that people have to coo at because- it's a child's cake. Inedible, sloppy cute and the worst part- burnt on one side and raw on the other, but nonetheless a product of hard work made by a child.

Though this could be your imagination but notice him open his mouth after deliberating his thoughts. He decisively says in full confidence:

"I see why you haven't graduated."

[bronzeandsage]

Bronze & Sage

His wards were gone.

Coren forced himself to smile as he watched them fade beyond his sight and into the great Astral Sea. He would miss his wayward charge and the misadventures he had gotten himself into, the watcher felt he would miss even more so the offspring he had sworn to protect. The sunshine girl warmed his heart especially. But the time of mourning and being sad was long past or perhaps was yet to be, time was a fickle thing for him.

Time was never linear for those of the dragonflight, that was the hardest lesson to learn. A dark skinned hand would come to stroke at a feathered beard of his current visage, the same wayward eyes of emerald green searching the bluffs of Mulgore under a blue sky. Sand and sun were what his liege craved, but for a creature such as him change was what he craved. Always something different.

The same dark skinned hand would softly turn and thrust as sprig of power was used to summon a shifting orb. Coren's eyes would delve into those swirling sands, a soft delight rumbling in this chest at the idea of 'pondering his orb'. Least that's what he supposed was the way the people were these days.

These days.

How long had he been here? Or been this way? Was he a man? A dragon? A god? No. Coren was just Coren. A servant of the Bronze Dragonflight, a guardian of chosen, and a wanderer of the multiverse. The Word had spoken and here he was. Nothing more. Nothing less.

There was nothing to question.

His chosen was free now. Free of the cycle by their choice and his joy at the final gate passed just like his sorrow. Fleeting. Warm. Accepted.

It was time to find another. Or more. Or less. The Word would will as much as the sands shifting within the glass.

A burning ship. A broken son. A broken grin. A burning fury.

Familiar traits, familiar story, and one that could be focused if properly propelled. He'd done it once.

Why not again?

"Take me," a soft baritone slipped among peace.

A blue sky stretched far and wide carrying lazy white clouds and the wisp of hot breath mingled with dimming grains.

OOC:

Of Bronze and Sage is a roleplaying and writing repository for characters and stories of the Horde within the World of Warcraft. It is the third sister blog to a the Trio of blogs put together for a wide range of different concepts and ideas to be put together for. I've focused a lot on the Alliance side of things I felt like I'd been kind of ignoring the red side of things and pigeon holed a lot of the peoples as 'bad guys' in those writings. The Horde is as intriguing and varied as any monster hunting family with as many heroes as they have villains. The idea is to stretch those wings and learn more about this side of the world as well as interact with players/characters I haven't gotten a chance to really mingle with. So as before, if you'd like to interact, instruct, guide, or just say 'Hey!' to a bunch of green folks I'd love to collaborate.

Below you will find links to the basic information of the cast of characters for this blog. It's not as big as my Alliance brain is, but it's growing the more I look at building a proper group of old and new faces.

Dramatis Personae

Sevlaz - a misplaced orc thief brought out of the bowels of certain death to serve the Sands

Fenrag Onehand - the broken orc blademaster reforged as a new sword for the Horde only to search for a higher calling within the teachings of the Mist

Cahall Raincaller - a tauren disgraced, exiled, and alone the former Raincaller chieftain wanders Kalimdor wallowing in his failures to his lost tribe

Erik'red - a desert speaker and vagabond vulpera who is just as likely to win you with a smile as with their cooking

Qinhou - companion to Fenrag and fellow student of the Ways, though far more interested in helping the dead than the living

Mary Wincott - the fresh dead murdered by the Black Rainbow, untethered from her twin sister and reeling with psychic energies

Coren - Guardian of the Bronze Flight, traveler, former steward of the Candells, servant of the Word

More to come...

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter III : Your bitter heart, heals my heart

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The damp dew of morning, as dawn broke across the sky the next day, had taken on a biting frigidness, and with it everything was different.

A/N: Let’s play spot the Fiona Apple reference 😁

I’d planned to wait until Sunday to post, but I just couldn’t help myself. I love this chapter a lot. I hope you guys do too. The song Good Guy by Julia Jacklin fits it quite nicely, I think.

Art is Rotting Plums by Rachel Bess.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: character death; brief, non-graphic descriptions of illness; discussions of grief; internal angst; rough sex; choking; brief impact play; after care; soft! Joel™️

Word Count: 6.4k

Read on AO3

CHAPTER III : Your bitter heart, heals my heart

Something in my soul was rising, rising, ceaselessly, painfully, and refused to be still.

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

The mystery of Teddy continued and his health worsened. There were no objective indices of a malignant source to explain his symptoms, and yet, nevertheless, they persisted, intensified. The boy was fatigued, withdrawn, sensitive, losing weight, prone to bouts of what could be characterized as a cold or flu. You and Connie suspected the worst, but there was not much to be done to prove your theories without imaging or blood tests, not readily available to you. The best you could do was manage the child’s state symptomatically, and hope for the best until a more concrete plan was assembled. 

-

One night in late October, you and Connie decide to bid farewell to the passing fall with a consolation dinner. The months of Teddy’s ongoing illness had fallen harshly on both of your shoulders and spirits were low. The air outside had taken on the true chill of deep fall, the threat of winter near. You were worried the cold would bring tragedy with it. The child’s constitution was weak and despite good shelter and food and the two of you caring for him, winter was harsh and difficult to endure, even at one’s strongest.

Joel had gone on a good hunt earlier that day and had brought back a nicely sized rabbit. He’d refused to join you and Connie for dinner. Withdrawn and sullen throughout the day, he’d told you to enjoy your evening with a soft kiss pressed to your mouth, before he’d wandered off. You could picture him now, sitting on his porch, guitar in hand, drink at his side, brooding at whatever was plaguing him. The image chafed. His inability, or lack of desire, to tell you what was wrong hurt. 

You and Connie talked shop over your rabbit and greens, roasted potatoes in garlic and sage, and the braised plums Dina had brought you a few days before. It was a lovely meal, a veritable feast, lit by the warm candle light of the beeswax sticks Maria had traded with you. He told you about his wife, stories you’d heard dozens of times, that he never tired of repeating and you never stopped wanting to listen to. Stories of his training, the toils of residency, the great accomplishments of fellowship. Your favorite ones were of when he was younger, in his twenties, young and fresh and ravenous to learn everything he could. Eager for freedom and experience and knowledge. To hear of his life was to know him, and you loved nothing more than learning about the man who had become your greatest mentor and friend.

Connie died in his sleep that night. After you’d finished the last of the scavenged wine, he laughingly said he’d had it for years, and had been saving it for a special occasion – that now felt as good a time as any – like he knew this would be the last chance. He’d said good night to you, gone upstairs to bed and passed away peacefully. The damp dew of morning as dawn broke across the sky the next day had taken on a biting frigidness, and with it everything was different, would forevermore be different. For how could anything continue to exist as it had when the man who had given you a vocation, who had shared with you the greatest gift in his arsenal, his knowledge, was gone. It was a devastating blow for you, for the whole of Jackson. Beth and your parents took up space in your mind constantly in the days that followed, the memory of them a heavier weight than you usually carried. Their lives and their deaths, a constant loop of replay behind your eyelids at night, in your dreams. But you trudged on. Tried in vain to smother your grief as best you could. Hide it from Joel and Maria and Ellie and all your considerably disconcerted patients. 

The weight of the wellbeing of an entire community, that you dearly cared for, now rested on your shoulders, and the responsibility was a formidable and daunting one. Sometimes, you wished you had it in you to rid yourself of the whole thing. To wash your hands of it. Too gripped by the terror of failure and inadequacy to hold on to your courage. Your fears called forth Connie’s past words, how you’d not chosen this for yourself, would not have chosen it if you’d been given another option. But those moments passed eventually, and you did what you must, what was necessary. However great the burden of responsibility felt on your shoulders, you had no choice but to bear them as you may. Choices, always choices; more than conviction of character, more than desires, or hopes, the choices you made were what determined who you were. 

And then there was Joel. Joel who understood this grief of a lost loved one better than anyone else, who understood you better than anyone else. He’d taken your despair in stride, planted his feet in the ground and said to you with every action, every comforting embrace, every night where you cried yourself to sleep in his arms, in his bed, when you sought out the distraction of his mouth and his hands and his cock, with all of it he told you: here I am, use me as you will. Let me help you carry this burden of grief and responsibility, and if you cannot carry it at all, then I will carry you. And he did, with everything he did, he eased your pain. It was like he could read your mind, your heart, as if he’d studied that intrinsic understanding that had always existed between you and Connie under a magnifying glass and applied himself to taking it on himself, doing the same. 

You loved him so much in that time of painful grief after Connie – felt the weight of it so poignantly within your heart, it was like a second presence you carried inside your body now, a second soul. His fist wrapped tightly around your heart, your very life blood held in his hands – his to wield as he chose. It was a terrifying, maddening ordeal, that of losing everything you were to a man. Of giving it to him. And yet, you saw your life in the strangest new light now. What did it matter if the world was vast and cruel and terrifying, if you had him? Very little, it mattered very little. 

-

“Birdie.”

You’d been hunched over your desk for the better part of the afternoon. Late into the evening now, and you were still at it, only a small desk lamp illuminating the strewn catastrophe of papers and books in a wash of warm light. Your eyes stung, your back aching and strained. You couldn’t remember the last thing you’d eaten. “You’re back…”

“How’d it go today? How long’ve you been in here, baby?” You knew that stern tone. You listen to him set down something heavy on the table by the door but don’t turn, too caught up in what you’re currently reading.

