#and that did not... stop me. but i also was fighting very hard against persistent infections bc of said tooth and working a hard job

[aquaticmercy]

Portals

Summary : You teach Bucky how to open portals using a sling ring. Turns out, he’s a menace with that thing.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x sorceress!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Lots of fluff. Cursing. Implied sex if you squint. Wong is your bestie. Bucky loves you so much???

Word count : 2.1k

Note : I just keep making fics with superpowered! Reader lol. Enjoy!!!

You first met Bucky a few days after the Battle against Thanos.

You were among the Kamar-Taj sorcerers who had fought against then Mad Titan’s army, and now you found yourself volunteering in the makeshift infirmary set up in upstate New York. It had been running non-stop for three exhausting days, treating the wounded heroes and civilians alike.

Your job wasn’t glamorous, but it was important— mending smaller wounds—cuts, bruises, and the occasional fractured bone—with a bit of magic, leaving the more complex cases to professionals like Christine Palmer and Stephen Strange. Magic was powerful, but it had physical limitations. 

You were wiping your hands clean after finishing a quick healing spell when you spotted him.

Bucky Barnes was standing near the edge of the tent, his long hair brushing his shoulders, looking curiously around the room. Perhaps it reminded him of the infirmaries he was used to finding himself in, back in the 1940s. He wasn’t there for himself, but to accompany Sam Wilson, who was sitting on a cot while Christine examined a nasty gash on his arm, making sure it didn't get infected.

You weren’t sure what drew your attention to him. Maybe it was the way that he stood like he was always ready for battle. Maybe he was just… your type. Either way, you knew you wanted to talk to him.

Besides, you both have been through hell. Maybe a little lighthearted flirting could improve the mood. 

You nudged Strange, who was muttering something under his breath about a ruptured spleen.

“Psst,” you whispered, glancing toward the corner of the tent.

“What?” he grumbled without looking up, clearly a bit annoyed, but also a little amused. He had learned to anticipate your little antics. He would never admit it, but you did make life a little more interesting.

“Introduce me to him.” You tilted your head toward Bucky, trying to sound nonchalant.

Strange finally glanced up, following your line of sight. “Barnes?” His eyebrows rose in surprise, then furrowed. “I barely know him.”

“Do I look like I care?” you shot back, tilting your head in a silent plea. “Please?”

Strange sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Fine,” he said, closing the chart with an exaggerated snap. “but if this distracts you from stitching people back together, I’m putting you on night guard duty for the next week.”

“Thank you,” you shot back with a grin. He waved it off as walked with you toward Bucky.

When you reached him, Strange made the introduction short and sweet. “Barnes, this is our librarian. Apparently, she thinks now’s a good time to meet new people.” He glanced at you, “And she’s very persistent, so you’re stuck now.”

Bucky blinked, clearly surprised, before turning to you with a polite smile. “Hi.”

—

Your first date was a quiet dinner in New York. Your second was a walk through the city, where Bucky told you stories about Brooklyn in the 40s, and you told him how you found yourself studying magic. By the third date, he was making you laugh so hard you spilled iced coffee all over yourself. From then on, you knew you were in too deep.

It wasn’t long until you were sneaking Bucky into Kamar-Taj during your breaks, showing him small, inconsequential tricks with magic, and stealing kisses in the hidden alcoves of the library. 

He had an almost childlike wonder for sorcery, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way his eyes lit up whenever you showed him something new.

It was romantic. It was thrilling. Until Wong caught the two of you kissing behind a row of ancient texts on chaos magic. 

“Really?” Wong said flatly, arms crossed as you and Bucky hastily pulled apart, “are you both sixteen again?”

“Please don’t tell Strange,” you blurted out, “or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Wong raised an eyebrow. “I’ll consider it,” he replied.

Later, over tea, Wong brought it up again, his tone a bit more curious. “You’re not planning on quitting your job to go be an Avenger with Barnes, are you?” he asked, sipping his chai. “Because I am not taking over as head librarian again. That was the worst three months of my life.”

You snorted into your tea. “Relax, Wong,” you assured him with a laugh. “I actually like my job. You see, unlike some people, I can actually read.”

Wong didn’t even hesitate, flicking you lightly on the forehead with a spark of magic.

—

Being the librarian of Kamar-Taj meant that your schedule was, at best, unpredictable. One moment, you were cataloging ancient tomes; the next, you were stopping a novice from accidentally summoning a fire demon. Bucky understood your responsibilities, but as more magic users went rogue, you started sneaking him in less and less.

One day, when you laid awake in your bed with him on your side, he muttered something about stupid witches and goddamn evil sorcerers, cussing them out for taking you away from him. You could see how much he hated waiting for you to have free time.

So you came up with a brilliant plan. 

“You want me to learn magic?” Bucky’s skeptical voice echoed in the library as you handed him a sling ring.

“Just this one thing,” you said, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “So you can come to me instead of waiting for me to come to you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, half-expecting some trick. “What’s the catch?” 

“The catch,” you said, “is that you actually have to practice.”

It took him a while to get started, to a point where you weren’t sure if he’d even be able to do it at all. 

Sling rings required focus, visualisation, and precision— and Bucky wasn’t exactly used to magical tools. “Maybe I’m just more of a hit-stuff kinda guy,” he grumbled after his fourth failed attempt at opening a portal.

“Focus, babe,” you teased. “Picture where you want to go. Feel it.”

To his credit, he practiced religiously during his visits, and eventually, it clicked. The first time he successfully opened a portal to your exact location, he was so pleased with himself that he barely noticed that he had scared America Chavez in the process.

“Nailed it,” he said, beaming with pride.

What you hadn’t anticipated was how much he’d use it once he got the hang of it. 

The first time he surprised you, you were in the middle of shelving some ancient leather bound books. They held an ancient power, one that could destroy the world if it got into the wrong hands. 

Suddenly, A golden portal shimmered to life in front of you. You yelped as Bucky’s head poked through.

“Hey, doll,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

“Bucky!” you hissed, clutching a fragile book to your chest. “This is a restricted section!”

“I just wanted to see where you’ve been all day,” he shrugged, stepping through the portal.

You glared at him, but the warmth in his eyes meant that you could never stay mad at him. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” you muttered.

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it.”

It turned out, teaching Bucky how to use a sling ring was both the best and worst idea you’d ever had.

One evening, as you were nestled in your quarters, peacefully centering your mind after a long day when a soft whirl manifested behind you. Before you could open your eyes, a pair of strong arms wrapped snugly around your waist.

“Miss me?” Bucky purred in your ear.

You squeaked, nearly toppling the candle flickering in front of you. “James fucking Barnes!” you gasped, twisting to glare at him. Cursing wasn’t really approved in meditation circles, so you hoped none of the pacifist elder sorcerers heard you. 

“What?” he asked, smirking sheepishly.

“You can’t just portal in while I’m meditating!”

Your cheeks flared, but the way his arms stayed wrapped around you made it awfully hard to stay annoyed at him.

Then there was the shower incident.

You were mid-rinse, the hot spray of water melting away the stressful day— Wong had insisted on combat training today, and you had managed to knot every muscle in your upper body. You were blissfully lost in your own little world until you heard the whirl of a portal opening.

“Hey, doll—”

You shrieked, instinct taking over as you manifested a shield and threw the closest thing to you—a slippery bar of soap—and flung it blindly in the intruder’s direction. It landed with a wet thud on Bucky’s chest. 

He stood there, grinning casually, steam curling around him like a halo.

“BUCKY!” you yelled, yanking the shower curtain halfway closed. “What the fuck?!”

“I missed you,” he said, smiling as if he was the poster boy for innocence.

“Close it! Now!” you growled, pointing at the still-open portal as water dripped down your arms.

“Right,” he raised his hands, the portal vanished with a soft hum. He didn’t move from his spot. Instead, he tilted his head, giving you a slow once-over that made heat creep up your neck.

“Can I join you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You sighed, caught between indignation and... oh, who were you kidding? The sight of your ridiculously gorgeous, super-soldier boyfriend standing there, all smug, was doing dangerous things to your resolve.

Might as well make the most of it, right? Who knows when he’ll get whisked off to a foreign land for a mission again? 

“…yes,” you murmured, barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat and the cascade of water.

Bucky’s grin turned wicked. Without hesitation, he peeled off his clothes. His broad shoulders came into view, glistening faintly from the steam as he stepped into the shower with a satisfied smile.

One time, he even showed up in the library while Wong was painstakingly rifling through stacks of scrolls in search of a specific one about interdimensional wards.

Bucky had gotten so stealthy with his portals that neither of you noticed him at first—not until he appeared, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby shelf, sporting his usual broody, charming smile.

Wong was startled slightly, his hands freezing mid-air as he glanced at Bucky. Then at you. Then back at Bucky.

“I see you’ve taught him the sling ring,” Wong said dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching, suppressing an amused smile.

“I regret it every single day,” you muttered, glaring playfully at your boyfriend. Bucky, of course, was unfazed. He simply crossed his arms, waiting for you to give him more attention.

“Good to see you too, Wong,” Bucky replied, clearly enjoying causing a scene.

“Barnes,” Wong said, nodding in acknowledgment but already returning to his scrolls with a heavy sigh. The current sorcerer supreme muttered under his breath, “If he knocks over one shelf, you’re fixing it.”

Bucky only shrugged. “Do I look like someone who’d knock over a shelf?”

“Yes,” you and Wong replied in unison.

Tonight, though, the stress had gotten to you more than usual. Strange had shown up with a tentacle monster and tasked you with banishing it to the dark dimension. It took you four scrolls and two hours to get the right spell. 

All you wanted was Bucky—his arms around you, his kisses peppering your face. But as the hours ticked by, your heart sank. He hadn’t shown up like he usually did, and you were beginning to think he wasn’t going to show up at all. 

When you finally pushed open the door to your quarters, you were surprised to find him already there.

An adorable smile played on his lips as he looked up from where he’d been arranging a cosy little corner, piled high with blankets and pillows. He had a bag of your favorite snacks sitting on your bedside table, his laptop was set up to play your favorite movie. 

“Wong called,” he said, “he told me you had a rough day.”

You melted instantly, letting out a tired but grateful sigh as you sank into his arms.

“You’re still a menace with that ring,” you mumbled into his chest, your words muffled by his comfy sweatshirt.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His fingers brushed your jawline, and with the gentlest touch, he guided your face toward his. The moment his lips met yours, it was as if the world melted away. His kiss was sweet— so full of love that it left you longing for more.

As you curled up together, your head resting on his shoulder, you decided you could definitely put up with a few surprises. After all, he mastered the sling ring just for you.

-end.

[starlit-mansion]

i got kind of curious about why i never really got the 'sugar is too sweet now' thing (i know like. other people aren't faking it, because that would be. unhinged. but i do think it must be easier to talk about hating overly-sweet things in fucked up diet culture world than it is to be like 'yes i'm almost 35 and i can eat a few handfuls of sour punch straws or have a cupcake with 2 inches of frosting and thoroughly enjoy the experience and feel no particular unpleasant sensations at any point from mouthfeel all through digestion' to other adults, especially when, like me, you are what's known as a fatty fatty boom boom), but i don't understand scientific papers enough to figure out out. maybe it's genetic/hormonal variance? more anecdotally, maybe it's because i don't 'reset' my tolerance by cutting out sweets as a big lifestyle change?

[brokenpieces-72]

Monster!141 x jackalope/wendigo reader

The following is based on the hybrid au of @bluegiragi and includes the reader character of @diejager

TW: Mentions of trauma, some violence and mentions of death

No Going Dark

Continuation of Sizes

It goes…slow…very slow.

The Percht is a violent creature and it’s hard for you to not get defensive when it charges as soon as he shifts. Still, you do everything to show it who’s boss, and who should be in control. This does help your strength training so it isn’t a complete waste but the beast is persistent. You try to communicate with it with screeches, roars, clicking, and even cooing, but nothing seems to work. König is frustrated and keeps saying there’s no point. Nothing stops you though, and this stubbornness and determination is something Soap passed on to you. You keep going at it, getting into a fight each time, sometimes coming back to base in rougher shape than before. Hunter doesn’t bother trying to dissuade you, simply scolds you from getting into such a dangerous fight.

One day, you get lucky and the Percht doesn’t attack you. Not the first time it’s done this, as sometimes it will put you in a false sense of safety like a stalking lion waiting for the prey to make the first move before attacking. It recognizes you properly as a threat but it knows that you are not the instigator so it simply waits for you to strike first. To anyone outside the two of you it would look like animals making noises and body language at each other. You don’t share it much with others, but sometimes the wendigo is its own entity. When you shift you’re in control but sometimes it comes out as your protector. In this case, it is speaking for you.

“You…dead… “ it wasn’t a threat.

“No. I am living. The earth gives me life.”

“Monster like…me.”

“Yes. But good monster. Protect you. Protect vessel. Protect pack.” You reply.

The Percht seems to laugh.

“Don’t need pack. Need kills. Need death.”

“No. You need pack. My pack, welcomes you. You must join. Survive.”

The Percht considers it for a moment.

“What you want?”

“You join pack.” You say. “Let vessel control. You make kills.”

The Percht stares at you and considers your proposal. The wendigo waits for its response patiently, but shifts a little. The Percht gives its answer.

“Want kills…want…control…”

“Pack is home… you join.”

The wendigo moves closer until their heads are inches from each other, before it stretches its neck to press its skull against the percht’s head. The Percht is oddly calm, and both of their bodies seem to relax for a moment. The percht’s head pushes against the wendigo but doesn’t part with it. It’s an odd moment of communalism, and one you share with König and your shared other halves.

The Percht is still known to take over, but König is able to have more control than he did previously. When Price learns about this, he is admittedly impressed, and encourages the two of you to work more. The rest of the team becomes more comfortable with König and even Rudy and Gaz give him more acknowledgement. König also becomes more comfortable with you, and you learn more about each other. Horangi’s presence is still regular, but he doesn’t feel as strong of a need to keep König in check when you and Hunter are nearby.

König returns the favour of teaching him control by teaching you how to fight bigger targets like him, in human and monster form. Soap keeps an eye on you though, still a little uneasy about König and if he has work to do, Ghost keeps watch and even offers some pointers for you.

König gets more and more comfortable with you and you with him. Seeing the pup getting closer with him makes the pack a little jealous, but less tense. On missions the two of you start to be partnered up, sometimes as clean up but usually as a destructive distraction.

When he does lose control or you’re unsure you approach and will carefully place your head against his. If he backs away it means he’s not there or someone else is nearby that’s considered a threat. If he presses back you know he’s safe.

Your relationship with König is a bit odd; you tend to him like you’re older than him. While you don’t talk down to him, and he gives the orders, when it comes to the beginning or end of missions you’re right beside him ready to help, and do check-ins during ops to see if he needs support. You’re one of the few people on base he feels comfortable around.

You encourage him to get closer with other members, specifically Rudolfo and Gaz as they tend to keep closer watch on König when they’re in the same room. Relationships go both ways though, and König’s hesitation calls for a different approach. Both men are uneasy. Yes they’re all hybrids and yes König had been showing better control, but his pleasure in his work makes them apprehensive.

“You guys came looking for me when I lost control.” You say. They look at each other.

“Yes but you weren’t mindless.” Rudolfo points out.

“He’s not either.” You argue.

“But you didn’t attack anyone. And he attacked you and could’ve killed you and us.” Gaz adds on.

“The report says he’s innocent.”

The conversation is like two older siblings trying to tell their younger sibling no over and over again. Your pleading bunny eyes is making it hard for them to stay firm. The missions and ops had been going well, and König was more cautious and careful in his rampages. They’re willing to give him some lenience, and there is some sparring between the three of them, that shows his softer side.

König learns other things about you though. He takes notice of you in the rec room, curled up on a couch napping. He gets closer and notices you squirming and moaning. Without much hesitation he wakes you. It startles you a little but you’re relieved. He doesn’t ask about it and instead asks rather bashfully if you want to rest against him. You end up laying on your side against his chest while he does some reading. You start fitting again, but it’s more violent. He holds on to you before gently shaking you. When you wake you don’t have the chance the lash out, with König using his large arms to hold you against him. You’re in tears and hyperventilating though and you make small noises that makes him concerned.

He doesn’t stop you from nestling into him, keeping a gentle hold on you. His wrap around you gets a little tighter, reminding you he’s there.

“Sorry.” You say.

“Bad Dream?” He asks, rhetorically. You don’t respond, and you don’t have to, as he put a hand on your head.

“König… don’t go into the dark alone…”

He wasn’t expecting you to say something so cryptic but he doesn’t pry at its meaning.

“I won’t… not alone.” He says. You tug at his shirt and he rubs your back and plays with your hair a bit until you’re able to fall asleep again. Soap comes in and finds you two. König’s face goes a little red while Soap just looks surprised you’re able to settle so well.

“Mind if I join ya?” He asks before sitting down on the arm rest. “She sleep the ole time?”

“N-no… she did wake up. Bad dream.” König admits.

“She ask you not to go into the dark alone?” He asks, his teasing grin turning to a serious expression. König nods.

“You know what it means?”

“I had some guesses. Kid told me her parents were off their bloody nuts, abused her and even locked er up in the basement. The only food they gave her made her a wendigo.” Soap explained. König had some guesses based on your old scars but didn’t realize it had gone so far. His hold around you gets tighter and he rests his chin on you head.

“What did you tell her…when she asked you?” Soap asks curiously.

“Told her I wouldn’t go… not alone at least.” König says quietly. He gets a pat on the shoulder from Soap.

“Want me to take her to her room?” Soap offers with his hands out. König holds you in a way that says “no mine”.

“I-I’m comfortable here. Thank you sergeant.” König mutters, starting to get sleepy himself. Soap sticks around and chats quietly with König. While Soap has left you and König together on missions before there was often a lingering bit of concern, especially after the tracking incident. You’ve only asked the two of them that question, not wanting to lose anyone else.

Your trauma is your own and you don’t share it if you don’t have to. Growing up your mother was obsessive over you, thinking you were some vessel for a creature you weren’t. You were once a jackalope through and through but now…you were a monster, after she locked you up and tossed down someone who was your friend at one point. You don’t remember their name very well, but recall them calling on you and your mother turning them away. It started your small rebellious phase, wanting to try new things and live a normal life. Only after you had to consume the food did the wendigo appear, in the horrible form you lost control over. The wendigo form you preferred manifested as a protector fighting and encouraging you to eat better. You hadn’t known much about it until recently, and assumed the one that craved human flesh was the only one there was. You don’t know how everything unfolded as everything was an on and off blur. Eventually you were taken away from your home and put into the program, and given a retainer to help you with your abnormalities.

Now you were in the custody of the 141. Soap didn’t wake you to tell you about the papers.

@yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @H0n3y_L3m0n @sans-chara

[mylo-space]

Stitched and Stone

Summary: Wukong and Macaque were never very concerned about the demons that intruded on their home. There was no fight they couldn't win, and it made Flower Fruit Mountain the safest place on Earth. But winning doesn't stop Macaque from being flesh and blood, and safe doesn't mean the fights don't leave scars. guys, i can't write summaries. it's soft past shadowpeach stuff.

Posted on Ao3: 2023-10-19 Word Count: 8,279

-

The annoying thing about being king were the demons who decided it was a good idea to challenge his rule. Wukong had long since gotten used to various demons looking to pick a fight, and it’d almost become more of a nuisance than a concern. Fortunately, as his reputation grew, fewer and fewer challengers appeared to fight him. Unfortunately, the ones that did had started bringing small armies with them.

The demons were especially difficult to deal with when it was dark. For all his many powers, he had yet to find a way to see at night. As he tore through a crowd of demons, he also lamented that he hadn’t found a way to control the weather, as a tropical storm had started showering the mountain with torrents of rain. He’d considered making a few clones to help, but they couldn’t see any better than he could, and he’d accidentally hit two of the five he made at the beginning of the fight.

“Wukong!” he heard Macaque shout from somewhere across the battlefield. “I thought it couldn’t rain on this stupid mountain!”

Wukong swung his staff at a noise to the left, the iron colliding with some blurry figure darting around the trees. “It can't!” he confirmed. “One of these guys must have struck a deal with a thunder god or something.”

“Great!” Macaque grunted, striking down a vaguely fish-shaped demon. “Someone else whose ass we gotta kick later.” Wukong felt a hand tug his arm. “Get down!”

He’d learned not to question when Macaque gave him direction, often hearing threats that Wukong couldn’t, and so he ducked, feeling Macaque’s spiked staff ruffle his hair as he swung at a demon making a jump for them. “Getting pretty tired of this,” Wukong muttered irritatedly. “Feels like there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah,” Macaque said, and his hand was back on Wukong’s arm. “Portaling, now.”

“What?” Wukong tried to protest, because they couldn’t just leave the horde of demons roaming the mountain, but Macaque was already pulling him through. “Wait, we can’t-” He closed his eyes against the shadows, falling hard on something slim and instinctively wrapping his arms around it to stay steady. “Macaque!” He yelped, claws digging into the grooves of a tree branch. “What are you-”

A hand fit itself over his mouth. “Quiet,” Macaque hissed. “I’m thinking.”

Wukong batted Macaque’s hand away and sat up on the branch, tail lashing to keep himself balanced on the rain-slicked tree. “We don’t have time for-”

“Sh.”

“There are demons swarming the mountain,” Wukong persisted. “I can still hear them from here, put me back!”

Macaque inhaled sharply. “Okay, I got it.” Wukong opened his mouth to protest again, but Macaque had a hand on his shoulder before he could manage a word, locking eyes with a determined expression that had the king’s mouth snapping shut again. “They’re overwhelming us, and you can’t see.”

“I mean, I can see a little.”

“Not good enough,” Macaque said.

“I don’t have to see them to hit them, Macaque!”

“They’re going to try and regroup,” Macaque continued, paying Wukong’s protests no mind. “I’m gonna get between them and the cave, and you need to get between them and the bottom of the mountain.” He paused for a moment, and Wukong could see a flicker of magic flash by Macaque’s ears. “I’ll hear if any demons get too close to the troupe and stop them, then I’ll work my way towards you and take out everyone I can.”

“But-”

Macaque shook his shoulder. “Listen to me,” he scolded, “we don’t have time.” Six delicate points fanned out from the sides of Macaque’s head. “It’s dark, and I have the advantage of being out of sight. Turn into something that can see at night–a wolf, a fox, I don’t care–and keep them distracted. It’ll be easier to take these guys down if they’re spread out and disoriented. With both of us thinning the horde, they’ll either all die, or they’ll start retreating.”

And there was a pretty integral part of the plan that Wukong had an issue with, the separating, not wanting Macaque to be out of sight with danger crawling up the mountain. Which made it all the more frustrating that it was actually a really good plan. “Alright,” Wukong relented, knowing that he didn’t have the time to argue, “but you come find me if the troupe is in danger.”

A chuckle echoed around the trees as Macaque opened another portal, “Don’t worry,” he said, eyes alight with a familiar purple flame, “the demons won’t even get close.”

Wukong knew better than to question the legitimacy of Macaque’s claim. As much as he was the king and ruler of Flower Fruit Mountain, Macaque was easily the better protector. Even without Wukong on the mountain with him, Macaque had managed to keep Flower Fruit Mountain safe, granting any demon that crossed his path the mercy of not living long enough to regret the decision.

Dropping from the tree, Wukong shrank his staff to hide it in his ear, overtaken by golden smoke as he took the lithe form of a wolf. His eyes pierced the dark with ease as he tore through the forests. Really, he should have thought of his transformations sooner, and he was sure he’d hear some teasing from Macaque about it once they were safe in the cave.

He slowed as he approached the sound of clanging metal and angry voices, the demons having indeed started regrouping, struggling to come up with a plan to take down Wukong and Macaque. Wukong’s new toothy maw itched to surge forward and sink into something, but Macaque had a plan, and he’d stick to it.

There was a flash of golden light as Wukong turned back into himself, startling the demons that had gathered together. “Hey!” he called. “This whole storm thing ain’t working out for you, huh?” He was met with a roar of voices that made him wonder if there was any clear leader in this little army, as they all began rushing forward at once. “Yeah, come and get me,” he muttered, turning back into a wolf and darting into the underbrush.

Wukong ran until the voices became distant, then stopped to shift his form again, hiding in the trees as the demons began running past him, slowing once they’d realized Wukong was no longer in sight. It was almost amusing, in a way, watching their faint outlines in the rain, prowling around the area where they’d last seen him, fanning out to try and find him faster.

It was only a matter of time before they were spread out enough that Wukong was certain they couldn’t overwhelm him. He pulled his staff from his ear and jumped on the demon closest to the tree he’d been using as refuge, only a startled cry escaping the creature before being silenced. There were shouts of alarm from the other demons, trying to figure out which one of them had just been struck down and where, giving Wukong enough time to bring his staff down on three more intruders before they found him.

Their efforts to track him were proven fruitless as Wukong once again assumed the form of a wolf and retreated to the trees. It became a sort of rhythm, running and stopping, preying on the demons who let their guard down, losing them in the dense forests only to reappear from the trees and from behind boulders, hiding in bushes and tall grass that whipped his face in the storm.

And he wouldn’t be the Monkey King if he didn’t do his fair share of taunting, whispering to some stray demons from above, sending clones to snap sticks and tree branches, tricking demons into attacking the copies so that Wukong could strike from behind. He became a fox and an owl and even a snake once, just to really mess with a few demons that had started straggling behind.

By the time that the demon army realized that their numbers had been absolutely devastated, Wukong had become almost bored with the runaround. If Macaque had taken out as many demons as he had, the horde would have been thinned to maybe a quarter of its original size. A few dozen demons were child’s play to the King of Flower Fruit Mountain, and the diminished horde knew it.

It wasn’t an official surrender, but it was a victory for Wukong nonetheless, seeing demons stumble over themselves to get off the mountain. He wondered for a brief moment if Macaque had done that intentionally, telling Wukong to lure them to the bottom of the mountain so that they could make a swift escape from the island.

Probably, Wukong decided, Macaque was always good about planning things like that. An efficient strategy on all fronts.

The storm began dying down, and Wukong didn’t quite care enough to figure out which god of thunder aided this demon army in trying to catch him and Macaque off guard. But he would be sending a strongly worded letter to the Celestial Realm about what weather was and wasn’t allowed on his mountain.

Regardless of who was responsible for what, the fight was won. “Yes!” Wukong cheered, pumping his fists in the air so fast that it jolted every sore muscle in his body. “Ah- woah, okay,” he winced, lowering his arms and dusting off his hanfu as best he could with his clothes soaked from the rain. “Man, I’m glad that worked.”

Suddenly remembering he hadn’t been alone in the fight, Wukong whirled around in search of Macaque. With the trail of demons he came across, it seemed as though Macaque’s plan had gone accordingly. Which didn’t really surprise Wukong as much as it did make pride swell in his chest, just further confirmation that his trust in Macaque to protect the mountain in his absence was well-deserved.

Wukong broke through a clearing, a grin splitting his face as a familiar outline came into view. “Macaque!” He called, “Dude, that was amazing!” he exclaimed. “I got ‘em to follow me, just like you said! And then- in the trees and I, you know, woosh! And they couldn’t see me, I totally wiped them out and…” his enthusiastic rant trailed off as Macaque staggered a bit. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Macaque turned, blinking and offering a smile that shook at the corners. “Yeah, I’m… pretty sure.” His eyes fluttered a bit. “I- did we get them all?”

“Yeah,” Wukong said slowly, “yeah, we got them, just-” HIs gaze caught on Macaque’s hanfu, torn nearly in half. “What happened to your shirt?”

Macaque lifted a hand to tug at the torn collar in surprise. “Huh,” he mumbled, “that’s… weird, I don’t-”

“Macaque?” Wukong took a cautious step. “Mac, what’s wrong?” There was something dark on Macaque’s hand as he drew it back, staining the tan fur on his palm and chest. A sharp, coppery smell reached Wukong as Macaque stumbled, darkness pooling the more he moved, too liquid to be his shadows. “Macaque!”

Wukong surged forward before Macaque attempted another step, and the shadow fell against him. Macaque made a sound Wukong didn’t recognize, a strained wheeze that punched out of Macaque’s chest before he tried pushing himself away. “I’m okay, I’m-”

“Stop,” Wukong demanded, clutching Macaque tighter to him. “Macaque, stop, what-” Something warm seeped into Wukong’s sleeve, realization dawning, a violent nausea churning the pit of his stomach. “No… no, no.” Macaque’s knees buckled a bit as Wukong pulled away, which made it all the easier for the king to slip an arm under his legs and lift him into the air.

Macaque drew a sharp breath as Wukong lifted him. “What’re you-”

“Shut up,” Wukong hissed, summoning a dark wisp of condensation left over from the storm. “I mean, don’t- no, don’t shut up, actually, keep talking to me.” The cloud swooped low for Wukong to step up, then whisked them both into the sky. “Tell me what hurts.”

There was a beat of silence, nothing but the wind rushing past Wukong’s ears, and then Macaque jolted in his grasp, “I-” he gasped for air, only for the oxygen to stutter and rip itself back out of Macaque’s lungs in a pained groan. “I can’t-”

Wukong cursed as the energy seeped out of Macaque, leaving a limp, trembling shadow in his arms. “Mac, talk to me.” Macaque shook his head stubbornly, shifting in Wukong’s arms in a feeble attempt at escape and prompting the sage to hold him tighter. “No, Macaque, you need to hold still.”

“Hurts,” Macaque managed, sounding both surprised and angry to be saying it out loud. Wukong had told the warrior before not to hide injuries from him, and he’d gotten very good at noticing Macaque’s subtle limps and careful, practiced movements meant to hide bandaged joints. Macaque prided himself on being able to handle pain, in his ability to keep up with the stone-skinned monkey, and Wukong wasn’t sure he wanted to know how grievous the injury was if Macaque was admitting that it hurt.

“We can fix this,” Wukong promised, though he didn’t know what it was he had to fix. He just knew there was something, there was blood and Macaque was hurt, and he was going to fix it if it was the last thing he did in the Mortal Realm. “Just hang on, okay? I’ll fix it.”

Macaque hummed, nodding against Wukong’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft, distant, “whatever you say, Wukong.”

Emotion crawled up Wukong’s throat before he could manage another word, lodging itself there as something thicker than rainwater ran over his hands. He blinked away a burning behind his eyes and urged the cloud faster, running his thumb over Macaque’s arm as comfortingly as he could manage. Never before had he wished that he could trade his cloud for a portal, preferring the wind in his hair to the cool rush of shadows, but with Macaque’s breath coming shallower with every second, Wukong couldn’t help but curse the fact that he didn’t have his own pool of darkness buried in his chest somewhere.

The flight back to Water Curtain Cave couldn’t have been longer than a half a minute, but it felt closer to an hour, Macaque curling tighter against him to shy away from the cold night air. “Home,” Wukong whispered hoarsely, the gold seal over the cave parting just enough for the cloud to zip through, lowering its passengers to the ground before dissipating. “We’re home,” he told Macaque, ignoring the way his voice wavered. “Now, we gotta- uh…” His limbs locked up with indecision for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

He was certain they had supplies to deal with almost any illness or injury, between Wukong’s cloud-jumping and Macaque's teleportation, they had the means to acquire medicines, ointments, and cures from all over the world. It was the matter of remembering where those supplies were, and what he would need to treat the stab wound. Or the gash, or the burn, or the whatever it was, and perhaps the first thing Wukong should have done was set Macaque down.