“Teddy’s bad again…” you murmur, “There’s – I – I can’t figure this out. It’s driving me insane. If – if I knew more or – or had more equipment…” you trail off. “It’s bad… This is impossible with so little at my disposal.” Your hands clutch your hair, hunched over one of Connie’s old journals, one you’ve read probably a hundred times. “Something’s fucking wrong…” you mumble under your breath. He was weaker and weaker every day. The bruising you’d first noticed a few weeks ago appeared more often, and you had a pretty good idea as to what it was that was wrong with him, but you were terrified of sharing your fears with his mother. Of being wrong. You told yourself you couldn’t be certain without proper testing. That until you’d found something beyond textual evidence to support your theories, that you should keep your conjectures to yourself. After all, if you were right, there was nothing to be done, but keep him comfortable. You told yourself that to hold off was the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure. Had never been in this position before. And alone, with only yourself to count on, with no one to consult with who had experience in something like this, there was only your gut to follow. It was Joel, who’d ultimately soothed your anxieties. He’d said that if it was him, if it was Sarah in this position, the threat of an incurable cancer plaguing her and no sort of cure or treatment closely available, then he’d not want to know the truth of it. The closest FEDRA outhold was hundreds of miles away, and Teddy would never survive the journey – not with the cold of winter starting to set in, he was too weak, too fragile, being eaten alive from the inside out. You felt so fucking useless, so desperate and hopeless, and you didn’t know what to do besides make him comfortable, try and be there for Susanna as best you could. And she knew, she knew something was interminably wrong with her child. She knew you were at a loss, beyond your depth of resources. You could see the understanding and resignation start to settle in her eyes as the days passed. 

“C’mere, Birdie. Come look at this.”

You’re still murmuring to yourself, lost in thought, but you turn to him suddenly, and the look on your face – you feel so young, so lost – “If Connie was here it’d be better–” you say. And you feel so angry at your father suddenly. This is all his fault. He cast you into this role before you’d been old enough to have the sense of foresight to understand all that would come with it. Angry at Connie, for furthering it, for dying, for leaving you alone. Your eyes fill with tears, and he comes over to you, cradles your upturned face in his palms, your fingers twisting in his clothes. “Joel–”

“I found something for you – come see.” He says it so gently, pulls you from the chair, strong hand cupped around the bend of your elbow. Your legs feel as shaky and weak as a newborn fawns, and your vision swoops, dark stars appearing behind your closed eyes. “Head rush,” you whisper. 

“Damnit, Birdie. When was the last time you ate somethin’?” You clutch at his arms tightly as you feel your balance stabilize. 

“I– it’s okay… I’m okay.” 

You turn towards the table then, and sitting on it is a microscope. You turn to look at him, wide eyed, your threat of tears from before immediately becoming reality. “Where did you find that?” 

“There’s a house about five hours west. Me ‘nd Tommy decided to check it out. Someone had a whole damn laboratory in the basement.” There’s a small duffle sitting next to the machine. “Don’t know if it’ll work, if it’s any good to you, or– or if you even want it… I brought all the other stuff I thought went with it–” he unzips the bag, peers inside. “Not sure it’s what you need… if it’s any good. But I thought–” He’s ranting, tongue tripping over his own words, and there’s a fierce blush washing over his cheeks. “I just–” he sighs, “I just saw it and thought of you. Thought it might be something you’d like or find interesting… Something to distract you.” And he’s so endearing and so sweet and so understanding and you’re pressing yourself to him, tears spilling. His breath whooshes out in a small huff with the force of your chest thumping against his, your arms sneaking around his neck like vines, feet scrabbling against the floor, stepping on the toes of his boots to boost yourself up higher, press harder. Your heart, your heart, it hurts, it pinches and burns, and oh, you love him.

He is undoing you.  

His hand weaves through the long threads of your loose hair, presses your streaming eyes and hot face to his neck. You mouth messily at the skin of his neck, too overwrought for words. Trying to convey everything you’re feeling in this moment into his skin through the press of your own. And you know, with the gentleness of his hands over your hair, your face, your back and waist, that he knows, he understands.

“I knew you needed something – hoped this could help in some way.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you, you breathe into his neck. 

This small action, him going out on patrol and bringing back something for you, seeing something that reminded him of you and hauling it all the way back here, just to make you happy, just because he thought it might entertain you – it’s everything. To know that he knows how much this would mean to you, how much this would help you, how much you needed this – it tells you more about the state of the two of you now, in this moment, than anything else that has transpired before. 

You hug yourself closer to him, wet face soaking his shirt and he just holds you, let’s you bask in him. And his tallness and warmth and aliveness — it makes you forget that cowering animal you’d felt like these past few days. He brings back to life your own warmth, your own aliveness, pulls out of you the desire to share it with him. It’s like a damn breaking, a rush of despair and love and grief so overwhelming it punches the air out of you. 

Gasp escaping in a loud, breathless sob,“I’m alone, I’m alone now,” you press your hot eyes into the space beneath his jaw, “I don’t have anyone anymore. Connie, Connie – I – I don’t – don’t know h– how–” It’s uncontrollable, breath hitching and hiccuping. Somewhere in the rational recess of your mind you know you shouldn’t be telling him all this. That maybe he doesn’t want to hear it, or maybe even more unlikely, that it’ll hurt him to hear you claim this aloneness. That being without Connie now was almost like being without Beth – out there, in the wilderness, alone and desperate; that facing the responsibility he’d left you with felt like that vast wilderness from before. That without him you felt so, so lost. Your anchor to this world, your guiding light, your friend, your teacher was gone; and even with Joel physically beside you, the encroaching sense of familiar loneliness was overwhelming. You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t swallow this hurt. It was too heavy to be repressed. 

You pull back to take in his face and he splays his hand over your cheek, gently brushes away the wet under your eye, your bottom lip, the delicate wing of your cheekbone – his eyes: concerned and grave and slightly lost – like you’re breaking his heart, like he’d do anything in this moment to bear your pain for you. You look at him and think of all the times he’s pushed you away, held you at arms length, refused to let you in. The small hurts and the pinch of your heart in the space where you hold him inside of you, your recurring thought that: I know none of this will matter in the long run — but while we’re here — I want you to love me. 

But with this, with this, he was showing you. He was telling you with his actions, with his pain and concern for you: I know of the things you need, of the things you want, and I’ll try and give them to you the best I can. I’ll try and take care of you the best I can. This is me trying; this is me telling you, I love you. 

“You’re not alone. I’m here, Birdie. I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.”

You push your face into his large, warm palm, nuzzle the rough skin, and you wonder what will become of you if you cannot be close to him anymore — if he were to one day take himself away from you. Because you know that’s the only way this would ever have a chance of ending, if he were to decide to leave, to go away some place he’d not allow you to follow. Nothing else would ever rip you from his side. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his palm, press a small kiss to the center of it. 

“Hell, baby. If I knew the damn thing’d pull this reaction out of you I’d have left it where I found it.” You laugh a watery little laugh. And you think that it really does feel like the world’s ending, a terrible thing, when you feel the love you have for someone settle within you, when you realize the depth of it. 

You press up high on your toes, seeking out his mouth, a kind of frantic buzz filling your limbs as you reach for him. You twine your arms around his neck and your fingers into his hair. He understands you and he’s here and he’s going to take care of you and you love him so much. None of the things that had been plaguing your mind these past few weeks, none of the anxieties matter in this moment. Just the feel of his warm skin, his rough hands passing over your clothes and then gripping, twisting in the back of your shirt to press you up higher. He peppers open mouth kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, sucks on your neck sharply. “What do you need, Birdie? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You can’t think, can’t put into words this frenzied desperation you’re feeling. All you can do is claw harder at his clothes and hair, try to climb the length of his body, get as close as you possibly can. You let out a high little whine, and he winds his fingers through your hair, grips tight and gives a sharp tug. “Need me to be the only thing in that pretty head right now? Huh?” He jerks your head back sharply, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. His teeth latch onto the delicate line of muscle there, and you’re sure he can feel the rapid fluttering of your pulse against his tongue, a staccato of morse code telling him all your secrets, can taste the distressed need seeping out of your pores. You try and hitch your knee around his hip, grind your aching cunt into him. You can feel your arousal seeping into the gusset of your panties, and you claw at his back to try and find purchase, to rock yourself harder into him. His mouth moves down to the soft junction of your shoulder, and his bite there is harsher, claiming. You’ll have a red blossom of a bruise there tomorrow you’re sure. “So fucking desperate for me, baby.”

His words make something satisfied coil low in your belly. Yes, yes, you moan. You’re glad he knows. You want him to feel how much you need him, how much you want him. You want your desperation to incite his own. You want, need, him to need you as much as you do. He’s clutching your ass then, fingers squeezing your flesh tightly and hoisting you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, lick into his mouth as he walks the two of you towards the sofa against the wall. 

He lets your feet drop to the ground and sits heavily on the couch, knees spread wide and he’s ripping your leggings down your thighs without preamble, clasping the bend of your knee to slip your shoe off and pull the fabric of your pants and underwear off one foot. He pulls you onto his lap then, and you’re clawing at his belt, pulling his already hard cock free of the confines of his clothes. It’s late into the evening now, but anyone could walk in at any moment. Nancy had gone out earlier, but she could come back, come looking for you. None of that matters right now. All you can think about is getting him inside of you now, now now. He grips the back of your thigh to spread you wider across his lap and fists the base of his cock, jacks it once, twice.  The tip is gleaming with precum and flushed so red it’s almost purple – your mouth waters at the sight of it. He hasn’t even touched your pussy yet, but you can feel how soaked you are. Your sex tight and aching, and you wrap your own hand around him, pressing up a little higher on your knees to position him at your entrance, and then you’re sinking down, down and you both let out twin ragged groans of relief as you take him inside of you, watching the place where he disappears inside. It’s too much, painful, without having him make you come before, and exactly what you need. His eyes on yours are wide, as if he’s shocked. As if, even after all the times the two of you have done this, he still can’t believe it can feel like this. His neck is flushed red, you can see the hammering of his pulse in the thick vein of his neck, and it makes the walls of your cunt flutter in response. You’re going to come already, just with this. Just at the feel of taking him within you, your orgasm is there. You start to throb and pulse around him and your womb clenches and twists tight like a cramp. “Jesus fucking christ,” he grits out through clenched teeth, large palms gripping your ass to start to move you. And you’re orgasming fully now, cunt clamping down hard around his throbbing length. “Shit, shit–” you bury your face in his neck, tears, a slow, uncontrollable stream from your eyes at the intensity of it, “you’re coming already – Christ– you’re coming already.”