The shadow made a small noise as Wukong began walking. He tried to keep his gait steady, but the awkward weight of Macaque in his arms and the exhaustion from their fight caused a tremor in his steps. Still, he made it to one of the alcoves they used as rooms. Macaque had his own a little further back in the cave, away from the unrelenting sound of the outside world, but Wukong’s was closer, and the door easily shouldered open.

Distantly, Wukong could hear his subjects stirring, chattering to each other curiously, calling out to their king, and he ignored them. Not something he was in the habit of doing, but Wukong felt Macaque might slip away from him the second he shifted his focus, so he pressed forward.

“Here we go,” he muttered, placing Macaque on the blankets as gently as he could. “Just gotta- yep. There-” Macaque grunted as he fell back against the bed, eyes screwing shut at the impact. “Sorry!” Wukong gasped. “Sorry, I’m sorry-”

“S’okay,” Macaque grabbed Wukong’s forearm. “It’s just- I’m okay, promise. Just hurts.”

Wukong shook his head. Just hurts. He maneuvered so that he could look at Macaque’s injury without forcing the warrior to let him go. Macaque wasn’t the cuddliest monkey to ever walk the mountain, but Wukong knew he drew a certain amount of comfort from physical contact. “This is gonna suck, but I gotta get a better look at what we’re dealing with.”

Macaque’s free hand tugged weakly at his hanfu. “This,” he managed, “it’s- I can-”

“I got it,” Wukong reached to carefully peel back Macaque’s hanfu, grateful that he didn’t have to try and wrestle the fabric over Macaque’s head. “Oh,” he swallowed back something acidic as the injury was exposed to the air, two wounds that looked like the slash of a sword, crossed over Macaque’s chest in a near perfect ‘X’. His claws clutched at Macaque’s hanfu like that might somehow help hold the shadow together. “That- Macaque, I’m gonna be honest, that looks bad.”

“Feels bad,” Macaque wheezed, his hold on Wukong’s arm loosening, “looks worse than it is.” He was still talking, just as Wukong had asked, but his voice was ragged from fighting its way to open air. “Hurts, but… it can’t be- I’ve, uh,” his brow furrowed, dazed and confused, like the act of putting thoughts into words was suddenly an exhausting task and he didn’t know why, “I’ve probably had worse, I think.”

Any worse, and Macaque might have been dead before Wukong made it to the clearing, which was something the king didn’t want to consider for very long. Wukong bitterly hoped the demons responsible were grateful to Macaque for banishing them to Underworld himself, because Wukong would not have been particularly merciful if he’d gotten the honor of sending them to kneel before the Ten Kings.

“Are we-” Macaque’s gaze darted around the room, “this isn’t my room.”

“My room was closer,” Wukong explained, tucking Macaque’s hanfu back to reveal the whole of the injury. The wound spanned the entire left side of Macaque’s chest, an angry crimson blossoming through the tan fur, deep enough that Wukong could see a layer of fat under the pools of blood. “Don’t worry about it.”

Macaque’s face twisted. “But it’s gonna… I’m bleeding. On your blanket.”

“Don’t care,” Wukong said. Macaque tried to protest, but Wukong placed a gentle hand over his mouth. “Nope.” There were far more important things to worry about, and Wukong refused to let Macaque fret over the state of a bed. The blanket was replaceable, Macaque was not. “I need you to wait here for a second, okay? Need to grab some stuff to help you.”

Slowly, Macaque nodded, and Wukong let his hand fall away. Macaque swallowed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “Supplies are in the washroom,” he muttered. “Shelves.”

Wukong offered him a smile. “Thank you.” He stepped back from Macaque slowly, allowing the claws in his sleeve to detach carefully. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” The last bit might have been a wholly unnecessary addition, as Macaque was thoroughly pinned in place by his injury. Still, Wukong felt the need to remind him. Knowing Macaque, he’d probably try and patch himself through sheer willpower alone, and Wukong wouldn’t have it.

His hands still trembled as he left, the cave now filled with curious monkeys trying to peek around him and into the room. He closed the door enough that they couldn’t see inside, but open enough that Wukong would be able to slip through again with his hands full. The subjects of Flower Fruit Mountain had always liked Macaque, even before Wukong liked Macaque, and no doubt the scent of blood was causing alarm for the troupe.

“It’s alright,” Wukong told them gently, making his way to the washroom and exploring the shelves next to the basin. “He’s gonna be okay,” and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince his troupe or his reflection, but he kept repeating the reminder as he pulled down a few boxes of supplies to look through.

Macaque might have laughed at him for being so incompetent, a good-natured tease as he guided Wukong’s hands to the correct box. He found himself a bit overwhelmed by the amount of supplies in the boxes, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised. Macaque had always taken his role as a warrior seriously, protecting Flower Fruit Mountain from any foe, be that demons or injury or illness. 

But, for the moment, it was Wukong’s turn to fend off the danger, and he reached into the boxes to arm himself. Alcohol to sterilize, and an ointment made of aloe to keep out bacteria, it’d do the shadow no good to battle an infection alongside his injury. He found rolls of bandages and, in a small container that Wukong almost missed, a needle and thread.

Wukong hesitated for only a moment before taking the needle and thread and grabbing towels from a shelf higher up. The towels unfolded in his haste to leave the washroom, one even falling to the ground, but Wukong paid it no mind. He’d come back for it later.

A fearful chattering followed Wukong back to his room, pushing open the door only to stop as several monkeys tried to force their way inside. “Hey, no,” he scolded softly. “Not right now, okay? Let me get him fixed up, and then you can see him.”

The elders on the mountain were far more used to injury than some of the younger members of the troupe. Wrinkled hands reached for the restless infants and pulled them away from Wukong’s door, knowing that whatever rested upon his bed wasn’t for young eyes to see.

When he was certain that the troupe was calm–as calm as they could be with a bedridden protector–Wukong went inside and closed the door behind him. “Okay,” he breathed, “I think I got everything.” He moved back to Macaque’s side, setting the supplies haphazardly on the bedside  table and the towels atop his blanket. “Now we just-” His gaze flicked to Macaque’s face, eyes closed and lips parted enough for puffs of shallow breath. “Macaque?”

Wukong shook Macaque’s shoulder as much as he dared and tapped a paling cheek, but there was no sign of consciousness to be found. If it were simply exhaustion, Wukong might feel a little better, but with blood still oozing from the shadow’s chest, fear seized the king by the throat. Panicked, he placed a hand just under Macaque’s jaw, pressing fingertips into the pulsepoint just to make sure there was something still there to feel.

And there was a pulse, much to the king’s relief, but it was slow, too sluggish for his liking. So, he pulled away and snatched up a towel, folding it in halves until it fit the wound, and placed it carefully over Macaque’s chest. The warrior made a sound as Wukong pressed on the injury, and for a moment he almost recoiled in fear of hurting Macaque more than he already had, but he persisted. He couldn’t treat the injury if he couldn’t see it, and he couldn’t stitch it closed with black fur so slicked with blood.

It could have been an eternity that Wukong stayed trying to stop the flow of blood, eventually pulling a second towel from his pile and pressing it to the wound. When the blood had finally slowed to a less disturbing dribble, Wukong was able to inspect the injury without fear of more pooling crimson. The issue that remained was the blood that stuck to Macaque’s fur. “Water,” he muttered to himself. “Of course, I forgot something.”

Reluctantly, he left Macaque again to retrieve water. After some rummaging around, he managed to find a bowl, and he brought it outside to a stream that ran past the cave. It was a pretty decent size, but there was so much blood matting Macaque’s fur that Wukong would no doubt have to refill it with clean water at some point.

He wondered briefly if Macaque might be willing to help him set up something in the cave, a clever mortal invention that allowed running water inside one’s home without having to run back and forth to a water source. There were plenty of streams that ran through Flower Fruit Mountain, and he was sure they could figure it out if the mortals could. Though he’d perhaps bring up the idea after Macaque was healed, lest the shadow try and start the task right away.

Wukong watched the bowl as he walked back into the cave, careful not to spill the contents as he waded through the crowd of monkeys that had gathered. They didn’t try getting into the room again, but that didn’t make them any less anxious, and the elders had started grooming through some of the younger monkeys’ fur in an attempt to calm them. Wukong nodded his thanks before retreating back into his room.

Macaque’s position was unchanged from where Wukong had left him, aside from his head twisting to bury one half of his face into a pillow. “I’m back,” he told the shadow quietly. To any other unconscious form, the words of reassurance might not have mattered, but Macaque’s ears still flicked at the sound, and his head turned to find Wukong’s voice again. “Gotta press on this again,” he warned, taking a clean towel and soaking it in water. “Kinda glad you’re asleep for this, actually,” he said absently, “stitching this up is not gonna be fun for you.”

Not that it was going to be particularly fun for Wukong, either. It’d been a while since he’d needed to stitch up anything other than their clothes, and the needle and thread sitting on his bedside table were quite possibly the most intimidating tools he’d ever seen. Stitching flesh together was… an uncomfortable thought, but he knew Macaque would do it without hesitation, with sure hands and a playful taunt for good measure, so Wukong furrowed his brow and grit his teeth and busied himself with cleaning the fur around the Macaque’s wound.

He wasn’t necessarily afraid of Macaque dying, though he kept pressing his fingertips to the shadow’s pulse just to reassure himself. The wound was deep, but they’d caught it fast and the blood had stopped its flow. Macaque’s chest rose and fell steadily, with only the occasional stutter of pain, but there was just something about seeing Macaque lying in a pool of blood that made him uneasy.

If there was anything to provide Wukong with some sense of ease, it was that Macaque, despite not being as invincible as Wukong, did heal pretty fast. Most small cuts and bruises were gone in a day or so, gashes healing into scars within a week. A wound of this size would probably take a little while longer, but that wasn’t unmanageable. The hardest part would be keeping Macaque in bed.

When the water in the bowl began turning an off-color pink, Wukong sighed and stood. “I’ll be back,” he said, gathering the soiled towels and tossing them into a corner somewhere. “Sometimes I wish you were made of stone, you know that?” He took the bowl of water and added, “Hate seeing you like this.”

Macaque, of course, had no response for him, so he left. The elders had begun herding infants back to their nests, and Wukong was thankful that they couldn’t see the tainted water from the other side of the cave. The scent was unmistakable, surely they knew Macaque was bleeding, but Wukong could at least shield them from how deep the wound ran.

When Macaque was bandaged and awake, he’d let the troupe swarm the warrior all they liked. Until then, Wukong would tend to Macaque as gently as his stone hands knew how.

He disposed of  the bowl’s contents outside, pouring the bloodied water into the stream. Kneeling on the soft bank, he rinsed all traces of red from the bowl and watched the ribbons of pink flow swiftly down the current. When he was certain the bowl was clear of old blood, he refilled it and stood, returning to his task of cleaning Macaque’s wound.

It was a methodical process, gently working the blood that had started drying to Macaque’s fur; Wukong found it almost grounding, in a way, his hands slowly losing their tremor the longer he felt Macaque’s heartbeat under his hands. For just one split second, he considered what would have happened if the weapon had been stabbed into Macaque’s chest rather than slashed across his flesh, if there’d still be a heartbeat under his fingertips if the demon who wounded Macaque had been just a bit bolder.

He swallowed the growl that rose in his chest at the thought, forcing himself to remember that the demon had been taken care of already. There was no one else that could hurt Macaque that night.

Wukong had to pull his hand away at the sight of protruding white bone. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if it was cause for concern, not having this kind of issue with his own stone skin and near invincibility. It wasn’t like he could wake Macaque and ask, so Wukong simply continued. It wasn’t a lot of bone, a mere nick, really, and as soon as he got Macaque stitched up, it wouldn’t even matter.

Still, that didn’t make the sight of Macaque’s ribcage any less unsettling, regardless of how little was actually visible. It was a painful reminder that it didn’t matter how immortal they became, Macaque was still flesh and blood. But the wound was finally clean enough to stitch, which Wukong knew was a good thing, despite how much he was going to hate what came next.

The bowl had once again turned a dull pink by the time he finished cleaning Macaque’s injury, so Wukong took it back  to the stream. He went through the process of rinsing and refilling mechanically, trying to map out a strategy for stitching Macaque’s wound, if there even was a strategy to prepare for such things. If Macaque were awake he wouldn’t worry so much, he’d trust the warrior to sit still enough for steady stitches.

But the shadow could hardly control himself unconscious, and if he flinched in his sleep, Wukong could hurt him. He’d only been a bit twitchy while Wukong cleaned the wound, but the needle was a bit more intrusive than a cloth. There were plenty of awful images that flitted through Wukong’s mind about the many worrisome and very incorrect ways that a needle could go through Macaque’s flesh.

Shuddering to himself, Wukong took his bowl of fresh water back into the cave. The troupe had largely settled, only a few of the elders stirring as Wukong walked to his room. He’d have to come up with a gentle explanation for what had happened that night, but that could be a problem in the morning, he decided.

He slipped into his room as quietly as he could so as to not disturb the infants that had managed to go back to sleep. A soft sigh escaped him as he pushed the door closed, steeling himself for the task that came next.

“Wukong?” The rasp startled Wukong as he turned to face Macaque, looking just barely awake in his bed. “Wha’s going on?”

“Hey,” Wukong said gently, setting the bowl back on the table. “Don’t worry, everything is fine.”

Macaque coughed out something that might have been a laugh if it weren’t for the way his vocal cords strained to be steady. “There’s a hole in my chest,” he said dryly.

“There’s an ‘X’ in your chest,” Wukong corrected as he took the bloodied towels and tossed them in the corner with the rest. “But!” he continued, “Not for very long, because I’m just about ready to start stitching you up.”

“Oh, good,” Macaque muttered, “glad I woke up for my favorite part.”

Wukong hummed in sympathy, grabbing a clean rag from the edge of the bed. “Well, it saves us the trouble of you moving in your sleep, at least.”

“Small blessings.” Macaque watched Wukong take the small bottle of alcohol and pour it on the rag. “Does the troupe know anything?”

“They know there’s blood,” Wukong said, “and they know it’s you,” he swiped the alcohol-soaked cloth across the needle, “but they didn’t see the injury. The elders have managed to get most of them back to sleep, but they’ll probably want to see you in the morning.”

Macaque smiled and shook his head. “Of course.” He tugged at his hanfu. “Can we take this off me before you start? It feels gross.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “I really don’t want you to start bleeding again.”

“It’s gonna bleed either way, Wukong,” Macaque huffed, “at least let me bleed comfortably.”

“You’re gonna have to sit up so I can get the bandages around you, anyway,” Wukong pointed out. “We can get it off then, okay? It’ll be a lot easier than trying to do it laying down.”

Still tugging uncomfortably at his ruined hanfu, Macaque considered Wukong’s request. “Fine,” he relented finally, “just be quick about the stitches, yeah?”

Making an unsure noise, Wukong clumsily pushed a silk thread through the eye of the needle. “I mean, I can try to be fast, but I’m not gonna risk making this worse.” Macaque huffed at that, but he didn’t counter. Which either meant he was too tired or in too much pain to argue. In either case, it had that anxiousness creeping back into Wukong’s chest. “Macaque?”

“It’s fine,” Macaque said, though his voice was pulled tight. “Just get this over with. Please.”

Wukong studied Macaque for a moment, watching his jaw set and his claws curl into the blanket in preparation. There wasn’t anything Wukong could do to make the process easier or less painful, and it left him feeling a bit helpless. He couldn’t even provide comfort with a needle and thread in his hands.

Although, when the king’s frantic mind gave it a couple seconds of thought, he realized that he might have a solution for that. Reaching up with his free hand, Wukong plucked a strand of hair from his head, blowing gently to form a clone sitting on the other side of Macaque. “Hey,” the copy greeted warmly.

Macaque blinked. “What-”

The clone took the shadow’s hand, gently prying the blanket from his claws. “Really should have thought of this sooner, huh?” Wukong smiled as Macaque’s shoulders untensed a bit. “I’ve been walking all the way to the stream to get clean water.”

“Oh, yeah?” Macaque asked, realizing the bleak comfort the clone was trying to provide, keeping him distracted while the real Wukong began the grueling process of stitching. “Incredible. A whole fifteen steps.”

“Mm-hm,” the clone pressed its palm to Macaque’s, curling its fingers loosely around the shadow’s trembling hand, “it’s actually thirty steps, when you think about it, fifteen steps both ways.” Macaque’s fingers twitched as Wukong placed a hand near the wound in warning. “And I did it three times.”

Wukong watched Macaque’s reaction carefully as he began pushing the needle through skin. “Oh, three times,” Macaque said mockingly, “can’t believe the Great Sage would waste his energy on… what? Eighty steps?” Macaque’s hand latched onto the clone’s as Wukong started stitching his flesh together.

“Ninety steps,” the clone corrected. “That’s, like, a whole workout.”

Macaque rolled his eyes. “You disappear for weeks to go train, and ninety steps is-” His breath hitched, his entire body seizing and his eyes screwing shut. Wukong’s head snapped up, his hand going to Macaque’s arm to stop it from twitching. “Okay,” Macaque grunted, “I’m okay.”

“It’s fine if you’re not,” Wukong told him. “We can take a break if-”

“No,” Macaque said through gritted teeth, not bothering to open his eyes to look at either Wukong in the room. “The faster you stitch this together, the sooner I can get out of this bed.” Wukong deliberated for a moment, knowing Macaque would forgo taking a break in favor of just getting it over with, and he didn’t want to overwhelm Macaque because the warrior decided he was too stoic to take a breather.

His clone glanced up, giving Wukong a minute knowing nod. If Macaque couldn’t decide when to take a break, Wukong’s clone could monitor it instead. “Alright,” Wukong relented, releasing the arm he'd been holding and placing his hand over Macaque’s chest, steadying both himself and the shadow as he went back to stitching. “We’re almost halfway there.”

“Hey, that’s good,” the clone said, taking Macaque’s hand in both of its own. “We’ll be done before you know it.” With a crooked grin, the clone informed him, “And you’re absolutely not getting out of bed, by the way. Not for, like, at least two weeks. Probably more.”

“Yeah?” Macaque challenged, finally cracking his eyes open. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“I have my ways,” the clone said.

“You ain’t got nothin’.” A small smile making its way to Macaque’s face. “I have portals.”

The clone hummed. “True,” it admitted, “but I have the softest blankets and the best hugs.”

Macaque’s voice was strained, pulled taunt with pain, but he still managed a chuckle. “Oh, hugs, you say,” he drawled. “How could I possibly refuse such a generous offer from the king?”

“You can’t refuse,” the clone informed him. “I simply will not let you.”

Wukong inhaled sharply as the needle caught awkwardly, Macaque’s barely concealed flinch not going unnoticed. “Almost done,” he promised. “We’ll get you bandaged up and then move you to your room, okay? And smother you with every blanket I can find.”

“As long as none of them are made of hair,” Macaque sighed.

The clone perked up. “Ah, so you’ve admitted defeat,” it exclaimed. “Don’t worry, bud, you’ll be the comfiest bedridden celestial primate in the realm.”

“Bedridden for the night, maybe,” Macaque said. “I’m exhausted. I’ll be your worst nightmare come morning, mark my words. I am not staying in bed.”

“Aw, are you sure I couldn’t persuade you?” the clone asked. “What if I bring you some fresh mangoes for breakfast?” Macaque looked like he was about to argue, then his face turned contemplative at the offer of breakfast in bed. “Yeah? Pretty good deal, right?”

Macaque huffed, though there was an unmistakable smile in his voice. “Whatever.” He turned to Wukong, who had started delicately tying off the stitches. “You done there?”

“Think we’ve got it.” Wukong set aside the needle and thread, picking up the small container of aloe. “Gotta put some of this on, and then we’ll start wrapping bandages.” He passed the bowl of water he'd set on the bedside table to the clone.

“No infections on our watch,” the clone agreed, releasing Macaque’s hand to take the bowl of water and a grab clean rag, gently dabbing away some stray droplets of blood from the stitches. “Can’t have you injured and sick. The elders would have a fit.”

“Don’t remind me,” Macaque groaned, the clone chuckling as it set the bowl aside. “Really not looking forward to being fussed over for the next two weeks.” He hissed a bit as Wukong began spreading ointment over the wound. “It’s fine,” he told Wukong before the king could ask if he was alright. “Just cold.”

Wukong winced. “Sorry,” he applied the ointment as quickly as he dared and then set the container back on the bedside table. “Alright, let’s sit you up.”

The clone slipped an arm under Macaque’s back. “Gonna go real slow, okay?”

“Yep,” Wukong supported Macaque on his side, gradually guiding Macaque to a sitting position., “nice and easy, bud.” The movement was slow, but a few pained, ragged breaths still escaped the shadow as he was moved. “You okay?”

“Never felt better.” Macaque looked down at himself. “Can I get a clean shirt, please?”

“I’m on it,” the clone slid off the bed and walked to the dresser tucked into the corner of Wukong’s room, pulling open drawers and sifting through clothes. “Find you something good and comfy, and get you moved.”

The room was quiet as Wukong began wrapping the bandages around Macaque’s chest. The clone spent much longer than necessary sorting through Wukong’s clothes, making sure Macaque didn’t have more of an audience for his vulnerability than necessary. Luckily, the bandages didn’t take long to wrap, just a few minutes of careful binding, and then Wukong sat back with a smile. “Okay! I think we’re all good here."

“Finally,” Macaque shifted like he was going to get off the bed, and Wukong stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wukong,” Macaque said sharply, halting any protests before Wukong could say a word. “My legs aren’t injured, I can stand.” He glanced up, his voice softening at the sight of Wukong’s concern. “I can get changed into new clothes by myself, alright? I’ll be careful.”

And as much as Wukong wanted to say ‘absolutely not’, he also knew how much Macaque valued his independence. Reluctantly, he nodded, “Okay,” he relented, “just yell if you need help with anything, okay?” he reassured himself knowing that he’d have every opportunity to tend to Macaque while the shadow healed, anyway. “Me and the clone will step out.”

“Thanks,” Macaque breathed.

The clone returned from the dresser with a loose fitting shirt and pants. “Got it from here, bud?”

Patting the clone on the shoulder, Wukong said, “Yeah, he’s got it.” He steered the copy towards the door. “C’mon! Let’s grab some blankets to smother him with.” Macaque snorted, which was enough to relieve some of the weight in Wukong’s chest.

Wukong left the door open a crack behind him, just in case Macaque needed him for anything. The clone immediately began padding around the cave in search of blankets for Macaque. Luckily, there were plenty of comfort items lying around, a necessary collection for a king with the world’s most affectionate subjects. And while the clone was busy, Wukong visited the stream one last time to clean off the blood that had dried on his skin and fur. 

He let the current flow over his hands for a few minutes, trying to suppress the urge to go check on Macaque, giving the shadow some time to dress himself. When he was certain that enough time had passed, and his claws had been thoroughly picked through and cleaned of blood, he stood and flicked the water from his hands, retreating back into the cave. The clone gave him a clumsy thumbs up with an armful of blankets, and trotted to Macaque’s room.

Making his way to his bedroom door, Wukong cleared his throat. “All good in there?”

“Yeah,” Macaque answered. “You can come in, if you need to.” Despite having permission, Wukong still opened the door cautiously. Macaque was dressed in a plain, loose fitting shirt that hung off his frame, and a pair of soft pants. If Wukong hadn’t just finished stitching his chest back together, he wouldn’t have guessed that Macaque was injured at all.

The shadow glanced up at him, brow furrowing.  “Should probably change your shirt, too,” Macaque noted as Wukong stepped in. “Got some, uh… you know.”

Alarmed, Wukong pulled out his shirt and looked down at it. It probably should have occurred to him sooner that carrying Macaque would leave a good amount of blood soaked into his own shirt, but it hadn’t really crossed his mind until Macaque pointed it out. “Yeah, probably,” he said. “The clone has some blankets ready in your room, if you wanna go ahead and-”

“Yep,” Macaque scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. “I’m ready for tonight to be over. Going to bed.” He slowly made his way to Wukong’s bedroom door, though he lingered at the door frame for a moment. “Are you, um… your bed kinda has a lot of blood on it, so- I mean, if you wanted to crash in my room, you’re more than welcome.”

Wukong smiled warmly. “Of course,” he replied, knowing that Macaque had a hard time asking for things like company and affection. “Lemme get changed and assign some clones to clean up, and then I’ll be there.”

Relief flitted across Macaque’s expression. “Alright,” he said, pushing open the door and leaving Wukong alone in his room. “Don’t take too long,” he added as he walked away, “I’m tired.”

The king shook his head at the shadow’s theatrics, smiling to himself as he dug through his dresser for something clean to wear. He took a few seconds to pull out a lock of hair, summoning a small team of four clones. “You guys mind cleaning up?” Wukong asked, tugging off his bloodied clothes. “Macaque and I had a rough night.”

Of course, the clones knew that, seeing as they were just Wukong, and they set to work cleaning up the towels and medical supplies, stripping the blood-soaked blanket and sheets off his bed. After a few seconds of wrestling with his clothes, Wukong passed them off to the nearest clone and tugged on his clean pajamas. They’d probably be at the cleaning for a while and, as a general rule, most clones weren’t too good about doing tedious work, but Wukong trusted them to do this job without his supervision. No Wukong wanted to stare at the aftermath of Macaque’s injury for longer than they had to.

A yawn stretched his jaw until it cracked, which Wukong took as a sign that he should head to Macaque’s room. Between the fight and the injury, he’d had his fair share of excitement for the next month or so. He’d promised Macaque breakfast in the morning, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they both ended up sleeping for the entire day.

He made his way to Macaque’s room, nudging the door open to find his first clone and a bed piled high with blankets. “Where-”

“Under here,” the pile of blankets muttered. “Your stupid clone already buried me.”

“You’re welcome,” the clone replied, looking rather pleased with itself.

Wukong couldn’t help but laugh at Macaque’s predicament. “Go help the others clean up,” he told the clone, “I’ll take it from here.” The clone gave a mock salute and left, closing the door gently behind it. “Boy, that guy sure knows how to pile on the blankets, huh.”

“I literally cannot move,” Macaque deadpanned. Wukong walked over to the bed and pulled off the top few layers of blankets. “That’s a little better,” he muttered, “at least I can breathe again.” Macaque’s expression twisted in pain for a moment as he shifted, then he sighed and settled into his pillow. “I think I could sleep for a week after tonight.”

Humming in agreement, Wukong slid under the blankets. “Good,” he replied, his eyelids already dragging shut the moment his head hit the pillows. “You could use the rest.” Wukong heard the blankets rustle and cracked his eyes open, met with the sight of Macaque worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “What’s up?”

Macaque shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.” He shifted again, struggling to get comfortable with his injury. “I’m probably gonna pop a stitch rolling over in my sleep or something. Not used to sleeping on my back.”

Wukong frowned. “Well, can’t have that.” He wriggled his way through the blankets so that he was closer to Macaque, sliding an arm over the shadow’s stomach and holding him as close as he could without disturbing the bandages. “Think this’ll help?”

“I… uh, yeah,” Macaque stammered, “probably.” It wasn’t unfamiliar territory for either of them, sleeping in the same bed, more often than not waking up with their limbs tangled together. But no matter how often Wukong showered Macaque with affection, he always seemed surprised that the king would willingly be so close to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wukong nuzzled into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Now get to sleep. King’s orders.”

“Yes, sir, Your Majesty,” Macaque replied tiredly.

It didn’t take long for Macaque’s breathing to even out, falling asleep within minutes of laying down, but despite his own exhaustion, Wukong couldn’t help but feel restless.

He had never liked seeing Macaque hurt, and he didn’t like seeing the scars that these kinds of injuries could cause. Macaque, of course, never cared too much, having scars from even before Wukong knew him. It came with having flesh and blood instead of stone skin.

Wukong hoped that the mark would fade entirely as it healed, but he knew it was a long shot. At the very least, maybe Macaque’s fur would grow over most of it and leave only a small ‘X’-shaped remnant of the gaping wound. Just one more scar among the many that spanned Macaque’s body, a mere inconvenience to the Shadow of Flower Fruit Mountain, but a haunting reminder to the King.

Swallowing back the bitter hatred of his own incompetence, Wukong gently curled himself tighter around Macaque. He breathed the tension out of his body as Macaque’s tail thumped under the blankets, seeking out Wukong’s, and unconsciously winding them together. With his last fleeting moments of consciousness, Wukong vowed to absolutely cosset the bedridden warrior when the sun came back up.

[obscure-imaginations]

GHOST headcanons based upon the movie! Spoilers under the cut.

Notes: I am not interested in “unmasked ghouls” so keep that out of here. I am also not comfortable with xtians and/or c*tholics interacting with ANY of my posts. I can't stop you from enjoying GHOST, but GHOST is a sacred thing to me and my spiritual practice, and for my own personal mental health, go away, please. (Very upset about the asshole who wore a cross shirt to the concert and ended up in a few shots. Disrespectfully, fuck you)

-Not a headcanon but since the “new guy” already has a mitre? I’m praying to hells below that it’s Papa III.

-The reason Aether was replaced by Phantom was because Aether broke a leg doing a stunt. He couldn't heal in time, and since he’s already an older ghoul, he decided to just retire. Dewdrop is still adjusting to the change, choosing to engage more with Rain than Phantom.

-Sunshine is half air, half fire. She plays air instruments but you can see her fire heritage ignite when the pyrotechnics go off!

-Only certain clergy members are “permitted” to see spirits. Both for the protection of the general populace and for further protection on any important magics. This generally creates the “talking to yourself” illusion amongst the high ministry.

-Adding onto that for the canon, that’s why no one sees the spirits of Papas I-III. Sister Imperator couldn’t have them going around speaking against her!

-But that spell is breaking now that Sister Imperator is down…

-”Frate Imperator” just means “Brother Imperator” in Latin. Sister gave/attempted to give Copia a demotion, as Imperators are only advisors to the Papal line.

-The dancers are all Siblings of Sin! Usually it’s just Papa and Ghouls plus a couple tech people that get to go out touring- they hire a lot of “regular” people to help, like the humans for dress and stage, to keep up appearances. They don't need crowds swarming where the ministry is, after all.

-The orchestra ghoulettes are air and quintessence ghouls. Air for the string instruments and piano, but you could also feel the power they hold. Especially the opera singer. Quintessence ghouls have dominion over spiritual magics, and they definitely used that to their advantage to create a stellar performance.

Now for the angst.

-Even though Copia is very upset with both Imperator and Nihil lying to him for all these years, as you saw, it’s hard for him to stand up to them. He’s always had that problem and it still persists in (un)death.

-The twins are humanoid demonic familiars to Nihil. When he died, they died too.

-Due to Nihil’s neglect and generally shitty Papahood, his band ghouls did not like him. Thus they didn't give a fuck when Nihil and Imperator had their little fight. They took the opportunity to snag Nihil’s cash and had a tour of the city.

-Even though Imperator was the one in dire need of medical attention, I appreciate that the ghouls ran to help Copia first. They all knew she was bad for the clergy- killing the past 3 papas will never be forgotten, no matter who’s in charge. It was only when Copia waved them away did the ghouls go to look at Imperator.