He starts to thrust his hips up into you, the blunt head hitting deep at the mouth of your cervix. “Good girl – good, fucking take it.” All you can do is moan and sob into his neck. Nothing will ever feel like this. Nothing else in your whole life will ever be as good as this is. He’s subjugated you with the feel of his cock pounding inside of you, and if you weren’t in love with him, you’d probably resent him for it. For having such a hold over you. No one person should have this much power over another. You yank on his hair hard. There is a fist around your heart in the shape of him, and it fucking hurts, and you want more and less, all at the same time. 

“Harder, please, harder,” you whisper into his ear, let it slide through him, over him. And then he’s flipping you over, your entire weight cradled briefly in his arms as he presses your back into the cushions, and spreads your knees wide, one hooked over the back of the couch, and the other held open by his hand. “You want it harder, little bird? Want me to wreck this cunt?”

“Want it to hurt. Make it hurt, Joel, please.”

Your words set off a deep red flush in his chest that crawls up his neck and into his cheeks. His eyes go slightly glazed and feral, and he snaps his hips so hard into you your teeth click. He hoists your knee in his grip higher and you press your bare foot into his shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He makes it hurt. Hand wrapped around your throat, angling your head back into a stretch that pinches. You arch your back, deepening the angle so that he’s fucking up into you and hitting something that makes dark spots flash in your vision. Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it feels so good. His hulking form over you, teeth bared in a snarl, would be terrifying to anyone else. But you think that even with his hand on your throat and that savage look in his eyes, there is nowhere you’d ever feel safer than right where you are. Beneath him, surrounded by him, held in the palm of his hand. 

“Like that, baby? This what you needed?” He rips the collar of your t-shirt down, then the cup of your bra, and slaps your breast harshly, once, twice, three times, rips a high pitched keen out of you. 

Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. 

“You’re gonna take all of my come like a good girl, but first I need you to give me one more. Need you to come on my cock one more time.” The hand on your throat moves to your clit, circles it over and over again. You can feel the wet slap of his balls heavy against your ass. There’s sweat beading at his temples and your eyes never leave each other. Your heavy pants and the sounds of your fucking filling the room like some sort of lewd song. You start to throb around him, the pounding of his cock pulling your orgasm from deep in your pelvis so that it’s fluttering out, up your back and through your limbs like electricity. You pull his chest to yours then, and he lets his heavy weight crush you into the cushions beneath, grinds his cock deep, his pubic bone pressing harshly on the bud of your clit and eliciting another pulsing wave of your orgasm, and then he’s jerking inside of you. The heat of his come filling you. “Take it, take it all, every last drop.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

His hips grind slowly, and he lets your knee drop. You wrap your leg around him and push your foot into the base of his spine, pressing him harder into you. He pulls back a little after the last jerk of his cock, gentle thumb ghosting along the arch of your eyebrow, your cheek, then down across the wing of your collarbone, he lowers his head to press a long kiss to your shoulder. When he looks at you again his eyes are soft, a little concerned, “That was okay? I wasn’t too rough?” You nuzzle into his chest, press a kiss over his heart. 

“No, no, that was what I needed. It was perfect.”

The two of you lay there for a long while afterwards. His head on your breast and his heavy weight pressing you deep into the sofa. The heat rolling off his body is almost overwhelming, sweltering like a furnace, and it wrings exhaustion out of you. There’s an ache settling deep in your pelvis, and the skin of your throat and thighs smart where he gripped you so hard. It’s bliss.

You run your fingers through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp, and then in long, languorous strokes down his back. He practically purrs, like an oversized and needy cat.

Perhaps this necessity is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. I need you so much, Joel. Isn't that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? Like an addiction, some sort of disease. For him to be the thing in the world to best soothe you, to best comfort you, but also be the one thing that sometimes hurts you the most. The dichotomy of all he brings out in you – the almost overwhelming love you feel for him, the fear of needing him so much you’d die without him, the desperation to be close to him at all times, for the two of you to be more connected, to know each other better than any two people ever have in all history. You could set fire to the two of you wrapped around each other like you are now with the intensity of all your feelings, let your skin meld together as one. And then also: the hurt, the sadness, the feeling that there’s always something small but magnificently significant missing between the two of you. All the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air. That one piece of him he always manages to keep hidden and tucked away from you no matter the intensity of what transpires between you, no matter how wide you spread his ribs to peer within him. It’s like a neverending stabbing to the depth of your heart, over and over and over again. You think you might have become addicted to the way it hurts. So much so, it manifests physically. You think that perhaps the more it hurts the more content you feel because at least you still have him here with you, at least he’s still in your arms. 

There is a part of yourself that realizes that you need something to hurt, to be difficult, to feel worth it. Like if there isn’t some seed of pain at the root of the thing, then it isn’t worth fighting for, isn’t worth the dedication, and you can’t understand why. Perhaps because the start of your life was so easy, so peaceful, despite the world you’d been born into. Perhaps because after your parent’s death everything was suddenly so jarringly difficult, from one blink to the next, life threatening at every turn, that it made the before not seem real anymore. Didn’t seem like it’d ever be attainable again if you didn’t hurt yourself in the process of obtaining it. Perhaps it was just martyrdom, or stupidity, or a subconscious inclination to make everything in your life infinitely more difficult than it actually needed to be. Like that girl who’d always done as was expected of her needed to find some way to counteract her obsequiance with a little bit of rebellion. Some small way within yourself to rail against always being good. Perhaps these small hurts were that form of rebellion. 

And then, well really, how could you not resent him after all that? Even if that resentment is overshadowed by how much you love him, how much you need him, still, still you’re angry with him at the same time for keeping that piece of himself away from you when you’ve spilled your blood at his feet. And yet, despite all this, despite all these thoughts running through your mind as you feel his breath press into your chest, as you feel the strong, steady thump of his heart echo into the cavity of your own, you understand him. You understand the motives behind every one of his actions, read the feeling in his eyes like a book, and so how could you not continue to endure all this ache? Continue to crave it. How could you not offer him your understanding, at the very least? If he won’t let you give him anything else but that, then this is all you’ll offer him. A place he can shuck away the fear he holds gripped around his heart, a place to come and be accepted as he is. Whatever is missing after that can be endured, if only he continues to rest his head here on your heart, let you breathe him in, let you feel him. 

And oh, you think, it is such a terrible thing to love someone so much. A terrible thing. 

-

Ellie liked to say that time healed all wounds. And sometimes that was true. Sometimes it was not a healing, but merely a scabbing over. Eschar over a festering of hurt still alive beneath the surface, but lived with so long it becomes customary. The bearer becomes complacent – used to it. Parts of you felt like that. Different pockets of painful memory across the surface of your skin. Pushed to the back of your mind in a plight for the preservation of your sanity.

Joel liked to be contradictory and say it was never time. But people, it was people that helped you heal your wounds. Serious, stoic old man that he liked to pretend to be, but you found him incredibly soft and sweet the day he told you that. Trying his best to piece together words to comfort you. You’d shown him exactly how sweet you found him afterwards, on your knees, your mouth wrapped around his hard cock. 

And you found they were both right in their own ways. At his side, surrounded by him, the stain of your grief dissipated little by little every day. And as time after Connie’s death passed, the clinic became your priority. The perfect distraction. The patient’s and the people of Jackson were tended to by you and Nancy, who’d become indispensable, with a dedication and hyperfocus, Tommy said, rivaled that of any soldier he had ever served with before. That thought made you quite pleased to think about. For others to recognize the strength in you was cathartic in a way you’d not known you needed.

-

“There’s been word of a group of travelers – about ten of them.” Maria tells you and Joel. You’re at your office desk, a strew of case notes and charts before you. Joel’s already scowling, shaking his head, arms crossed against his chest. His hair is getting too long again, dark curls streaked with gray, messy and sticking up in all the places where you’d tugged your fingers through earlier when he was kissing you. “A teenage girl found her way to the gates – patrol’s bringing her in now. She’s barely speaking, but we managed to get a bit out of her. Says there’s kids with them, a baby. Says they’re sick, hurt – been traveling a long time.”

Joel looks at you, a forbidding look already building in his eyes, “Absolutely not.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you.” You turn your nose up at him and look back at Maria, he feels his blood boil at your bratiness. “What else did she say, Maria? Is she hurt?”

“I said no, Birdie.”

“Not from what we could tell. Wouldn’t let us get too close– Joel, if they’ve got kids with them–” Maria tries.

“I don’t give a damn. And since when’ve you gotten so fucking lax with the safety of this place? What happened to floatin’ anyone who got too close down the river?”

“Joel–” you admonish sharply. But he isn’t listening to this shit. There’s no way in hell he’s letting you go along with this nonsense. “She ain’t going out there. Absolutely not… With just some unconfirmed story to go on? You think I’d let her–”

“Let me?” Your voice is incredulous.

“It isn’t safe. There are too many people here who need you–” I need you, he thinks, I need you so much, I’ll die without you, I need you safe, “People who rely on you. You’re not gonna put all that in jeopardy for a group of strangers.”

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.” You stand now, crossing your arms beneath your breasts, and fucking hell, now is not the time for him to be ogling your tits. You prop your hip out, the sassiest look he’s ever seen, set on your delicate features. “If I’m out there, if it’s necessary, I can take care of myself.”

“Birdie, you’re not hearing me. The answer is no.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, and he sees your temper flare in your eyes, bright hot and seething at him. 

“Joel, I’m not asking your permission. This is what all this has been for – what everything I’ve learned and practiced for was always meant for.” You splay your palms wide, your voice cracking a little in your fervor, and he feels a terrible sense of premonition begin to creep up the back of his neck. His hair standing on end. “There may be only one of me, but that makes my skill all the more necessary to share. There’s only one of me and lots of people who need help – and I’m gonna do everything I can to help everyone I can. Strangers or not. You cannot stop me.” 