Sorry for any Imperator and Nihil fans but I just cannot stand them 😅

-As seems to be the horrible, horrible canon judging by the one little scene… Nihil has a foot fetish. 🥲

[babybemydownfall]

things that shimmer in the dark Part IV: Rhys ( Part III ) There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be.  AKA An all night love-fest in the Archeron manor. Definitely NSFW. Read on AO3 or under the cut below. (Also, I only recently realised that my avatar, which comes from a poem by Iain S Thomas and which I've had for 10+ years, is Rhysand: There you are. I've been looking for you. How spooky.)

II

By the time we retired to bed after finalising our letter to the Queens, it was gone midnight. Feyre was tense and exhausted. I’d felt her all afternoon and evening, her shield weak, her emotions pouring out across our bond. She’d been anxious and angry; frustrated and forgiving. And whenever she looked at me, she burned.

I had worn a mask all my life, ingrained in me from a young age. And I had very rarely let it slip, despite times when I’d felt overwhelming rage or fear or despair. But it turned out that the most powerful distraction of all was lust. Whenever Feyre turned her beautiful blue-grey eyes on me, I struggled to stay composed, to keep my expression neutral and my breathing even. When her awful oldest sister questioned whether she was too good for human food anymore and Feyre replied that she could eat, drink, fuck and fight even better than before, my fork clanged to my plate as everything inside me went taut with desire. I wanted her so badly, so immediately, that it took every ounce of my willpower not to grab her and winnow us straight back to my house.

And later, as we wrote and rewrote the damned letter, the four of us arguing over each word and punctuation mark, her closeness was certainly a hindrance. When she leaned in to read what I’d written, I felt her long hair brushing my neck; the curve of her breast against my arm. The scent of her skin, of her arousal, was intoxicating. I would not let Cass and Azriel suspect a thing but whenever I was sure they weren’t looking, I touched her as much as I dared - my finger brushing hers on the page; my thigh shifting on my chair so it pressed against her knee. I loved the way her body reacted: a soft, short inhale; a pulse of longing down the bond.

I found myself thinking multiple times that I was so glad we had had each other in the kitchen earlier. I couldn’t imagine how difficult the rest of the day would have been without that release. And I had meant what I’d said to her there: this thing between us was a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had spent the previous day avoiding her, my mind constantly churning over what I should do. Getting drunk hadn’t helped - I only ended up sad and missing her. I had barely slept afterwards, thanks to the alcohol and my racing thoughts and the memories of our first morning together which left me with a very persistent erection.

When she found me in the kitchen, I still didn’t know what the right thing to do was. But as soon as I scented her, when I saw how fucking stunning she looked and how she went slack with longing for me, I realised there was no actual choice here. I couldn’t just bare myself to her - literally and emotionally - and simply walk away. She was my��mate. This was bigger than both of us: it was what the Cauldron had destined; a bond more sacred and permanent than any other. It was inescapable. Undeniable. And Feyre didn’t know the truth, but I knew she felt it too: that we were something extraordinary.

And now, finally, we were alone together once again. She hadn’t reacted when I’d said we would share a room - a room I had immediately shielded, to keep loud sounds in and bad things out. But she did turn to me in surprise when I made my own bed appear and sat down on it.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up at her, still dressed in her stunning turquoise outfit. She wore it like she belonged in the Night Court. Or perhaps it wore her. It wanted her - just as I did.

“Being on my best behaviour,” I replied evenly. “We’re in your father’s house. I didn’t know if you’d want to…”

“I’ve spent all evening trying to keep my hands off you. And now you don’t want to touch me?”

She sounded like she was annoyed with me, which made me smile. “Oh, I do want to touch you, Feyre darling.” My voice was low. “Every single inch of you.”

There was a fire crackling in the hearth across the room and it shone in her dark eyes, in the golden waves of her hair. I leaned back on my outstretched arms and her gaze travelled down my body. I was still fully dressed but she knew what lay beneath now; and if I hadn’t been wearing black, she would have been able to see my cock rise in my pants.

“The last time I was in this house,” she said quietly, “I left to run after Tamlin. To go under the mountain and save him. And yet here I am, barely any time later… with you.” She tugged at her sleeve, looking around the room. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I waited until her eyes met mine again. She seemed so vulnerable, so young all of a sudden. “I don’t think it is,” I told her honestly. “I don’t think time is what matters, in our case.”

“Then what does matter?”

I held out my hand. “Come here.”

Slowly she moved towards me and took it, standing between my legs. I may as well have been kneeling before her again, such was her position of power over me right now.

“What matters, Feyre, is how you feel. What makes you happy. What helps you heal. And I think I can speak to that, because you are all those things for me. Already.”

I felt her tremble in front of me. She was scared. And I knew why - but I couldn’t hide the depth of my feelings from her. I didn’t want to.

“Why does this seem so… inevitable?” she whispered.

Because I am your mate.

I could have told her then. No doubt it would have helped ease the guilt she still carried over Tamlin, the confusion she felt over us. But this was not the place: not in the human lands, in her family home; not when there was danger out there, lurking beyond my Court’s protection. And not when it meant I would have to face her rejection - because she wasn’t ready yet. Wasn’t healed, wasn’t strong enough. And neither was I, to have her push me away.

For now I would take whatever she was willing to give - her friendship, her smiles, her body - and not think too far into the future. As she had so wisely said: we might all die soon. And I would be a fool not to enjoy every moment with her, because I had known from the second I first saw her that she was the light in my eternal darkness.

Instead of saying any of that, I lifted my hands to her hips and guided her to straddle my lap. She did so without hesitation, settling halfway along my thighs - not near enough to feel how hard I was for her. Not yet. But having her this close, all to myself behind a locked door, I felt my soul sigh.

There you are. I’ve been looking for you.

“Perhaps it is inevitable,” I said softly. “The question is, what do you want to do about it? You are in charge here. I will follow your lead.”

I had never uttered those words before, outside of battle when I fell in line behind my commander. But I trusted Feyre with everything I was. I saw her, with all her broken pieces and her courageous human heart and the magic she contained which had nothing to do with her powers. I wanted it all.

And she wanted me too. It was in her beautiful eyes; written all over her face. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. I felt her body melt in my arms, her head tilting back. My name rose from her lips to the ceiling, like a prayer.

“Rhys.”

I kissed her there again, the scent of her blood filling my senses; moved up to her ear where I breathed: “What do you want, darling?”

Her fingers slid into my hair, drawing me back so she could look at me. At the same time, I took hold of her hips and pulled her into me, connecting the heat of her core with the raging hardness of mine.

The air sparked around us and we both groaned.

“You,” Feyre murmured, her breath on my mouth, her gaze filled with nothing but lust - that most powerful of emotions, sweeping everything else aside. “I want you. All over me. All night long.”

A smile started to form on my lips but she kissed me before it got there. And from that moment on, we were lost. Our hands slipped beneath each other’s clothes onto warm, sensitive skin. I had never had the pleasure of physically undressing her before, of slowly revealing her exquisite body inch by inch. I followed the fabric of her top with my lips, from her navel to her ribcage to her bare breasts, so pert and full and ready for my attention. She moaned so headily when I circled my tongue over her nipples and I could smell her arousal as it flooded her underwear, as she ground herself against my length.

The top disappeared over her head and then we worked together to remove mine as well. As our mouths found each other again I slid my arm up along the column of her spine, my hand splayed between her shoulder blades, and drew her further into me so her bare chest pressed against mine. Her kisses were voracious, her moans constant as she rocked her hips and took her pleasure from me.

Untamed Feyre was the hottest thing I had ever encountered.

And then she suddenly pulled back to look at me, her eyes so dark with desire, her voice husky as she commanded: “Take me to bed, Rhys.”

I could not have refused her if my life depended on it.

I carried her there, drawing back the duvet and laying her down. I had already warmed the sheets and she looked surprised, grateful. But she didn’t speak - couldn’t, perhaps - as she grasped at my shoulders and pulled me onto her, reclaiming my mouth, touching every part of me within reach. I covered us again, burying down with her into the softness of the bed as we kissed on and on. I had never known how thoroughly arousing it was, to be half-bare and writhing around by the light of the fire, our sounds hushed and urgent. Despite my shield, we were both aware of my brothers just next door, of Feyre’s sisters down the hall - but that only added to the mood.

This was secret and sacred and ours.

I eventually trailed my lips down to her breasts again, and then further - kissing her centre through her trousers before kneeling between her legs and slipping them off entirely. She was wearing the same lacy white panties I’d watched her put back on in the kitchen, and they were wet through. I heard myself growl as I pulled them off too, the urge to taste her impossible to resist, but she stopped me from getting anywhere near her with her bare foot on my chest.

I stared at her, unable to fathom why she would deny me.

“I’m in charge, remember?” she said firmly. “Lie down.”

Giving up control was not natural for me - but Feyre was a goddess and I obeyed.

She made very quick work of my pants and underwear, and then slid all the way down the bed and wrapped her hot mouth around me. I had never known anything so good before: the sight of her there, the brush of her hair and her hands on my thighs and abdomen, the way she sucked and licked and bobbed up and down-

I reached for her after barely any time at all, tugging on her shoulders, groaning her name. But she ignored me and carried on. Her eyes met mine and I imprinted the image in my mind, of the lust and determination in her gaze, of my cock disappearing between her lips over and over again, her rhythm faultless, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Feyre,” I gasped, “I’m-”

She scratched her fingernails all the way down my torso and I came, so hard I lost all of my senses for the longest, most ecstatic moment. I felt her fingers cover my mouth, to keep me quiet, but there was no fucking chance when her tongue was still swirling over me, when my hips were still bucking and I was still coming. It was unbearable and heavenly and I never, ever wanted it to end.

Eventually I did return to the present; felt Feyre retreat and opened my eyes to find her looking down at me with a very satisfied smirk. I was too dazed to speak, to tell her how fucking amazing she felt and what I wanted to do to her next - but it didn’t matter. She had let her fingers drift down onto my chest; I took her wrist and brought her palm back to my lips, licking the tattooed eye there in a single broad stroke. Her smirk disappeared as she felt me in her very core.

I tugged on her hips, pulling her up my body until she was kneeling over my face. She braced herself on the headboard and I inhaled her incredible scent, all her muscles trembling, her breathing shallow, ragged. And then I feasted on her, gorging myself on her softness and her taste, eating her gorgeous cunt until she was all over my face. I kneaded her ass, explored her thighs; slid two fingers inside her and fucked her like that while I sucked on her clit. She came in no time at all, with a muffled scream and a gush of wetness which I lapped up like I was dying of thirst.

When she collapsed onto me, I gently drew her back down into bed to lie by my side so we were facing one another, our limbs loosely entwined. I took half a second to clean my face with magic, but left her taste on my tongue. It would be sacrilege to erase that.

She smiled, gazing at me through heavily lidded eyes. “You are very good at that,” she said, and she shivered - an aftershock. It made my cock ache for her.

“You taste fucking divine, Feyre. I can’t get enough of you. And your mouth…” I outlined her lips with my thumb; they parted and I traced over her bottom teeth too. “So pretty, yet so wicked. I’ve never felt anything so phenomenal.”

I pressed my lower body into hers, letting her know I was ready for more. She looked straight at me and bit down on my nail, firm enough to hurt. Beneath the duvet I felt her hand wrap around my length. Flames roared to life in my blood once more and I hissed, like the wild beast I was.

“So eager,” she teased, licking the sensitive pad of my thumb.

There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. Without thinking I reached for her down the bond, needing her closer, even though physically there was no space between us. As I felt her grip onto me, an embrace around my very soul, I rolled on top of her perfect body and thrust inside her: back where I belonged.

She cried out at being so full; hooked her legs around my waist, inviting me deeper, and I moved slowly at first, trying to be restrained until that became impossible. She felt so good, so right, that I just couldn’t contain myself. And she wanted it: I felt her desire envelop mine inside my mind, where we were intertwined; swallowed the words she gasped into my mouth - “Harder… More… Rhys! Fuck… Yes, more…”

I tilted her pelvis with my hand and reached new depths, and she broke away from my kiss to let out the most guttural sound as she clenched and shook and stretched around me. I dipped my head, sucking on her neck, her right breast, her nipple; kept rolling my hips, fucking her faster and harder than ever before. We were both grunting, moaning, sweat on our skin, her nails digging into my back - and then we were coming, together, a crescendo of movement and sound and rising, cresting pleasure that felt like it would never end.

It didn’t, for a long time. I might have drifted off to sleep briefly, for when I next opened my eyes I was lying on my front on the bed, the duvet over my lower body, feeling more relaxed than I had in decades.

I reached out for Feyre down the bond, checking she was okay; felt her in the adjoining bathroom and closed my eyes again, letting myself doze. Eventually I heard her footsteps on the carpet and then the bed shifted as she sat beside me. Her fingertips traced lightly down my spine and I groaned at how nice it felt.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos here,” she said softly. “And your wings…” She touched the strong muscles of my upper back. “I want to see you with them.”

My voice was so low it made my ribcage vibrate. “You have.”

“Naked,” she clarified.

I smiled. “One day. Not here.”

She leaned in, surrounding me with her scent, her hair; pressed gentle kisses to my ear, my cheek, the corner of my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me with so much tenderness. The last time anyone had cared about me like this. It made my throat hurt.

When I finally opened my eyes her face was all I could see, so close to mine, our every breath shared. She smiled and sat back up, and that’s when I realised she was wearing my shirt. It was unbuttoned, and she was still completely naked beneath. I had never seen anything so sexy.

My emotions were forgotten in an instant.

“Feyre.”

I rose up, kneeling in front of her, taking her in.

“I was cold,” she said, a little defensive, a little surprised by the strength of my reaction.

“You look…” I reached for her, pulling her against me. I had thought I was completely sated - I was wrong. “Let me warm you up.”

This insatiable need for each other, this wild passion - it felt endless. Frenzied. We fell to the bed and she straddled my waist, discarding the shirt to the floor. As she began to kiss me all over, the small part of my brain which remained functional wondered what would happen if she ever accepted the mating bond. How we would survive.

Then it gave in as Feyre washed over me, as I let myself drown in her once again.

When she rode me she held my hands, our fingers interlaced. I could do nothing but stare at her. The way the firelight danced over the planes of her body as she moved; the flush on her skin, the dark desire pouring from her eyes. I was no painter, but she was a piece of art.

“Feyre darling,” I breathed, grazing my palms along her thighs, feeling my climax building slowly, deliciously. “Will you touch yourself for me? I want to watch you.”

Her dream of me was only a night ago - it felt like a century.

She put her fingers in my mouth and I licked them, my desire rocketing at how fearless she was, how unembarrassed. If I had thought she’d be hesitant in bed or perhaps shied by our age gap, by her relative lack of experience, I was wrong. And yet she was not a sultry, confident vixen either. I could only conclude that she really did trust me, enough to be herself, to show herself to me - to be bare in every possible way.

And that made me more hopeful for our future together than anything else we’d said or done.

Now she circled her clit, her left hand holding her breast, pinching her nipple. Her tattoos were a stunning contrast to the rest of her pale skin. When the sensations became too much, her head tilted back and her spine arched, her long messy curls almost reaching her bottom. And still I watched, my hips now thrusting of their own accord, meeting her movements. I was already at the edge; could have let myself fall at any second. But I held on, waiting for her, completely awed by how fucking incredible she was.  

If things had been different, I would have told her I loved her. The words were on the tip of my tongue, filling my mind. I let the smallest trickle of that golden feeling travel down the bond to her. Even though she didn’t know its name, I knew she liked it - saw the smile on her lips, felt her clench and tighten as I pounded into her harder, faster, as she peaked and then shattered.

It was too much. I lifted her off me, turning her onto her front, pulling up her hips. She was weak, boneless; still in the throes of her pleasure. “You have to be quiet,” I rasped and then I thrust inside her again, deeper than ever before. Her hands fisted the duvet and she bit it, her screams subdued but still there, still heavenly to hear.