He turns away, his heavy boot accidentally colliding with the chair beside him and jostling it violently. “Fuck–” he spits, “Fuck,” runs a hand through his hair, grips hard and tugs. The thought of you out there, in danger, vulnerable, sets his teeth on edge. Goes against everything howling inside him to keep you safe, protected. To hunch his body over yours and bear his teeth like an animal at anyone who’d dare get too close, horde you only for himself. At the same time, his own sense of self preservation rears its ugly head. The thought of you hurt so abhorrent in his mind he shies away from it – wants to run far away, avoid witnessing such a thing.

He pivots sharply back in your direction, brandishing a threatening finger at your chest, “If we do this, we do it how I say. Exactly as I say. No questions asked.” He turns his glare on Maria, “And we’re taking a good group with us. None of those idiots who can barely handle themselves. I want Pablo, Kenneth and Ben.” You and Maria share a look. Jesus, fucking incompetent, the lot of them, he thinks and paces, but they’ll have to do. “And Tommy’s fucking coming. If you’re gonna risk mine, then you’ll risk yours.”

“Fair enough,” Maria says, holding up her palms at him. Her face is serious, not letting his provocation rattle her. “I agree.” 

“Fucking better,” he grumbles under his breath, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye. You sidle up to him, run a soothing palm up his belly to his chest. He has to suppress a shiver. “You’re gonna rip all the hair out of your head, baby,” you croon, soft and appeasing, small palm wrapping around his wrist to gently pull his hand away. The glare he levels at you would send a grown man running. You scrunch your nose at him, and fuck the fact that he wants to kiss you senseless right now. No one person should be this beautiful, this appealing. It surely must go against some law of nature, for one cruel little creature to be so unbearably beguiling, so hard to say no to. Unable to hold on to his annoyance at you for anything longer than a few seconds, he wraps your small hand in his and tugs you further into him. “You’ll do as I say. We’re going to be extremely careful out there. I sense anything even slightly off, and we’re coming back. Understood?” he murmurs into your hair. You look up at him, eyes wide and falsely guileless, oh he knows all your tricks, you can’t fool him with that look. You nod in confirmation, soft pink cheek smushed up against his shoulder. Jesus.

Read Chapter IV

Netherfeildren Masterlist

End Notes: I kind of want to mention some things (and don’t know really know how to put it), but I realize there are parts of Birdie’s thought process in this chapter, and really in the story going forward, that some people might not agree with all that much, or find like idk misguided, unhealthy, etc., and yes, most definitely acknowledged. But really, the whole point of this story is that she’s working through some things, they’re both working through things. So… I know her point of view is perhaps not very well adjusted, but I think she’s going to get better eventually. They’re BOTH going to get better eventually. At least, that’s where I hope I’m able to lead them both to, and I hope you all don’t judge her too harshly or think too poorly of her before this is all over. My goal when I started writing this was to examine the grace we all sometimes need others to give us when we’re our worst or weakest selves. This is a very personal chapter for me, and perhaps my favorite of the entire story. 

I’m sending lots of love to you all. Thank you for reading. xx

[seventhofcrows]

Book Recs if You Really Liked The Wild Robot

All of these are novels who either have animal characters, are about robots, or are sci-fi with similar vibes! Each has its own section!

For Fink the Fox Enjoyers (Animal Characters)

A Wolf Called Wander by Rosanne Parry

Pax by Sara Pennypacker

The entire Redwall series by Brian Jacques.

The One and Only Ivan series by Katherine Applegate and/or the Endling series by the same author.

Maxmillian Fly by Angie Sage

Watership Down by Richard Adams

Roz Lovers (Technology/Science Fiction)

The City of Ember series by Jeanne DuPrau

A Rover's Story by Jasmine Warga

The Ungifted series by Gordon Korman (Also known as the author of Restart)

The Overthrow series by Kenneth Oppel (Book #1 is titled Bloom)

People Who Really Like Brightbill (Books with Birds and/or Underdogs)

Coo by Kaela Noel

The Someday Birds by Sally J. Pla (Has an autistic character, too!)

Flora and Ulysses by Kate DiCamillo

The Tale of Despereaux also by Kate DiCamillo.

I really tried to mix and mention between some already mentioned contenders like Pax while also giving you some newer, less recommended reads that can fill the void in your Wild Robot heart. In my opinion? A Wolf Called Wander and/or Pax should be adapted into film someday, especially since The Wild Robot now has franchise potential now that it broke the box office. I feel like people who really liked Fink (Like I do!) would enjoy more films about foxes who survive through environmental and social issues like war and abandonment. But also, The City of Ember gives off huge Roz vibes and I feel like even if someone hasn't read or watched The Wild Robot, they would still enjoy how dystopian the story is. Also, Bloom should have a fandom. It's great.

Thank you for reading onto the end of this fan-made post! Have a very nice day or night. Bye!

SeventhofCrows

[mirikitakato]

[TRANSLATION] OWEN 4TH ANNIVERSARY SSR CARD STORY “TOGETHER IN A WORLD ADRIFT” AND CARD EPISODE “OWEN AND THE DOOR OF DAYS BYGONE…”

Owen, I feel like you can't stop mentioning Cain in everything you say lol I love it though

Characters: Owen, Akira (mentioning Cain)

Episode 1: A Sweet and Salty Moment.

Owen: Ha. It's been quite a while since I last had such a dull mission...

Owen: It's not merely a bit dull; it's being exaggerated to an extreme extent. You can just ignore it, you know?

The mission assigned to the Northern wizards that day was a result of the Great Calamity's influence, leading to a house cat turning aggressive.

Akira: It was utter chaos.

Owen helped a bunch by talking to the cat and calming it down.

Owen: Those guys are useless, I have no choice but to talk to it.

Owen: Well...the twins tried their best to act like super cute kids, but they were thoroughly disliked, Mithra and Bradley even got threatened by the cat. That was genuinely amusing and fun to watch.

Akira: Ahaha...Once the mission was over, everyone immediately disbanded.

Akira: I wished we could have gone to the shop together. You all came all the way here, but I couldn't offer anything as an apology. I'm truly sorry.

Owen: Doesn't matter. Besides, you don't get rewarded for being the first to run away.

Owen: Instead of that, don't you think you owe me for this mission? Take me to that store quickly.

Akira: Of course! Let me treat you as a token of appreciation.

Akira: That café is recommended by Cain. The decor is very stylish, and the atmosphere is great.

Owen: Heh...Is there a sweet treat that looks like someone's brain has melted and blended into a gooey, sugary snack?

Akira: Pr-probably...? The menu of that shop is very rich, and their most famous item is the baked sea salt cake.

Owen: Salt…? Cake with salt?

Akira: Yes! The salty-sweet combination is addictive.

Akira: You should give it a try...It should be nearby, I'll lead the way.

Owen: Hey... we've been walking for quite a while. Are we there yet?

Akira: Huh? That's odd...

Ten more minutes passed as we continued our search, but the desired café with its blue roof and round sign remained elusive.

Akira: With its blue roof and round sign, it should be easily recognizable...

Owen: ....

Episode 2: A Sweet and Salty Moment.

Akira: Owen, sorry for making you wander around like this. Are you tired...?

Owen: ...Not really.

I thought he'd be in a bad mood since I got him lost, but surprisingly, he wasn't unhappy, which confused me.

Owen: But, I'm thirsty. So, just continue looking for that store alone. Call me if you find it.

Akira: Eh? Ah, Owen!

Owen: Blue roof and round sign…

Owen: (I guess it's this one…)

Owen: ....

Owen: (I can see them clearly from the window seat. That person is still searching for this store in a daze.)

Owen: Amusing. Sir Sage doesn't have a clue that a camouflage spell has been cast on them, and they're still wandering around the same place over and over...

Owen: Haha... Let's just sit back and enjoy the spectacle for a bit.

Owen: (Although they occasionally gets angry, that person is surprisingly tough and won’t break easily. A very good toy indeed.)

Owen: ...Now you mention it, they said the sea salt cake in this store was delicious.

Owen: (Salty cake, but I doubt it's yummy...)

Owen:....

Owen: Oh well, just one bite.

Akira: This path isn't right either...ugh, so confusing.

I tilted my head in confusion and looked at the map in my hand. Still couldn't find the destination, I sighed countless times.

Akira: (It feels like I have been wandering in the same place since the beginning. I don’t even know where Owen went...)

While thinking this, I looked around again and turned the corner of a certain building, then...

Akira: Ah.........I found it!

A store with a blue roof and a round sign. The exquisite and lovely decoration is exactly the same as when I visited before.

Akira: Owen, Owen. I found the shop!

Akira: (He said to call him if I find it. Guess he didn’t go far...)

Akira: Ah...

Seated by the window in the café, Owen rested his chin on his hands, casting a look as if he was watching a show.

A sense of déjà vu washed over me; it felt like I had witnessed this scene before.

Episode 3: A Sweet and Salty Moment.

Akira: Owen!

Except for Owen, who was sitting alone by the window, there were no other customers in the shop. He slowly blinked his different-colored pupils, before casually directing his gaze toward me.

Akira: Great, you got here first. I have no idea why I've been lost for so long...

Owen: I know. I have been watching.

Akira: Eh? Have you been watching me? Since when…?

Owen: Right from the beginning, I used a camouflage spell on you to prevent you from seeing the shop and made you roam in circles, all while observing your bewildered expression.

Akira: So that's why!? When did you cast that kind of magic...?

Owen: Who knows. Thanks to this, I can see your embarrassed and stupid look.

I sighed, wiped sweat off my forehead, and saw Owen happily lift the corners of his mouth. His eyes, concealing their true meaning, formed a curve. It brought back the familiar sensation from when our eyes met outside the store.

Akira: (Speaking of which, when I first met Owen, I was searching for him too... I glanced up, and there he was, staring at me in the same way.)

Akira: (Gazing into those different-colored eyes that seemingly smiling, left a profound impression...)

Remembering the purple sunset on the castle balcony and the enchantingly eerie purple clouds from our initial conversation, I suddenly felt nostalgic.

Akira: (Reminiscing about our first encounter and now sharing afternoon tea like this...it makes me so happy...)