“Feyre,” I groaned, the sweetest sound in the world. “Fuck, Feyre. You feel- I’m so- ”

I spilled inside her with a roar, breaking my own rule but utterly unable to care. I felt her coming too, a continuation of her last orgasm. Endless, all-consuming fulfilment.

This time we were both thoroughly done. I fell to her side, bringing her body with me so I was spooned up behind her, quickly cleaning us up with half a thought. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to move again. I didn’t want to. I pressed my face into her neck, inhaling her, wishing I could disappear into her forever. If there was nothing else but this, I would die happy.

Our breathing gradually slowed. The fire had burned low, the moon now illuminating us through the uncovered window. I ran the fingers of my left hand along the ink on Feyre’s arm, watching as the soft blonde hairs stood on end in my wake. I knew the bond that tied us together wasn’t the bargain that had been written on her skin: it was the mating bond. That’s why we could communicate, why we could feel so much of each other. I wondered how it would change if we were ever truly mated. How much more of her I would feel, how deeply I would know her. I wanted her to be mine so badly it made my soul ache.

The bond was another secret I kept. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it inside.

“What time is it?” she asked, her words merging into a yawn.

“Fuck knows.” I was tired and emotional, which always made me swear more. That and having sex with Feyre.

I pulled the covers over us and then looked outside. The air was still and crisp. There had been snowfall earlier, but it had stopped now. “Usually,” I said, voicing my thoughts aloud, “I can feel the night. The coming of the dawn. But the darkness is different on this side of the Wall. It’s not… mine.”

She turned her head towards me. The moonlight caught her eyes, making them shine. “I love your darkness,” she said quietly. “I feel it, under my skin. It soothes me. Of all the powers I was given, yours is my favourite.”

You were made for me, I wanted to tell her. Wanted to shout it, for the whole world to hear. It’s so obvious. Can’t you see?

And then she went on sleepily: “The nights feel longer here. I was born on the longest, actually. The Winter Solstice.”

I was stunned. Totally speechless. She must have mistaken my silence for fatigue, because she whispered goodnight and in less than a minute, she was asleep.

I held her, wide awake, heart hammering. I kissed the point of her ear and murmured, so softly it was almost inaudible: “You are my mate, Feyre Archeron. And I fucking love you.”

II

TBC...

[wisteria-cherry]

remus with a grumpy slytherin partner who also gives the best hugs and will fight anyone who tries to insult him??? i love the grumpy x sunshine troupe 🥹🥹

omg honey i love this so much

sunshine x grumpy is my life

also is kind of angsty i hope you don’t mind

and kind of short🥲

tw for minor cursing

“i’ll hex them so hard it goes in their asshole and out their mouth!” you bark, trying to fight against remus’ grip on your wand arm as remus’ assailants backed away. you were persistent, but remus was strong. “let me go—“

“love, it’s not worth it.”

“remus—“

“breathe.”

very reluctantly, you relax, and remus’ grip loosened. the slytherins left. you wanted to fight them, hex them, jinx them, anything. you didn’t care if you were slytherin, too. you wanted them gone, gone go they would never talk to your remus again. you wished they’d stop. stop laughing at remus, stop laughing at his blood status, everything. the rest of the marauders were plenty obnoxious. james was insufferable, sirius was a womanizer, and peter just did whatever james did. any comments towards them, you didn’t mind. but remus— remus was different. remus was gentle, remus was sweet, remus was kind and happy and different. you hated it when people didn’t see it.

remus didn’t get picked on often. after all, obnoxious as the marauders were, they were popular. an icon for anyone who didn’t like the rules, who were all for a little bit of mischief. leaders of the student body. trendsetters, if you will. you knew that remus was a gentle soul, and, annoying as they may be, you were grateful that his friends were bold, bold enough to make it known that they wouldn’t tolerate anyone winding up their moony. your moony.

just your luck that your housemates would find you with him alone.

“let’s just go.” remus began walking, his grip steady.

“i’ll make them pay next time i see them.” you grumble. “gits.”

remus lead you out of the dungeons and through one of the many corridors. he soon found a bench and sat down, releasing your wrist as he did so. you reluctantly sat down next to him.

“hate ‘em.” you grumble, slouching against the wall behind you. remus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“dove, those slytherins were just saying stupid things. it’s nothing to worry about.” remus looked at you, and your expression softened, somewhat.

“it’s not okay.” you narrow your eyes. “they were being racist assholes.”

“all they did was go about chanting ‘half blood’.” remus pointed out. “it’s true.”

“it’s not what they said, it’s the tone!” you exclaim frustratedly. “i don’t care if they’re from my house, they said it like it was derogatory— are you okay?” you stop in your tracks as you see remus duck his head, his hair hiding his expression. remus angled his head away from you.

“remus?” you asked, more gently. remus looked back up at you, and you finally got a good look at him. remus looked exhausted. bleary eyes, dark circles, slightly pale skin. his hair looked shaggy, despite remus usually doing his best to stay well-trimmed. even his hands were a little shaky.

“sorry.” remus apologized, straightening his posture, wiping his hands on his trousers. “i’m just… just tired, is all. a couple of slytherins are the least of my worries right now.”

“oh, remus…” your brow furrows worriedly. “remus, i’m sorry.” you wrap your arms around remus’ neck, pulling him into a hug. remus reciprocated, his arms looping around your middle, his forehead resting on your shoulder.

“it’s alright.” remus mumbled.

“do you want to talk about it?” you offer awkwardly. you weren’t fantastic at comforting. you were a fighter, not a lover. you’d rather duel whoever had made remus like this, teacher and student alike. but you knew that remus would rather have someone be with him.

“no.” remus exhaled, his tense shoulders slowly relaxing as he leaned into you. “just, ah, wanna stay like this.”

“i can do that.” and so you do, and you hug for a long time. you don’t complain once— in fact, you weren’t sure you could ever complain about giving remus a hug.

“alright.” remus said after a good, long while. he broke away, honey-colored eyes studying yours. “you alright?”

“i should be asking you.” you frown.

“you’re the one who’s worked up, darling.” remus pointed out, and you sigh.

“i just hate those stupid people is all.” your frown deepens.

“you’re cute when you pout.” remus gives you a smile, that small, beautiful smile that first caught your eye when you were passing him in a corridor and you nearly stopped breathing.

“i am not.”

“you are too.”

“whatever.”

“i love you.”

“… i love you too.”

[orcelito]

Hi I started playing a game and it has taken over my life

This bitch. I hadn't even heard of it before today (well, yesterday) but now it's 5 am and I've played like 12 hours straight. I've already cried to it. I'm having the time of my life and it's SO hard to drag myself away from it, oh my fucking god

LIKE

I wasn't expecting to get this invested in the characters. I'm rping in this something fierce. In the game you're following this kid from 10 to 20 years old while your community is setting up a settlement on a new planet, & all that entails. It does NOT play nice. Where I'm at, there are Six named characters who have died (bc im committed to not using guides for this first run). But that's like. The Point. It's a game about the dangers of such a place, but also the dangers of unchecked colonization, Depending on your choices. You have your childhood friends who grow and drift apart with conflicting viewpoints and everything. And it's up to you to decide how that turns out.

For me, I'm playing as a kid who wanted to be a biologist (looking up to their botanist parents), but due to the dangers of the world & the traumas that resulted, veered Hard into a more martial role. Every year since they were 10 years old, they've snuck out to fight in battles until they were finally old enough to have clearance to join them officially. They threw themself mind body and soul into exploration and resource gathering to do ANYTHING to help the needs of the colony (but even then, it wasn't enough).

And now they don't know what else to do. Traumatized, they've joined the new military bc it's the only way they can think of to have enough strength to get people to Stop Being Killed. But at the same time, they do still love nature and exploration (for the simple joy of exploration, not just resource gathering), so there's a part of them that knows This Is Wrong. But one of their childhood friends is Also throwing herself wholeheartedly into the military for very similar reasons to them (it's the loss, it's always the loss), while another friend is embracing nature wholeheartedly and protesting against the violence (& judging the first friend's choices Immensely). My character is conflicted between their wish to keep their friends and remaining family safe vs their persisting love of nature. And oh yeah, there's this new hotshot military guy that they just wanna make eat shit ALLLLLLL the time. Gotta train and be the best so that SOMEONE can show him up. They're absolutely thriving on being able to beat him in Anything martial. Which is perhaps a childish drive, but they're still only 15 where I'm at, So.

AND AT THE SAME TIME..........

They're childhood best friends with the local emo kid, who wants so badly to not be trapped here. He wants to be Free! In Nature! But he's also so very depressed For Reasons lol. So it turns into him trying to just walk out into the wilds without a care bc he doesn't care if he dies. And here's my character, falling in love with him (& he very much is with them, too) just trying to figure out what the Fuck they can do to help him. He straight up tried to run away at one point, I full on had a moment of "Oh god is this what naruto felt like when sasuke left?!?!" But he ended up caught lol. So he's still here. And still being Difficult despite my character having expressed that they care about him in a way that's Different than just friends. And so of course emo boy emotionally distances himself, bc what else would he do???? But since I'm playing a teenager and Well there's some new teens in town (one of which being the stupid military guy, who my character kinda just wants to punch). And one of them is very flirty and he invited my character to kiss over a card came, & that petty teenage soul angry about their childhood best friend/potential boyfriend being so DIFFICULT decides. Fuck it! Imma kiss him. And so they do lol.

But it didn't make the feelings go away and emo boy doesn't Know and if he did. Well. It's not like they're dating. Any of them, really. It was a stupid kiss between stupid teenagers, so it literally doesn't matter, but they kinda Do feel a little bit guilty about it.

But in the end, they're throwing themselves into their training with all their might bc the next attack is approaching and the last one went SO MONUMENTALLY WRONG that they just HAVE to be at the absolute strongest they can be. None of this matters in the face of their loved ones being at risk. They're 15 years old, they've watched so many people die, and they're not going to let stupid teenage drama get in the way of them protecting the people they DO have left! Including said stupid teenage boy, even if he is being dumb about it.

I'd say I'm like halfway through the game by this point. So very excited to see where it ends up. It's so fucking GOOOOOOOOD and yes it IS very gay and trans. You can change ur character's presentation and pronouns at any point. Effectively genderfluid, tho I'm keeping it on the nonbinary option of course. Also none of this teen drama even matters bc u can be poly in this game lol (which I am SO excited about) but it's fun rping a teen as a teen would be.

I haven't even met the immortal goth yet. Good chance I'll end up dating the goth And the emo. Should they both be open to the idea lol. And wouldn't that be just like me to do

[bluelolblue]

Real question. Does Santino have a blood kink with female reader? 😧 if not what are his kinks? 👁️👄👁️

OH EHEH Hi, hello! Tyyy for asking! >:]

If we're talking about Vampire!Santino, of course he has blood kink with fem!reader, too ;)

This gets NSFW so I'm putting the rest under the cut!

A vampire fits Santino so well, I had to write him like that, and I'm working on another one. But yes! He could definitely have blood kink, I mean, it's hot eheh >:]

He's really good at sucking blood, he makes it... very pleasant yk yk. He knows how to use his tongue, how to bite down to get the blood spilling onto his tongue, and he's just so damn good. Like, yes, he will feed on you that way, but it can be sexy ;)

Especially if the reader's blood tastes sweet, different, but delicious, so he has trouble stopping himself. AND he likes it when the reader feeds on him, too (if the reader is a vampire). It turns him on as much as it turns the reader on 😈

I did make an NSFW headcanons list for him if you want to check it out here :)

But I don't mind talking about them ^ ^

For example, praise kink! He loves giving praises and receiving them. He'll melt if he gets praised, he'll act like a little puppy, whining for more, begging just to get it. But he also loves to praise, it makes him feel like he's in control, so it boosts his ego. Worshiping him as well, he NEEDS to be worshiped because he's a work of art, the most beautiful masterpiece. So, praise him however you want it, make him fluster, just get him to be submissive, and he'll do anything. I love submissive Santino a lot, that's why I'm mostly talking about him.

I mentioned choking kink a lot of times. I do think he's into it, but I don't think he's rough with it (unless his partner, in this case reader, tells him to be, but he's still cautious). Like, when he's doing it to the reader, I don't think he would press too hard. It's supposed to be sexy, not painful, let alone to trigger a fight or flight response. So, I think he has his sexy way to do it, well his pretty hand feels good in any way eheh. When he is being choked, I think he likes to experiment with it, to find his limit (actually that's him with any kink). But he likes it, make him whimper when you suddenly press slightly harder on his neck >;]

BDSM, he is my perfect doll for that. He can be both sub and dom, even with the reader. Like I mentioned before, I like sub Santino, so I like to imagine dom reader with him. He will try to obey to you, but he's a little stubborn so you have to be persistent. But ofc you can get him to the point of crying and moaning.

Gunplay, OH guns >:]. I wrote Santino getting fucked with a gun, SO of course, he still likes that. Santino sucking on a gun, tracing the barrel of it down his thighs, pressing it against his crotch, let him hump it- but edge him, okay? Edging as well, he gets frustrated but he's still such a mess. He's still whining, might throw a little curse but he's back to moaning really quickly. He's a spicy kitten, will hiss at you but you just gotta take him and take care of him and he's calm. But yes, I think he has a thing for guns, likes the gunplay even when he's the one teasing the reader with it.

Degradation kink. Okay hear me out, he likes it. You can play a lot with this one, so many possibilities, but for example when he's exhausted and he's already super submissive, insult him. Call him a slut for behaving so needy, while you're touching him. Bonus points if you edge him for a long time and he fails (that could've been your plan eheh). Pretty much the same if the roles are reserved switched.

I mentioned kinfeplay as well, similar to the gunplay. He likes to play risky, although with a knife, it's slightly different for the obvious, sharp reason. But he likes it, trace it over his chin and throat, make him a little nervous (ofc NOT to actually hurt him, or yourself). The same if he's doing it to the reader, and he's careful.

Oh well, I will put pegging as well because I love to think about it with him. I think he would love to get fucked by the reader, I mean I wrote it and maybe I'll write something similar again (can't make a promise when, I'm sorry). Pin him down, face down, ass up, and make him cry out into the pillow while you fuck him. Imagine, if his men, his colleagues knew that he loves getting fucked... how humiliating for the D'Antonio 🤭😈

There is a lot I can think with him, a lot of possibilities with different AU's, therefore kinks as well. Santino can be put into anything with anyone and he's still gonna be so fucking hot. I need him AGHH

[sburbian-sage]

A

Ah, no., i

it's just my quirk., t

though you were it seems I can say you were close nonetheless., a

although I cannot explicitly confirm if it was a boss that did it, or if there is in fact a censoring effect on me, but if there were, how might one fight such a being?, w

when one cannot ask others about such a being's weaknesses., d

due to the aforementioned hypothetical censoring effect?, e

especially if such a boss or other being were perhaps too strong to defeat by ordinary means?, o

or isn't a boss at all, and instead is something it would be very very bad to kill?, n

not that I'm saying that it is or isn't., b

because it seems I can't.

I can't believe my ability to sleuth problems and decrypt ciphers is so strong that I arrived at a mostly-correct answer, even using the wrong process.

Anyway, you're telling me that you're being forced to self-censor and be evasive because an entity is forcing you to, and the entity in question is 1) not a boss, 2) too strong to defeat head-on, 3) probably shouldn't be killed. I can only think of a couple of entities which fall under this banner.

A Player. Perhaps one of the Law, Heart, or Rage variety, who has given a sentence/programming/command to not do the thing you shouldn't be doing. They could also be monitoring/brainwashing you with psionic powers, or else just have a bomb collar strapped to you.

Your Sprite. They're usually hardcoded to be friendly to you and guide you and stuff, but it's not impossible that you somehow prototyped a Sprite which is taking a hostile stance against you.