Owen: What's wrong with you? Why are you still laughing when I've obviously made you walk around in vain?

Akira: Ah, no! It's nothing...Oh, Owen. Is this the salty cake?

There sat a small round cake in front of Owen, with some of its white cream already devoured.

Akira: You ordered it! How do you like it? In my world, this kind of dessert is quite popular.

Owen: Yeah. A salty cake, I don't know how to describe it...

Lifting up his chin, Owen thrust the fork into the cake in one swift motion. He then slowly brought the forked piece to his mouth.

Owen: ...But it's not bad.

Licking the cream from the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, Owen tilted his head slightly and shook his fork.

Akira: (Although there are times he is inconsistent and difficult to get along with, but I can feel that we are getting closer little by little.)

Akira: (It would be great if I could share more and more things with Owen like this.)

Owen: Huh?

Owen slowly raised his eyelids. Then, with a somewhat mocking look, he gently pointed the tip of the fork at me.

Owen: You can try it. But if it doesn't suit your taste, don't blame me.

This movement, along with the slightly narrowed eyes behind the brim of the hat, seemed a bit different from when we first met.

Card Episode: Owen And The Door Of Days Bygone...

Akira: I heard that on the shores of Borda Isle, there is a door that allows you to see the past.

Akira: Speaking of the past, when I first came to this world, I still had a lot of uneasiness in my heart. Once I recall a certain memory, I feel at ease.

Owen: A certain memory?

Akira: Yes. The memory of a trusted adult reading a book to me as a child.

Owen: Hmm, sounds dreadfully boring.

Akira: B-boring...

Owen: It suits you, though.

Akira: How do you usually comfort yourself when feeling lonely?

Owen: Think of you.

Akira: Eh...

Owen: I think of...

Owen: Your scream as a gigantic dog almost gnawed you to bits and your teary face when abandoned all alone...

Akira: Ple-please stop talking.

Owen: Don't like it?

Akira: I don't. If you suddenly decide to act on those thoughts, I'd be in deep trouble.

Owen: Exactly the kind of thing I'd do.

Akira: Is there nothing else? Ways to comfort loneliness…

Owen: Who knows. I've never known loneliness or anything of the sort.

Owen: If you don't want to feel lonely, why not just be with others?

Akira: Do you mean making friends?

Owen: Of course not. I mean toying with people for my amusement.

Owen: Because there are plenty of humans and weak wizards that can be treated like playthings.

Owen: Threaten them, watch them squirm in terror, and you won't be bored anymore.

Akira: That's too extreme...Have you really done that to someone?

Owen: Of course I have.

Akira: Who...

Owen: The owner of this eyeball.

Akira: Ah...

Akira: …But, you two are friends now, right?

Owen: As if!

Akira: But if you can begrudgingly become friends despite all this...

Owen: I said no. We won't be friends. Are you stupid?

Owen: I've always done things that Sir Knight hates. Same goes for you.

Akira: Eh...?

Owen: I only do nasty things to you. I won't do anything good in the future either.

Owen: Whether I'm alone or you're alone, what you said just now was incredibly stupid.

Owen: Can't believe you said that having someone read a book to you can alleviate your loneliness.

Akira: Ah…No. I mean it's a memory that can comfort…

Owen: Same difference.

Owen: Even without an adult reading to you, you'd still find comfort in an imaginary character within a book, right?

Akira: Eh?

Owen: ...Incredibly boring.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

Elder Whisper Cradlepost

I want to talk about Elder Whisper, because out of almost anything in Cradle I feel like Whisper had the most potential that wasn't met.

Will has talked a bit about his writing process, how he'll leave himself threads that he might not know exactly what he's going to do with, but gives himself the option to pick up later.

(Which, as an aside is a pretty great piece of writing advice. Not all foreshadowing has to be planned out like a massive scheme. Calling back to something you prepared earlier without knowing where it was going to go will read like well thought out foreshadowing all the same)

Now, we know that sometimes this doesn't pan out at all. Like Lindon grabbing those scripted stones from the Transcendent Ruins that Will had a rough idea for but later scrapped because the story went a different direction on. I really feel like Elder Whisper falls into this category, because pretty much everything about Whisper prior to Reaper hints at him being so much more than he ends up being.

In Unsouled he is getting glimpses of fate that reflect the actions of literal Judges of the Abidan. Like, Whisper can see that the Wandering Titan will destroy Sacred Valley, and he can tell that it might happen in a few years or it might happen in 30. The accelerated timeline was a direct result of the interference in fate of both Suriel and Ozriel, and the resulting machinations of Makiel to try to restore fate.

And Whisper could see it.

Now. The Doylist explanation is that Will hadn't nailed down Fate Reading and it's implications yet. But that opens things up to so much more when it comes to the Watsonian explanation. Why was Whisper able to see so much? When we get to the end of Bloodline, Why does Whisper know so much about the Dreadgods? At the beginning of Unsouled Markuth talks about the sins of the founder of the Wei, is he referring to the human's that Whisper taught? Or Whisper himself? How did Whisper keep open the soul space of a Sage for years after his death?

It gets me fired up. One of the popular theories is that Whisper is actually a retired Judge living under a powerful veil, potentially even The Fox. Which is a great theory and explains a lot of his abilities.

My other favorite is drawn from DaoistMystery's Wei Shi Lindon Arelius Sue on ao3, which is fantastic fic and worth reading even though it's unfinished. I've reread it many times and you should too

But DaoistMystery's Whisper is amazing. So much is hinted at and partially revealed. The idea of some consequence of the fight with Li Markuth that resulted in his ascendance. The idea of a soul oath that limited and bound him. Whisper as this former Sage or even Monarch bound down in his power to that of a Gold and then limited further by the suppression field down to Jade.

And then the idea of White Fox Madra having qualities similar to that of Blackflame, in that it has consequences on the mind. Whisper, who had achieved such heights in the Sacred Arts that his illusions could trick reality itself. To the point where even he can't tell the difference between his illusions and himself.

I love it, and I headcanon it hardcore, and I think that canon justifies it more than what canon actually states. Like, Whisper is fully aware of just how far the Sacred Arts go, he's even aware of ascension and some of what goes on in the Heavens, and you mean to tell me that he's just a Gold? No. He's a liar and Will just didn't have time and space to dedicate to the truth about Whisper, as the main plot moved away from him.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Oooooh I’m so pumped about these new fics you’ve added! I’m officially intrigued and excited to read!

Also I should probably apologize for the amount of emojis here but I keep sending long requests and you keep fulfilling them fabulously sooooo I guess what I’m saying is that this is on you for enabling me :p

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️(PROPOSALLLLLL - also my dear poor bobby trying to both encourage eddie to marry buck while also trying to prevent him from proposing poor guy)

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨(loving the established buckley-diaz family!)

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸(EEEEEEEEEEE!!!! - the sound my heart makes when i think about this fic)

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮(explore them childhoods buck and bobby!)

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮(a lovely dog and a tsunami avoided i do think things are looking up for buck!)

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠(NICO MY BELOVED IVE MISSED YOU SO!!!) (and while i support your declaration that this is the last one if you ever change your mind please know I’ll be thrilled to see any other stories you dream up)

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟(after what you’ve done with your vampire premise im slightly scared and entirely excited to see what you do with zombies!)

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑(MADNEY CINDERELLA?!?!??! WOW YOURE TOO GOOD TO US CAL I CANT WAIT)

…yeah I definitely went crazy feel free to cut this down as much as you need. Thank youuuuuuu you’re amazing!!

HEY!!!!! YES I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS.

Do not apologize for the length. I saved it for last (unless someone submits something else) so that I could dedicate the right time to it. I am pumped.

---

Starting with 48 for ⚡️ (Proposal chapter posted! So this will be post-proposal!)

---

Eddie laughs. “You sure did.”

“It looks great,”  Maddie agrees. She walks around Eddie and Chris to give Buck a big hug.

“Congrats, guys,” Chim adds. “This is awesome. I knew it would happen from the moment you had that dumb, peacocking argument in the fire station gym.”

“What?” Chris asks. 

“Nothing,” Eddie says quickly. “Chim’s just being funny.”

“Thanks, man,” Buck laughs. “I appreciate all your help.”

Jee wanders over to Eddie and Chris and stands on tip toes to look at Eddie’s ring. Eddie lowers his hand to give her an easier view. 

“Wow,” she says, looking at the ring. “Green!”

“He wears a lot of green,” Chris tells her. “It made sense.”

“I do,” Eddie admits. 

“I like green,” Jee nods sagely. 

Maddie, Chim, and Jee leave after a few minutes. Eddie, Buck, and Chris make smoothies and sit in the kitchen, where Chris batters them with a million questions about the proposal. Buck does not forget to mention how Eddie derailed things. Kind of him, really. 

“So when is the wedding going to be?” Chris asks once everything is blended and they’re all sitting down. “This year? Next year?”

“We don’t know yet, bud,” Eddie answers. “These things take some time to plan.”

Especially when you don’t have basic training and childbirth as a time constraint.

“Probably not this calendar year, though,” Buck adds. “We can take our time planning it, I think.”

Eddie nods. “For sure.”

“Well, where are you going to get married? Is it going to be big? Like a huge party?”

“Chris, Buck and I haven’t even started talking about that yet,” Eddie tells him. “Give us some time.”  

“Well, you had all of last night!” Chris protests. “What else were you doing?”

Buck and Eddie stare at each other, nervously, for a moment. 

Sometimes it feels like Chris is growing up way too quickly. Then a nice little moment like this comes along to ease his anxiety. 

“I guess we talked about other stuff, kiddo,” Buck says, trying not to smirk.

---

27 for 🚨 (THANKS!)

---

“Wait, you know Alan?” One of the hungover, frantic-looking partygoers asks. Probably the one who called 9-1-1. He’s wearing a speedo and a blue terry cloth robe. 

Eddie frowns. “Wait, you know Alan? Prescott?”

“Who do you think fell out of the pool?” The young man exclaims. 

“What?” Eddie asks, expression dropping. His face goes a little pale. 

“It’s Alan! Alan is the one who needs your help!”

That, Buck realizes, is not good. Very, very not good. 

Someone Eddie used to love might be dying. Again. 

🔹🔹🔹

There’s no way around the fact that it’s a rescue with a high chance of failure. Alan is in a bad position. There’s no way to get the truck underneath him to lift a ladder up. He’s off the side of a cliff. A cliff covered in thick foliage. And there’s not a lot to hook a winch up to to send someone down after him. Nothing super secure, anyway. The pool is huge and spans the majority of the back line of the yard. They can’t just rappel over.

---

69 for 🩸 (THANK YOU SO MUCH THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!)

---

Buck can’t stop chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s becoming a problem. He is beginning to taste the coppery tang of blood in his saliva. All these months of waiting, and it’s moments away from being finished. Buck is practically vibrating out of his skin. 

They’ve arrived. Buck knows they’ve arrived, because Chris texted him the moment the plane was taxiing. Probably before he was even allowed to take his phone off airplane mode. He’s been keeping Buck diligently updated in the half an hour or so since. Which is how Buck knows they’ve collected Christopher’s checked bags. They’re on their way out of the baggage claim area now. They’re a breath away. 

Buck fires off a quick text to Eddie and Sophia on WhatsApp, notifying them. They were able to get Eddie’s old phone charged and working, but unfortunately the line has been canceled for months on account of his supposed death. And he can’t exactly call the company to reinstate it. So Wi-Fi based communications it is, for now. Buck will get on adding a second line to his account, soon. They just need another SIM.

Eddie gives the message a thumbs up. It seems like a muted response, but Buck knows the truth is just that he’s probably sitting there shaking. There’s nothing to say, anyway. 

It’s in that spot, standing in the arrivals terminal, checking his phone, chewing on his cheek, that he hears Christopher call out to him. 

“BUCK!”

Buck lifts his head to see him. He’s making a good pace, trying to navigate the LAX crowd with his crutches, in a beeline towards Buck. He’s taller. A decent amount taller. Buck could weep.

He takes off in long strides towards Christopher, pushing past people who he might on any other day be apologetic to. Today they don’t matter. Today Chris is home. He’s here, in front of him. He hardly even looks at the veritable clone of Sophia walking, tight-faced, behind Chris as he reaches them. He and Chris more or less collide together. Buck pulls him into a tight, crushing hug, ignoring the way one his crutches dig into his thigh. 

“I missed you so much,” Christopher says, eyes watering.

“I missed you, too,” Buck tells him. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Me too,” Chris mumbles. 

Buck pulls away from him, leaving his hands on his shoulders. He scans Christopher head to toe. 

“You’re so tall,” Buck laughs, eyes stinging. “What were you eating out there, huh?” 

“You can’t talk!” Chris protests. 

“I guess that’s true,” Buck smiles. 

Buck takes a quick moment to look at Adriana. He can’t help but feel a cold coil of anger towards her, for how upset her sister was last night. He tries to remind himself she is missing critical information. 

“Thank you for bringing him,” he says to her. 

Normally he would probably offer to buy her lunch for her trouble and the long day, regardless of the discomfort between them. But he needs to get Chris home to Eddie. 

Adriana purses her lips for a second before replying. “Sure. Chris, you’ll remember to call, right?”

“Right,” Chris agrees, though Buck can tell he’s annoyed. Probably not the first time he’s heard this. 

Buck steps forward to take Christopher’s bags from Adriana. She slides them over without complaint.

“Is there anything you need before you catch your flight back?” He asks her. 

She scoffs a little. Buck, again, is prepared to be mad. But then he sees such a sincerely hurt, heartbroken expression across her face. Her eyes, so much like Eddie’s, are big and wounded. 

“There’s nothing you could do for me.” 

“Tia…” Chris protests weakly. 

Adriana hardly seems to hear him.

---

27 for 🔮:

---

It’s different, because Buck has so many other people in his life now. He’s not alone. But… But Bobby still didn’t go after him. 

He should have gone after him.

But what would he have said? He still can’t explain himself.

Bobby looks around Buck’s room, hoping to distract himself from this feeling of uselessness. To take in more small, previously unknown-to-him details about Buck. This solitary, sad Buck. There is a stack of CDs on a desk. An iPod classic with a sort of girly sticker on the back. Bobby wonders if that came from Maddie. There’s a school library copy of To Kill a Mockingbird open and facedown, and a spiral bound notebook where the scattered beginnings of an essay are written in messy graphite. A gaudy school jersey is on the ground, next to cleats. He forgot Buck played football. He wonders if the sport was ever the draw, or if it was always the team.

All of a sudden, Buck flips over and sits up. He sniffs, rubs his red eyes, and pulls himself up off the bed.

“Fuck this stupid family,” he mutters. 

Ouch. 

Buck rounds his bed, picks up the cleats off the floor, and puts them on. He takes off his sweater, so he’s just wearing a tee shirt, and tosses it on the frame on his bed. He grabs a football out of his closet and tucks it under his arm. 

Bobby watches, unsure of what he’s about to do, as he walks over to his bedroom window, wrenches it open, ducks his head low, and swings a leg over the side. Bobby’s eyes widen nervously. What the hell is he going to do? Well, Bobby knows what he’s going to do. He just doesn’t know if this is one of those stories that ends with Buck breaking a bone.

---

Well 🦮 has been posted! And I hope you enjoy/ed it!

In exchange, what I can give you is 24 sentences of the fic I started to replace it, another Gotcha for Gaza prompt. I will give it no context, but here it is and here's it's emoji 🛞

---

“Well, you weren’t the last person to sit in this seat,” Buck explains.

Eddie frowns. “I wasn’t? Someone else changed my settings?”

Chim holds back a sigh. If they could turn on the Jeep and get going, that would be great. He has a former foster child being adopted by his best friend to see. 

“Eddie, Chris was the last person to sit in the seat. He changed the settings.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Well, I’ll have words with him later.”

Wow. 

“He resets my settings in your truck, too.” Buck argues.

“No, you reset his settings in the truck, because you have giraffe legs.” Eddie rebuts. 

Chim is going to scream. 

“Eddie, you’ll survive,”  he says. “Buck, let’s beat traffic.”

“Right, right,” Buck says, starting the ignition. “Can you put in the address for me, Eddie?”

“Yep,” Eddie replies, taking Buck’s phone right off his thigh, and plugging it in. The Apple CarPlay display flickers to life. 

Eddie holds Buck’s phone to his face and it unlocks. 

---

45 for 🌠 (haha thank you! I am open to more but feel like I've explored what I wanted to?):

---

“You ran off, right?” 

“No!” Nico shouts. “I didn’t want to be alone! I don’t want to be alone! I want Dad!”

He sounds like a little kid. Half of Christopher’s heart aches for him. Half of it resents him. And that latter half is cruel and unfair and Chris knows that. He knows it’s good that Nico is terrified and unsure how to act. He knows it’s good Nico isn’t used to this. It’s fucking great for Nico, that, by this age, he hasn’t dealt with a parent killed by a distracted driver, a parent shot overseas and at home, and a parent struck by fucking lightning. He is healthy and adjusted and things have always, always been easier for him. 

And Christopher feels like a total asshole. Here he is, not far off thirty years-old, just realizing how much resentment he holds for a child. His little brother. Who he does love. Really, he loves him dearly. They’ve just lived apart more than they ever lived together, and it feels like they don’t know each other as well as they should. 

When you find something to work on, you forget about everyone else.

Fuck. 

“Nico, okay, I won’t-”

“Dad could be dying and you don’t even care!” 

Tears are streaming down his brother’s face now. Christopher wants to scream. He feels frozen. This feels impossible. Sometimes he thinks about the fact that his dad and Buck weren’t that much older than he is now, dealing with him at this age. How his dad was younger than him when his mom died and he was alone with a little kid. And Christopher wasn’t the world’s easiest kid. He knows that. Even if Dad would never, ever say it. 

“That’s not exactly what’s… Of course I care,” Christopher tries to reason. “God, of course I care.”

“Then why are you just working and acting like nothing is happening?”

Christopher takes a deep breath. 

“Nico, it helps me to keep my mind off of it,” he explains. “If I don’t, I get anxious. Because I care a lot, okay? You think I don’t? Between us, I’m the one who knows how shitty it feels to lose a parent.”

Nico’s expression drops. Anger and hurt turned to immediate regret. 

---

24 for 🧟 (Thank you! A bit more traditional zombies. Mostly bc none of our characters is one haha)

---

Hell, they could be so fucked up from everything that has happened nine months, that they’ve just snapped and want to cause pain. Buck isn’t risking the only family he has left. 

The cop car stops right in front of the turn to drive into the library parking lot. Like it, too, doesn’t want to cross the red line. The driver’s side door opens with urgency and a woman steps out. The windows are all tinted, and Buck can’t see if there’s anyone else in the car.

The woman’s back is to Buck, her arms in front of her, holding something. A gun perhaps. She’s dressed in what looks like the pants part of a cop uniform, but a bright, souvenir-style tee shirt. She’s shorter than Buck, but carries herself with a presence. An authority that, under other circumstances, Buck would either butt heads against or easily follow. 

The woman takes a step towards the library. 

Buck stands up and aims. 

“I wouldn’t do that.” He calls. 

The woman whirls on him, handgun pointed right at his forehead with what he can just tell is precision. If this goes badly, no chance she misses. He can see that. 

“Nice to meet you,” the woman quips. Buck would put her in her fifties. She has the trace of a southern accent. The tee shirt she’s wearing has a big, illustrated orange on it and the word Florida. Which explains the accent. 

---

36 for 👑 (THANKS! All credit to the prompter though):

---

“While Santa Claus was dying and she was covered in his blood?”

“Oh, please. Santa will be fine.” Hen waves a dismissive hand. “But who knows? Maybe fate will intervene and you’ll bump into her again.”

ii.

Fate does intervene. Just not in the ways Chim might expect. 

It’s a two-pronged day of surprises. 

They have a shift the day after Christmas. Christmas which Chim did end up spending alone. He didn’t feel right about going to Hen’s, and he didn’t feel right intruding on the Lees, so he just told each party he was going to the other’s. It was kind of shit. Not that he’ll say that to anyone. 