An Other. Technically not a boss, immensely strong, and it's not that killing them is bad, only that fighting them is innately dangerous.

The Debug NPC.

If it's the Player, then it might be worth it to send messages to your coplayers implying and insinuating that some weird abusive stuff is going on. If you think there's monitoring going on, or otherwise feel like online comms can't work, maybe try to meet up in person. As for "fighting", direct fights are indeed risky (putting aside Titles and such), and PKs are probably not desirable, unless you feel this is a prelude to a PK. In any case doing something like (hypothetically) waiting until they're asleep and active on the Dream Moon, finding their physical body, throwing a weighted net on top of them, splashing ice cold water on them, and then hitting them with a bat or other hard-but-not-deadly object while screaming at them to stop putting a censor lock on you, I dunno it could work. It'd be best to get back-up first though, or otherwise let your more communicative players help.

If it's the Sprite, I have no idea what you prototyped it with that it's hostile and has mind-control powers. If it has to come to it, I wouldn't be too worried about destroying the thing. The Sprites don't really contribute much anyway to people who already know how to play the game, outside of sentimental value (which a rogue sprite is definitionally not doing). Just toss in something contrary to its nature, and it might self-delete (only a euphemism in that it doesn't just zip out of existence, it explodes). Or maybe just throw something in that makes it less hostile? If that's not an option though, because it's double-prototyped, then just progress through the game. Every Sprite will eventually give you your Sprite Pendant, and soon after fuck off permanently. This is a mostly inevitable event, and once it leaves, any negative effects might also auto-dispel.

If it's an Other, I can only assume this was your fault because you made a deal with it. Hopefully you can try to find a loophole in whatever contract you made to get your ability to talk back, or else you'll have to make a second deal. And don't think this will wear off once the Session ends, any deal you make with an Other is persistent. Similarly persistent is your ability to communicate with that specific Other in the future.

If it's the Debug NPC, I can't help you. The fact that the Debug NPC is doing anything of consequence means things are going horribly off-rails, such that I literally wouldn't be able to provide you any relevant information or advice. So you'll just have to rely on your own problem-solving skills. Good luck!

[horizon-verizon]

Who do you prefer more Book! Rhaenyra or Show! Rhaenyra?

*EDITED as of 6/11/23*

Book!Rhaenyra, most definitely. This is a rant.

Though she is not as good with strategy as she could have been on her own--due to Viserys not giving her a proper political and military education like Jaehaerys I gave his sons--I prefer her because her being a "girly girl" from birth while pursuing her claim to the throne and never wavering from the belief that it is her birthright when the some of the court and Alicent have made it their business to remind her--most likely since she is the first female appointed heir--that her gender makes her less worthy of it gives me a thrill.

It could have been tempting to give in at several moments throughout her life not long after Alicent birthed Aegon--again, Alicent and the greens plotted, harassed, disparaged ("safe from Criston Cole"), and thus also most likely made her feel unwelcome in her own home since Rhaenyra was 10. It takes special persistence and resilience to be as sure as Rhaenyra was. Even if she did have private moments of doubt unrecorded, they never stopped her from her course or even made her pause (...until the betrayal of course. We all have limits, and again her childhood though Martin could have at least put in a few refusals against Celtigar's taxes and/or have put out one mid-successful strategy. How hard would it have been to clarify that it was her idea to send Daemon and Nettles out against Aemond or be the one to provide one element of the plan to take King's Landing?).

The determination to do as she thinks despite naysayers, while being as femme as she is great to see. And I don't mean that I think "soft femininity" will win the day or some Sansa-Stan bull, I mean that in patriarchal societies, the more femme-presenting a person of any gender is, the more they are taken as weak of heart or lacking in courage and strength and ability and competency, bc such elaborateness and care to one's appearance that could be read as "seductive" is societally coded feminine/"weaker".

And Doylstically, while GRRM made her much too vulnerable and w/o strategy or focus for much of the war (which is itself scented with sexist writing), again, that boldness and self-advocacy is what I like. She reminds me a lot of Cersei, but with comparatively more sense. I also think she was, for the most part, what alinahams says about her HERE. Except Rhaenyra--before her paranoia--took counsel pretty well....unlike Aegon her brother.

Show!Rhaenyra, from her Milly/young self to her Emma/older self annoys me a bit. Just from the way the writers chose to write her.

Show!Rhaenyra losing much of her fire in her adulthood and by episode 6 might seem expected or inevitable to some people because of the long fighting mostly spent alone, the guilt over Joffrey's death, and her need to look out for her sons in a hostile court, but I see it as a flaw in the writing and more sexist than the original story.

Show!Rhaenyra does not really contend with Alicent unless it concerns her kids. And she is not as decisive as the book! counterpart until Daemon chokes her out, her son dies (but not her daughter, who died before Luke and she called a council for in the book after losing?!), and she realizes that Viserys never told Daemon about the prophecy and thus shows to her that Viserys had much more confidence in her than in his male possible-heir...even though she has witnessed--everyone has witnessed!--for YEARS Viserys never named Daemon heir and she has already been the declared heir for those years. Finally, for YEARS, she has known that the greens sought to usurp her, yet at her moment of truth, she hesitates and disproves Daemon fortifying the castle?! That's all he's doing, too, fortifying it! When she has specifically proposed to Daemon asking for his violent/effective help and support for this very reason (other than loving him)?!!!

No Rhaenyra would be more decisive in such a scenario -- not necessarily gungho into violence after she's had w minute from her rage at Visenya's loss, but she'd be planning for a war and accepting that it would happen! Ignoring this just dumbs her down and makes her overly emotional and more vulnerable to Daemon's supposed roughshodding/external pressures instead of her own urgency and drive for power.

Aside from Rhaenyra already having left KL for Dragonstone after she marries, before she births Jaecaerys and ruing it for years alone before she marries Daemon, coming to befriend Laena, and having the chance to rule away from Alicent's presence, @xenonwitch points this out about Alicent:

the writers decided that a woman could only align with patriarchy if she had been brutally crushed beneath it and deprived or all agency. Hence Alicia becomes a doll for the men in her life to play with. This victimization also causes massive discontinuity during the scenes the writers decided to include actual text-based Alicent moments. The character they have set up is simply not designed to state the agency/ambition-based quotes that her book “counterpart” (term used loosely) showcases so easily.

I feel that something like this is also true for Rhaenyra in that the writers could not feel or imagine how/why a woman would fight for her throne on her own merit without the justification of an overhanging prophecy or her father's instructions, or with some awareness of some grand plan set down to define your entire existence to: to make sure that they create progeny who will fight in the Long Night. Both women suffer from the toothlessness of their fathers: Rhaenyra-Viserys, by what I say in the linked post above; Alicent-Otto, by the show making Alicent younger and unwilling to marry Viserys, only doing it by Otto's pressuring her, thus making both more victims than they are supposed to be.

Constant victimhood is not compelling, it's just trauma plot AND it's misogynist because it espouses that a woman can only hold power through suffering to uphold her male relatives' desires and that female power in any form is always given, not taken.

And when has the Dance or any event in the Westerosi monarchial/feudal history has it ever been about "the realm"? That goes for before the Targ Conquest as well--can we actually sit back and assume that any of these people are ever acting for the smallfolk (Alicent against Dyana, the bursting through the floor who Hess called "civilians", Otto not thinking about smallfolk when he pressured Alicent into bonding w/Viserys, etc)? So who is the "realm'? The only ones left to count as "the realm" are rich traders, merchants, and nobles. These are people that Alicent and Viserys tell each other, themselves and Rhaenyra needs protecting?! No, this is a narrative excuse for the prophecy to be the only real indicator for the "good" people vs the "bad" people. The "good" ones are Rhaenyra, Alicent, Rhaenys, & Viserys--those who think of the "realm", while the "bad" are Otto, Daemon, etc. are those who think selfishly--such a reductive thing to do! It became less about Rhaenyra-the-person, and more Rhaenyra-the-device of every male in existence and in her lineage for the sake of the known prophecy.

And to make Alicent more...central or impressive, they took some of Rhaenyra's properties or moments and gave them to Alicent. For example, the show took away her moment of self-advocacy when they gave it to Alicent in episode 5, the reveal of the green dress. Probably b/c they so stripped Alicent down to a helpless goody-two-shoes that they had to give her something some people would sympathize with her for, or think she's heroic. Just to make her more interesting. At the expense of Rhaenyra's characterization, though. And the result is that we also can't really imagine show!Rhaenyra calling for Vaemond's head (she may have or have not made eyes at Daemon, but she still bothered to try and defend herself to the greens when before in the book she took matters into her own hands concerning the Driftmark claim. Viserys didn't have to make a long walk to defend her) OR feeding his corpse to Syrax OR saying "they stole my crown" or "they killed my daughter". this Rhaenyra is nearly unrecognizable...you know why? Because she has become a mere protesting tool.

That isn't at all what ASoIaF--with all its (mostly) gray, well-developed characters--is about. I fell for ASoIaF because it depicted characters trying to find control and a stronger, more autonomous sense of identity in a world that wishes to deny them these and they often find the building blocks. Book!Rhaenyra found strength by recognizing herself as at least part of a great house, similar to what Dany does. In contrast to people like Jon, Tyrion, Arya, who all suffer struggle from their "ancestry not giving them enough solace" to create stabler and healthier identities:

I don't like how the show has made this story about what's good for the "realm" because it detracts from Daenerys and the Big Five's stories by claiming to be that story. And it's not just about fighting for the Long Night, it's also developing personhood through living conflicts between love vs duty vs power.

The Dance is where the Targs began to lose it all. Dany/the Big Five and the main ASoIaF story is when the Targs are gone and the real realm of Westeros AND the realm of humanity are facing a huge fantastical environmental catastrophe. Let the Dance be the Dance, Dany be Dany, etc.

@mononijikayu states with Alicent:

i also have to mention that many people said that the story was not feminist enough when the literal title of the origin was princess and the queen, focusing on the two powerful women who held the reins of power - one fighting for her right to the throne and her house and the other wanting to establish a legacy of her own by using her own children. it wasn't an just an archetypal stepmother story, thats just one part of the vindictiveness that runs along the story. it was two women challenging the status quo in their own way, creating a sense of agency in the damn patriarchal society. people like to apply so much of the modern peripheral on medieval society but look away when the main lead were women trying to decide for themselves what their lives should look like.

This part is especially true: "the main lead were women trying to decide for themselves what their lives should look like." This is what both book!Alicent and Rhaenyra were, women who both were trying to create a future for themselves where they'd benefit, trying to engineer their own lives by their own means and claims to resources, by their own will.

No, because a girl or a woman couldn't possibly try to flout patriarchal mores or try to decide her own fate if she truly is as "girly", feudal woman/girl (think Lucrezia Borgia from 2011 The Borgias) as canon states Rhaenyra to be. We have to have a modern, 2000s, "independent" young girl placed in a feudal world to suffer its inequities (look how bad things were, aren't we so much better off?!)....only to basically give up entirely and not fight for the birthright because....of a page that her treacherous former friend gives her...and ignore the risk to lives and dignities of not only her sons but herself, her husband, her sworn lords, and every other black faction member?

Therefore, it's also the stark dichotomy of her young vs older selves that is justified, by the show's writing, that Rhaenyra is less self-confident or willign to fight back. That she didn't fight with Alicent through innuendos, slight jabs, references of suspicions, or even hint that she thinks that Alicent is after her and her throne. Where's the clever verbal sparring? (This doesn't appear in the book, but esp with Rhaenyra having had her red/black dress moment, do we really think that she would have taken comments like "who protects the princess from Criston Cole" down lightly, as we should know Alicent definitely would have kept making such comments up until Rhaenyra left for Dragonstone and whenever she came back to KL?)

Now just because you get older, doesn't mean you lose a temper or that anger doesn't fill you up when you feel slighted if you are the type of person Rhaenyra in the book was. Remember, her canon characterization was that she could be charming but "never forgot a slight".

azureflight has a post explaining Rhaenyra's canon character HERE, while alinahams has one HERE.

Rant over.

*EDIT* (8/21/23):

THIS is a great post by mononijikayu about medieval queens, female rulers, the history of how women in leadership positions were made and seen as threats to the very structure of social “order”, and contextualizing Rhaenyra thru Empress Matilda. I didn’t even know about Matilda’s husband being comparable to Rhaneyra’s Daemon! PLZ READ!!!!

Excerpt:

just as much, along with these fictitious portrayals, more lies are depicted. these women are considered vixens that cause havoc to men by shifting them into desires and danger. through the written word, we see how women are cast in roles of villains in men’s lives. it is because by their conclusive thoughts, women are the only creatures that are able to turn ‘good honorable men’ into despicable creatures who do shameful, deplorable acts for the sake of women’s pleasures. […]  it is within this narrative that ancient chroniclers declare that women were in fact the doom of men. if they were not able to control the dangers posed by the wiles of women, then the foundations of the mighty society they had built would be up in flames.  [...] as i mentioned, these factors of community are written down and preserved. and with that, the example of the ancients were the foundations by which medieval society built itself. the same concepts continued to cause the same issue within society and that was the exclusion of women from participating in the bigger picture of community and state, much so with governing states in their own right—without judgment or disapproval. 

[heretic-altias]

FFXIVWrite Day 16 - Jerk

Altais is very self aware that she is in fact, a jerk, lol. Yet somehow she still makes friends. This takes place at some point during Heavensward, as Altais spent that expac learning mch.

Don’t know my characters? Here’s a basic breakdown to help you out!

~

Ishgard’s ever freezing climate was not pleasant to an Au Ra. Altais’s scales frequently felt like ice against her skin.

It had originally been the simple warmth emitting from the manufactory that had driven her to see what Stephanivien had wanted. And maybe one could argue that had brought her back the next couple of times. But as Solar’s time in Ishgard went on, she found herself enjoying the work there. Designing and building weapons was a way to grow stronger, and she had a good mind for the magitek engineering involved.

Stephanivien was also the only Ishgardian who acted so friendly towards her. Sure, there were a couple of people who acted friends towards the Scions and Solar as a whole, but Altais had always felt those people tolerated her at best. She was not a kind person, and had never learned a lot of social niceties. She usually came across as blunt and rude, whether it was intentional or not. Combine that with a general mistrust of people, and you had a woman who was very difficult to befriend. Most people backed off fairly quickly. Ishgardians in particular with their general dislike of anything scaled.

So Altais didn’t quite get why she was wanted in the manufactory. She knew Stephanivien wasn’t like the typical Ishgardian noble in regards to origin, he would recruit anyone willing to spend time there. But how had she not scared him off with her demeanor like most others? He didn’t even avoid her while she worked, he would often stop to ask how it was going, or work on his own project nearby to make small talk. Altais could understand her talent being wanted, she had picked up on the craft faster than anyone else, but why did he value her company?

One day, tinkering with her newest weapon, she decided to ask.

“Why do you like being around me anyway?”

“Why would you ask such a thing? Do you have reason to doubt my intentions?” Stephanivien questioned curiously, stopping what he was working on to give her his full attention.

“I doubt everyone’s intentions to a degree, but you’re not exceptional there. Most people don’t like my company though. I’m not exactly friendly. Some people have told me I’m outright mean. Not that it matters to me, I am what I am, but you’ve been the odd exception in this city. Solar likes me, but what we have is something… different” Altais shrugged.

Solar was the group of people she constantly faced life and death consequences with. They knew she could fight alongside them and had seen that she would. That wasn’t an experience anyone else shared with her. It was hard to put into words exactly what, but that had built a special sort of bond between them. One even Altais could recognize.

“Well you and I share this interest in machinistry. That’s enough to start a conversation in itself I daresay. I try to talk with everyone here, but you keep up with my theories better than anyone else. You don’t share much about yourself, but when we work together I see a bright mind behind that harsh exterior that I’d like to get to know more” Stephanivien thought aloud, seeming to consider his words carefully.