The point is, they’re on shift. It’s the 26th of December. They get called a kitchen fire in Beverly Hills. Nothing serious; a kid trying to make fancy vegan, gluten free cookies while her parents obviously were not supervising. No one is hurt. But that’s where Chimney sees her again. On a Christmas card of all things! 

He physically has to stop in front of the mantleplace where it’s displayed. A glossy, photocard type thing of two older white people with their two adult children. 

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays from the Buckleys, it reads. Wishing you all the best in 2018. From Phillip, Margaret, Maddie, and Evan. 

Whoa. Whoa. 

She has a name. Maddie Buckley. And from the distant way they’re all sitting in the portrait, not touching, that is certainly her younger brother, not her younger husband. Yikes. Now that he looks closer at them, neither Maddie nor Evan looks especially happy to be there. They’re all dressed in expensive clothing. Hair styled. This is a very, uh, special Christmas card. They look rich. Beverly Hills rich.

[googleitlol]

Wanna add some pre-journey stuff, so here’s a piece from Dove and Wukong’s first encounter! And… some sad stuff too.

Dove Masterlist:

After nearly two months, the wonders of the Jade Palace finally begin to feel normal. No other building you've seen could hold a candle to the magnificence of the Heaven's themselves. Yet, you found yourself becoming bored over the past weeks. As perfect as it all is, that was it.

Nothing of significance ever happens. No demons to stir troubles, no bickering that could evolve into full-on battles. Even the soldiers work long uneventful patrols, which did have the upside of letting you share their company and stories of battles. They wouldn't oppose to sparring either, which kept you entertained.

If they were busy, you found yourself doing odd jobs to keep yourself occupied any way you could. Whether that was running tedious errands for Laozi, cleaning and polishing the weapons in the royal armoury, anything you could find that needed to be done, you'd do. Of course, there isn’t always extra work to be done.

It's fine, though. If Guan Yin says this is the best option for you, then so be it. Besides, the gardens are beautiful here, even if they didn't compare to the bamboo grove you became accustomed to in your home. Your mind wanders to thoughts of your old home and the nearby village.

How was everyone? You could only hope Moksa explained on your behalf why you had not returned. Mei must have married that young man by now, and Guiying had only just started her practice in medicine when she left, how was she faring? There was also Lin, he was always so studious, how much has he learned now? Or better yet, has he finally noticed the fleeting glances of that sweet—

A violent rumble ripples through the halls of the palace, harshly dragging you from your thoughts. The ground shakes, making you stumble to find your balance against the wall. Before you can even begin to ponder what is going on, panicked shouts and screams echo through the halls and realization dawns on you.

Is this an attack? Finally! Something to do!

As swift as your legs can be, you rush to your room to grab your bow and quiver. Whoever this is who had decided to attack the heavenly palace, the panic they caused quickly spread through the grounds. You have to push against a crowd of officials, several residents of the palace fighting to get as far from the sounds of chaos as they can.

It takes time, but once you get through a decent amount of the crowd, it begins to thin out, a few stragglers following behind. Metal clashing against a wall makes the halls quake, quivering in fear of the carnage that took hold of the palace. The closer you get, the easier it is to make our voices through the static of destruction. It isn't until you reach the site of battle that you understand what the others ran for.

There is no army, no group responsible for the disruption. No, instead your gaze lays on a heavenly official, golden whip in hand and striking at a demon. Smoke billows off the monster, who doesn't bother to block the attacks. He charges his opponent, an iron rod held tightly in his grip. You have never laid eyes on the demon before, but can instantly recognize the features of the stone monkey.

Sun Wukong has been released from the Trigram Furnace? But how? The self-proclaimed Great Sage holds a crazed— no— feral look in his blood red eyes. His expression twists and screams in outrage, his attacks like those of a wild animal. The red and golden robes on his person are singed and burnt, the stench of burnt hair slowly filters through the air and reaches you, making you scrunch your face in disgust.

His wild attacks are forcing the celestial to take the defence, the man just barely dodging each swing Sun Wukong makes with his staff. To keep this up will be near-impossible, the monkey is relentless with each attack. With such blind anger, he could kill someone.

Your brows furrow as you think of what to do. Running was out of the question, but you stand no chance against that demon. You remember the force it took to capture him before, there was no way to match that on your own. But you can't just leave the poor official on his own. Is he an immortal that can’t die, or is he only ageless? Could he survive much longer?

As the questions swarm your mind, an idea strikes, your eyes narrowing as a plan begins to materialize. Defeating this monster on your own is out of the question, not while he's in such a crazed state of mind. You just had to take him out of that state.

Nocking an arrow, you draw back the string. You steady your breath, refusing to allow your fear to let you shake. This will have to be quick. One wrong move and you might just die. Guan Yin will not approve of that.

You slow your breath as the man locked in combat falls to the ground. Just as the demon pounces, you release the arrow, letting it strike Sun Wukong. It plunges into his side, and though his reaction is minor, the quick swivel of his head in your directions shows that you now have what you wanted. The stone monkey's attention.

In the flash of a moment, your head collides with the ground as the monster tackles you to the floor. A strangle of a gasp manages to escape your lungs, your breath leaving the moment your back hit the floor. Your grip on the bow is immediately lost as it clatters to the ground, your head pounding as it fights to make sense of its abrupt shift in orientation.

The demon glares down with a murderous look. His breathing is ragged, canines on full display in a snarl. While his eyes from a distance were a fiery red, you only realize now that the colour did not come from his pupils. Those are much too small to discern any colour from, and the slight trail of smoke that escaped the corners of his eyes took most of the attention away from them anyway.

He holds you down with a hand that grips your collarbone in a iron-tight hold, any harder and it might just snap in two. You already know of his strength, having heard stories from the soldiers that encountered him in battle after the festival, but to experience it firsthand was beyond terrifying.

The monkey holds his staff high over his head, your eyes widening at the threat of having your skull crushed under the weapon. With your senses returning, you wrap both of your arms around his own that holds you down. Closing your eyes tight, you begin to focus on your own energy. Just like you were taught... how Guan Yin showed you to envision it.

Everyone had their own pool of energy, their own force that was tethered to themselves. All you have to do was envision that divide between every person, the earth separating each individual's pool, and move it. With a shuddering breath, careful to only share what was necessary, you begin to move the blockage.

The moment your little pool of energy trickles into his own, the demon's breathing slows. His vice-like grip on your person starts to loosen, the bones beneath your skin no longer held hostage. Opening your eyes, you can see how his own begin to dilate. Now with sense behind them, the stone monkey’s golden irises look around in a daze.

Blinking slowly, the monkey lowers his weapon while you breathe a sigh of relief. The ape is back to his right state of mind, hopefully that can even the fight. Was the distraction enough time for the official to recover?

As relieving as it is for your plan to have worked and to no longer have a magical staff looming over you with the threat of death, it doesn't stop the underlying sense of dread created by the Great Sage's open stare. While his gaze is no longer filled with a violent rage, the calculating yet curious look he now gives lent you no sense of comfort.

A few silent moments pass before you attempt to sit up, but the demon keeps his hold firm. Your struggle doesn't seem to do anything to him, the stone monkey tilting his head in a curious fashion. "What was that?" He asks as you continue on your attempt to remove his hand. The action goes ignored as he seems more concerned with his questions. "What did you do to me?"

Despite the steady growth of your underlying panic, you manage to keep your composure and face him with a wry grin. "I kept you distracted, bastard monkey."

"Oh." The response makes him smirk, finding amusement in your words, though it’s clear he's taken aback from the twitch of the corner of his mouth. "Such vulgar words, maiden?"

"Only reserved for those who deserve them." You grin as the heavenly official from before sends his whip towards the monkey, the distraction giving him the chance to recover. The golden whip lashes around the arm holding you down and pulls it away from your person.

Weight now lifted off your chest, you're finally able to scramble away from the Monkey King. "Hurry, go now!" The official calls out, pulling the Great Sage towards him while the other readies his staff. The demon smirks, but before he can make another charge, the sound of thunder crackles through the halls. Yeah, this was now a much more even fight.

With a sigh of relief, you grab your bow from where it fell previously and run back around the corner of the hall. You've done your part, and hopefully now the Monkey King will be more easily subdued. You can only pray that they lock up that demon for the rest of his immortal life.

~~~~

Several hours pass before news catches your ears of the Buddha's involvement. You must admit, the Monkey King's reign met an interesting end, not to say you aren't grateful for it. Hearing of his feats and mischief was one thing, but to see his power yourself was a truly grounding experience. Good riddance to that headache of a demon. It only took about a week or so before a banquet to be held in celebration of his defeat.

That's when the news arrived.

"Moksa!" You couldn't have known your fellow disciple and brother would visit after the celebration. It may have been a surprise, but a welcome one at that.

Not caring for anyone that may have been present, you drop all formalities as you run to encompass the man in your embrace. His laughter is comforting to hear after going so long without a familiar face. "Hello to you as well, little sister."

Your smile could bring light to the darkest of nights in that moment. "What are you doing here? Is it time already? Can I go back home for the journey?"

"No." Moksa shakes his head in amusement, though you notice his smile falter. "No, there are still many years below before that. You're still so impatient." You step back to release him from your hold as he answers, less annoyed than you usually are whenever he makes such side comments.

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head. "Does Guan Yin have a message for me? Or maybe you just miss me?" The hearty laugh that leaves your brother quickly makes you dismiss the idea.

But the laughter quickly subsides, the air suddenly becoming thick as his smile fades. All of a sudden, the situation feels much more serious than you initially expected. Moksa sighed. "Guan Yin did send for me to retrieve you, but only for a little while. She felt you would want to be back home today."

What does that mean? Of course you want to come back home, that's how you've felt since the day you were left here. But what makes today so special? As excited as you feel, you can't help but frown as Moksa leads you to the Southern Gate.

Summoning a cloud, you both descend onto the earth. Warmth fills your chest at the sight of your old home, the mountains that stretch over the horizons, the winding paths taken by travellers and merchants. It's funny, you never think about those kinds of details until you don't have them anymore.

Nonetheless, the sight of the village brings you a sense of joy you haven't felt in ages. The village was larger than you remember, they must have expanded in the time you've been gone. How much has changed since you left?

It doesn't take long for you both to land, though Moksa quickly began to rise again as you step onto the ground. "I will return to help you back to the Jade Palace once you are done." He explains, the somber look on his face grounding you once more.

"Wait, but what am I..." He's gone before you can even finish. "...doing." Huh, okay. You take a glance around the village, instantly recognizing the houses before you. Moksa had dropped you off just behind the house you busted frequently before this whole peach festival mess even happened.

Walking over to the front of the structure, you see a little kid running towards the house, maybe around ten or so. You pause the moment he locks eyes with you, the little boy frozen at the approach of a supposed stranger. He looks... he's just like...

"Shun!" A voice calls out, and the boy immediately looks past you towards the house. Your eyes widen at the sight of an older man. With hairs beginning to grey with wrinkles only just beginning to crease his forehead and the corners of his eyes, before you is the older face of a dear friend.

Without hesitation, you run to hold the man in your arms. "Lin! I can’t believe it, look at you!" The man stiffens in your hold, his eyes large as you grin widely. He really did age gracefully. "I’ve counted the days since my departure, I hope Moksa kept his word and explained why I never came back. Are the others still here? Has Guiying finally—"

"Father, who is this?" The little boy slowly approaches as you release who you expect to be his father from your embrace. He has to be Lin’s son, he looks so much like him!

As the boy— Shun was his name wasn't it? As Shun approaches, you kneel down to greet him and tell him your name. "I was good friends with your father many years ago." You explain, smiling at the boy. It would be a lie to say that this isn't all a shock for you. Of course you expected Lin to have a family by this point, though the kid is younger than you thought he'd be— unless of course Lin had another older child.

At your words, the boy gives you a look of recognition. "Like the one from grandfather's stories?" His question makes you frown as his gaze shifts to his parent. "I thought those were made up!"

It takes a moment for Shun's words to sink in, and for a moment, you're frozen where you kneel. Did he say... grandfather?

A hand rests on your shoulder, and you look up to see the boy's father a second time. Looking at him again... you begin to notice there are some features that are Lin’s, but his eyes were different. "I think there has been a misunderstanding." He begins as you rise back to your feet. "I am Ru Jiahao, and I think the person you are looking for is my father."

"Your father?" You echo his words, not entirely hearing them the first time. This man, he's Lin’s son?

The man gives an awkward sigh, nodding to the house. "Shun, go ahead and get inside. Everyone else is already in the house." The little boy nods, following his father's instructions and running into the house. With his son no longer present, Jiahao properly greets you. "It is an honour to meet you, my father always told us stories of how you kept our village from harm in the past."

His words suddenly feel surreal, the initial shock exponentially increased as he guides me into his home. Inside awaits the little boy, Shun, accompanied by two older girls and a young man, their somber faces all turning to you in confusion before understanding washes over. Are these all Lin’s grandchildren?

This is all so much, you barely even register the question asked until you feel the room's expecting gaze on you. Blinking yourself from your stupor, you look back to Jiahao. "Apologies, would you repeat that?"

The man frowns. "Ma'am," Ma'am? "you have come to visit my father, is that correct?"

You look over the expressions across the room. Their faces, all sharing the same wide-eyed look of wonder, watching your every move. It makes you shift uncomfortably, the way they look at you. "I... my fellow disciple escorted me back to the village. He said I would want to be here today."

You can't shake the way they all watch the conversation, nor their sorrowful expressions before you entered the room initially. The air feels cold, a looming cloud hanging over the family. "Tell me, where is your father?" You ask the man before two women enter from another room of the house.

One seemed about the age of Jiahao, perhaps his wife, the other much older. The elderly woman has her hair tied into a tight bun, not a single silver strand out of place. Wrinkles carved soft features over her forehead and the corners of her lips, crows feet almost meeting her temples. Holding onto a cane for support, she gasps the moment her eyes rest on you. She calls your name, and though her voice is hoarse and scratched with age, you recognize who it belongs to.

Your eyes widen, and you can feel your eyes begin to water. "Mei?" The woman smiles softly as you call her name, it takes a moment for her to hobble to you while the rest of the house watches in silence.

"My... you look the same as the day you left." Her hand slowly reaches to wrap you in a hug, her arms no longer holding the strength she had in her youth. Her youth...

She quickly turns to cast a glare over our audience. "What are you all gawking at? Jiahao, take them all to see your father and give us some privacy."

"Yes, Mother." Your eyes widen at the reply, barely able to keep your jaw from going slack as the man escorts his family into the room Mei entered from. Mother?! Did that mean Lin and Mei... but what about that man she never stopped talking about? You thought she would have married him, but Lin?! They couldn’t stand each other!

Before you can contemplate all that you must have missed, Mei takes your hands in her own. The smile she has is the same warm smile you remember all those months... years ago. "Is it time for you to go on that journey now? Prince Moksa told us what happened, I never thought we would see you again, old friend!"

Old friend? "No, there's still more time, but... what happened? You married Lin? You— you have a family!" You smile, overcome with a sense of pride and longing for your friend that overlaps with a thousand more emotions of joy and grief.

Mei’s smile falters, her eyes casting down. “Yes, well… you came to visit with a funny sense of timing.” Your brows furrow at her words, and she looks up at you with a sigh. “Here, follow me.”

Taking your hand, your friend guides you to where the others are. The room feels cramped with the number of bodies in the space. A bed lays against the far wall, an elderly man it’s only occupant. The first word that comes to mind is frail. Skin encloses bone with barely any muscle left, his movements are stiff, rigid. “Lin, look at who came to visit.” Mei announces your arrival.

It takes a moment for him to get a good look in your direction, his eyes growing larger in surprise. “Is it true?” He smiles, eyes landing on you and Mei. “My Love, are my eyes playing tricks on me again?”

Mei crosses to her husband, her smile warm as her hand finds his. “Our friend has come back to pay us a visit, Dear.” She answers, looking to you expectantly. With caution, you move to meet the two at his side.

“Lin?” Your voice is barely a whisper. This doesn’t feel real.

The old man smiles, calling your name as you take a knee at his side. “You sure took your time coming back.”

“You didn’t think you saw the last of me, did you?” You jest despite your throat feeling tight. This is all too much, seeing him like this. Of course you know that it’s been decades for him, you know your friends would age without you, the whole reason you’re living in the Heavens is because no mortal human alive now will live to the day you’ll be needed. But at the same time, actually being here, seeing the state of your friend…

You aren’t ready for this. “Lin, you—”

“I know.” His wife let’s go of his hands so he can rest one of his own on yours. “How are you? You promised to tell me what it was like up there.”

Of course, even in his old age, his curiosity is a top priority. “I’m fine, it can get boring, if I’m honest. Right up your alley.”

He laughs, but it sounds pained. Before you can blink he’s jolting upright and lets out a horrid coughing fit. Mei sits on the edge of the bed, her hand running up and down his back before guiding him back to lay down.

Jiahao steps forward, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. The pain in his expression slams into your chest with brute force, your gaze wandering to the rest of his family. The younger children stand in a huddle with their mother’s arms draping over them. The youngest one you met outside, Shun, has his face turned away into his mother’s side.

Your eyes fall back on your friend, a man you can barely recognize as realization forces it’s way through. A statement you had known but never truly accepted until now. These faces, both new and old, were the sharp edge of the blade of truth, and it cut deeper than you ever thought it could.

Your friends have lived their life, and you missed it all.

“Lin?” Your attention snaps back to Mei, her voice in clear distress. The elder’s breathing is laboured, each intake of breath a struggle. His eyes are unfocused, almost glazed. “My Love?”

His eyes wander the room, looking to each and every person. When he looks to you, he weakly smiles, calling your name that he can barely get out. You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes. “Lin, don’t. Save your breath.”

“No.” He sighs, his voice strained. “It’s been over sixty years since I’ve seen my friend… I’d like to talk with her. Is that… a problem?” Each inhale is a battle, fights that twists your stomach as you witness them.

This is it. “Not a problem at all.” You smile, ignoring the tear that runs down your cheek. “Do you want to hear about the Jade Palace?”

His content smile is enough, and you begin to share with the man everything that happened in the celestial realm. You notice some of the children listen with wide eyes, Mei asks questions in Lin’s place while you try your best to be as detailed as possible. You tell them about the beauty of the palace and the gardens, the deities and officials, and the havoc caused by the stone monkey. You tell him everything, even after the moment he is no longer there.

Several minutes pass before it's only you and Mei left in the room. You've never seen such a pained look on her face before, her hand holding onto her husband's arm. It hurts to see the woman like this.

"...Where's Guiying?" You ask, eyes never leaving your now still friend.

Mei's gaze remains downcast. "You just missed her. She left two days ago after receiving a message for help. Merchants on the road needed medical attention." So she was able to practice medicine? Good...

The air feels thick, stuffed with grief and sorrow. Lin was one of the first people you met after Guan Yin saved you. At the time he was just a kid, like you were. Timid, but able to stand up for himself when he needed it.

Your eyes shift to Mei, her own clouded over. How terrible must she feel now? Losing your friend after ten years, the pain threatens to rip at your chest and crush your heart. Your stomach is heavy, stones of regret pulling down and grounding your body like a steel weight. But Mei's lost her love, her closest companion after decades that proceed your own life more than three times over.

"Mei?" You call her name gently, hand holding her wrist with care. "Do you want me to..."

She shakes her head, eyes now closed. "No. It's alright, I don't need you to use any magic." Her gaze falls back on you, a sad smile now resting over her frail features. "Your presence is enough."

You go to speak, but your throat begins to swell and all you can do is wrap your arms around your old friend. She reciprocates the hug, and you're not sure how long you stay like that, but it's comforting.

When it's finally time for Moksa to bring you back to the celestial realm, you find yourself grieving the life of a friend as well as the life you never got to live. This wouldn't be the last visit.