“I’m not really sure what it is you think you see. I’m not a very good person and I come across exactly as I am” Altais answered back.

“Ah, but you’re not a bad person. ‘Good’ and ‘kind’ are not always connected. You may not be kind my friend, but I can assure you that you are good. Do you think I would have seen the potential I did in you if you weren’t?”

Altais had her doubts. She could see what he meant, this city was full of outwardly kind people who were rotten to the core. But just following some heroic types around didn’t make her good like they were.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your persistence in befriending me” Altais finally decided with a shake of her head.

Maybe someday she would. But she’d said pretty much the same thing to Akku early on, and while she liked him and considered him a friend now, she still didn’t understand his persistent attempts at friendship in face of her attempts to brush him away.

“You might just need more time to grow used to it. But if there is anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable here, be sure to tell me. I would hate for you not to return” Stephanivien insisted.

Altais turned away from her own work to glance at the project behind him.

“Well that gun certainly isn’t capable of shooting me in the back, so I think I’m safe for the moment” she pointed out.

Stephanivien feigned hurt, “You wound me! Worry not though! She’ll shoot perfectly well once I finish putting her together! But I believe the targets we have set up would be more suitable for testing than your back”

“Using those would come with less regret too I’d imagine. The targets don’t shoot back”

Stephanivien laughed, and while Altais’s face didn’t change, a slight upward lift in her tail gave away her amusement to those who knew to recognize it.

Altais didn’t have the answer to her question in the end, but she also didn’t have a reason to stop coming back.

[hunterofthehunters]

14) Resident Evil 3 (PS1)

playing this on a vita may not have been the wisest decision (also on pre-4th of july time with family and relatives, but it's fine)

okay so. how to summarize my feelings here...

full disclosure: i played this on hard mode, and also as i said before on a vita. i did not learn until near the end there was a manual aim because it was physically not bound to any button. as such i had to make those adjustments myself very late. so yeah.

this game's really good and i can immediately see why people remembered it so fondly. but at the same time i'm very. mixed on my opinions.

i think the general presentation of it is great. the story's simple enough with a good premise and good execution. i like jill in it, i like carlos, nikolai is a bastard. but we're not here for those other two. we're here for the Big Boy

nemesis is very fucking effective in this game. like, actually a sincerely terrifying hunter enemy. but he isn't effective bc of his a.i. or his moveset in fights or anything. re3 does this very clever thing where it spawns him in specific ways, at specific times, with specific framing that gives off the impression he is constantly on your ass. they didn't have the ability to program a persistent enemy that actually chases you across the map. it's just a trick; a cleverly hidden illusion, and a great example of how games are very much bullshit that tricks you into believing certain things are happening in a certain way. it's a reminder of how similar to theatre they are imo and i like it a lot.

what i like less is when the game expects you to actually deal with nemesis instead of run

okay so. tank controls aren't inherently bad. they can even be really cool and fun, and they're why i think games like armored core fuck immensely

i don't feel like re's tank controls fall under that category. the number of times i got into bad situations, not because i made a fundamental error in judgement, but because the controls themselves were fighting against me, was actually very frustrating. these things are really just minor grievances when dealing with normal enemies (hell even the hunters were easy in this, but that was bc carlos had an assault rifle).

these minor issues become Really Fuckin Big Ones when nemesis decides to stop being a chase sequence and become an actual boss battle. the tank controls are designed for very slow, methodical gameplay. nemesis meanwhile is moving like you're playing an action game where you have a consistent dodge to avoid getting combo'd for half your health in a single sudden hit.

"oh well you can just get used to the weird dodge and get good" yeah i did. i'm posting this now, aren't i? the problem is the process was kinda grating. i don't feel like his moveset was really considered alongside the gameplay. he moves so quickly, so aggressively, and he has so many ways to disrupt your ability to fight him and make you mash to get up and Whoops He's Instakilled You Off A OTG Command Throw, Better Reload

i swear i don't hate nemesis in this. i like him a lot. i think i just feel a little let-down because i was expecting some masterpiece of design like people kept hyping him up as vs the remake. instead i'm seeing a flawed but cool idea that was let down by faulty boss design.

maybe that was the problem with the remake. people wanted to see it fulfill that promise.

either way, this whole rant is a minor gripe. these fights only happen like 3 times and the latter two can be beaten through the power of Let The Idiot Walk Into The Trap. which is fine i guess and fits the tank controls better. (i'll admit seeing him fall apart over time and grow more frenzied and blinded in the acid valves fight was a very cool bit. why didn't you do that, remake.)

re3 ps1 is a great game. i liked it a lot. i just wish i would've loved it.

[santaclausdeadindian]

if you say something and someone criticizes what you say, they're not violating your freedom of speech, they're exercising their own.

Did I claim otherwise?

okay, so you agree fundamentally with the point of the post, so it's moronic for you to go out of your way to pick a fight on a post that you ultimately agree with.

my question was about something else though, as we established earlier

"i don't know whether palestine would succeed without US aid to israel, but i'm very interested to find out."

I gotta ask why? Is it because of the us budget part, or because you are sympathizing with their goal and if it is the latter, what do you think it is?

I am on the fence about the allied bombing campaigns, because while there were of course legit military targets as well, they also specifically went after civilian populations too, with such stated goals as deleting the housings of the targeted countrys workforce. Or how the tactics evolved into some really fucked up methodology, like targeting firefighting infrastructure before the firebombings. It is a quite long line of warcrimes. But you do have a point that it would be still a lot less outright genocide-y, compared to some of the axis powers. Than again, what did the slovak, hungarian, romanian or bulgarian vassals do to get their fair share of carpet bombings aimed at their civilian populations?

the same cannot be said for israel which has showed a persistent pattern of disregard for civilian life through the course of this war.

this is blatantly false, because if they actually wanted to genocide Gaza, they have pretty much complete control over what gets into Gaza, including food and water. You know, unless the Egyptians open their border with them. In fact, Israel did and does let through humanitarian aid and they even stopped for a while to allow vaccinations. Very weird way of going about a genocide.

I think a "string of individual warcrimes easily apply here if it does above. In fact, I do not recall the allies doing much if anything about the ever diminishing calory intake of their enemies on the continent.

now, that in itself doesn't necessarily prove genocide, but then add to that the fact that this disregard for civilian lives is being demonstrated against a minority population within their own country, and well

I cannot for the life of me see the difference regarding them doing it to their own minority vs another country.

yeah man you might.

I also might be right. I have been looking into this for a while and I kinda peg them at about 200k, which is a lot of civilians to kill, but they did kill a lot of soldiers too. It is very hard to find data on it. Killing, say, a quarter million of enemy combatants in about 3 years of world war plus the spanish civil war and the conquest of ethiopia does not seem impossible. But then again, they caused a severe famine in both Greece and Abyssinia. But then again again, it is really seems like it was more of their staggering incompetence than anything else.

Jesus, it is 5:30 am, I have a flight today, i will finish this later.

they'll fund a genocide and let their poor regions be destroyed. don't fucking forgive them for that.

my hometown is completely gone from what pictures i can find of it, i have not heard from my family (including aunts, uncles, parents, one sibling, and a grandparent), and the infrastructure in the mountain communities is wiped out. i cannot stress how catastrophic this is, or how difficult it will be for these communities to build back. i am angry, and scared, and heartbroken by everything that's happened.

and our government is spending it's money to fund a genocide.

free palestine, and don't be complicit. realize that this is not something happening that doesn't affect you--although it shouldn't take this to care about the deaths of thousands of people anyway.

[andro-studiesmed]

JOURNAL ENTRY - 20 June, 2023

In ten days I have my send ups that will be starting. Basically they are exams. The entire next two months are just exams.

These days I write my journal entry out and don't post it because I couldn't. There is so much to say but I'm having trouble saying just about anything but there is so much to say I want to say but it's as if my words have been locked away and someone took the key away. I've been struggling with that for a week now. Nothing was helping and all I did was doom scrolling as the worst case of executive dysfunction and task paralysis took over me. The kind where you keep telling yourself to get up but your body won't get up so now you are screaming in your head and your body still won't move because moving feels that hard.

Knowing that you need to be doing something else but aren't doing it even though you want to do it. It's the worst feeling ever and this feeling persists very strongly.

I am a bit of the opposite of other people or am I completely misidentifying my feelings. I cannot say. when everyone seems to be bothered and working hard— even those that never did before. I'm not worried about myself at all— as my worry isn't translating into any action at all. Rather I feel these specs of harsh anxiety and they go away just as suddenly as they appear. Perhaps because I know there is not much I can do at this point. Other than doing as best as I can.

Back when I was preparing for NEET ( the qualifying exam for being a doctor in my country ), at one point I stopped caring if I would make it or not. My point is that all I did was do as much as I could and left the rest to God. I did as much as I could by fighting for as long as I could- till the end. What happened after the end was what the god wanted for me. It's not always easy to accept things so I pray. I pray that things go my way and that God is listening because he needs to. People pray to god and I think I have my daily arguments with God. Fights perhaps? Anger perhaps? There is everything. Reverence and anger but the faith I believe remains. Faith that things might not go my way and it really fucking sucks but I will fight the fight because that's my responsibility. That it is my responsibility and no one else's, not even gods. So I fight god because that is why my and his connection is like. He's my friend but we have our falling offs and reconciliation. And I know God is not for everyone but this is what it is for me.

But coming back to people— if people are studying around me, I can't seem to study as well. If people are only sitting around me and I'm the one studying. I can do it. Is this the curious case of body doubling? Or just a severely low self-esteem? Or perhaps both?

I'm envious of those whose heads and minds work with them and not apart from them. I was going to write the word against instead of the word apart but I don't think my mind wants to work against me. It made me sad just as suddenly as it had appeared. I feel sorry for my mind— because it tries to work with me.

So it makes me envious because— why do they get to be normal and me with the extra struggles? I wish I was the normal one or perhaps a little more extraordinary because that's what it feels like— that to belong to this place I need to be more than myself and more like others. It's shitty.

Perhaps there are fifty other people here with the same thoughts as mine and I don't know about them and perhaps there are none. I will never know.

Today I made myself get up and eat breakfast, lunch and dinner properly. I hadn't eaten anything properly for the past three days. Just one meal a day and that too not food. I also made myself attend a few classes today. Just for the sake of it. Tomorrow I might not go. It really depends. I also studied today after I hit another slump.

I downloaded a pomodoro and used that. It was an app I had deleted earlier and now I got it back. I felt the resistance and I'm immensely slow as compared to my counterparts but I'm waking at the snails pace. I haven't turned into a rock yet. I might tomorrow. I don't know.

I'm trying to survive because I can't die. Not like this.

" If winter comes, can spring be far behind? "

[zoeykallus]

Hunter – Dirty Little Thief 2 - Fairplay

Hunter x female reader She/Her (Enemies To Lovers)

Warnings: A little Cat And Mouse Situation/ Some Violence/ Very cocky reader/ Strong Language/ Implied Force Sensitivity In Reader/ Injury/ Mention Of Blood

________

Author's Comment:

Still playing cat and mouse with Hunter, he of course doesn't make it easy for you. But being the good guy he actually is, he is trying not to harm you.... and fails.

________

What Happened Before:

Dirty Little Thief

Part 2 - Fairplay

Hunter ran out of the hut and looked around. He could smell your perfume in the air and started running, but the farther he got from the cabin the fainter the smell became. He stopped, turned around and ran back to the hut. The smell was much stronger here not only because you had been here, but because you still were, he guessed.

You had been hiding, very close, you didn't know about his extreme senses and that he could smell you and at the moment even hear your heartbeat, which was getting faster and faster the closer he got to your hiding place.

He sighed and said, "I know you're under the tarp by your junk speeder."

You held your breath, not sure if he was bluffing.

"Come on, do I really have to pull the tarp away?"

Yes he had to, because you decided to call his bluff.

"Fine, have it your way."

Hunter reached for the tarp but at the same moment your leg swept out from under it and pulled his feet away. He landed hard with his back on the sandy, dusty ground and cursed.

"I'll yank your ears off, girl," he grumbled as he hastily scrambled to his feet as you ran off after all.

He set after you, you could hear his quick footsteps behind you. You ran from your persistent pursuer, hooking and darting from side alley to side alley. He was fast and he just wouldn't give up.

You took a quick look over your shoulder and were startled to see that he was catching up. Soon he would only have to stretch out his arm to reach for you. You hastily stopped and crouched down, as expected he collided with you and fell over your crouched person. However, he did not fall down as you had expected, but reacted quickly, skilfully rolled off and was immediately on his feet again.

You had not expected this. You took too long to collect yourself, when you stood up he was already with you, grabbing the collar of your old leather jacket and pulling you towards him.

"Listen, I don't want to have to hurt you" he said "Just give me back what you stole from my ship and we'll forget about it".

You looked at him stubbornly and said "I don't know what you're talking about".

Hunter sighed annoyed, pushed you against a wall of a house and wedged you between himself and the wall.

"You may be a dirty little thief but you're also a woman and I don't like hitting women, however if you don't give me a choice then..."

"Then what?" you asked laughing "Be sure I'll fight back, don't worry I won't make it easy for you to hurt me."

He growled impatiently "I don't want to!"

You tried to wriggle away from him, but he got a hold of your wrists and nailed them to the wall with his hands to the left and right of your head while his chest pressed against yours, keeping you pinned against the wall.

"Let me guess, you don't have it on you anymore, do you? Where did you hide it? By the speeder?"

He was so close you could feel his hot breath on your face as he spoke. Your eyes found his, his eyes were gray but with an amber underlay, a bit like his eyes were about to change color, which was nonsense of course, but definitely an interesting color. You wondered how you could be distracted by this right now, but at the moment he didn't say a word but just stared back, as if he were similarly distracted.

He was handsome, as far as you could tell. He was strong, that much was certain. Despite his equipment you could see that he was well built, broad shoulders, narrow straight hips and you could bet that his thighs were equally trained, and hard as stone when he tightened them. His slightly longer black hair, thick and full, was tied back with a bandana. Half of his prominent face under a dark tattoo.

You gathered yourself, it didn't matter what he looked like, you weren't friends and probably wouldn't become friends. You had stolen from the man, admittedly something you were quite sure he had stolen as well, but still.

"Why did you take it anyway?" he suddenly asked into the silence of the back alley, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I actually wanted your weapons," you said honestly "But then I saw this thing, looked valuable and-"

Hunter frowned.

"And what?"

"Nothing," you said dismissively, almost telling him about the whisper you heard "It looked like it would feed me for the next few weeks"

Hunter's brows moved up, surprised.

"You steal for food?"

"It's how I've survived here on Tatooine since I was little," you said defiantly.

Hunter sighed.

"Anyway, I'm on a mission to get the holocron to a certain place, that's what my brothers and I get paid for. So where is it?"

You let the term holocron run through your mind, somewhere you had heard that before. But you didn't come up with where and in what context.

You knew he was wearing protection, but you still pulled your knee up with full force, the impact between his legs, was at least enough to knock him off his balance for a moment. He let go of your wrists and staggered back two steps. You took the opportunity and ran. Of course, he was right back on your heels. The guy wouldn't give up, that much was clear to you by now.

In the next moment he grabbed your jacket and pulled you down with him. The holocron tumbled out of your inside jacket pocket and tumbled across the sandy, dusty ground. He scrambled up, trying to reach for it. You automatically reached out for the object because you wanted it, you knew it was over, he almost had his hand on the holocron, when suddenly, as if by magic, it rolled across the ground toward you and into your outstretched hand.

Your fingers closed around it, while you heard again the soft, gentle whispering that seemed to come from inside the holocron. Your eyes wandered from the holcron to your opponent, who just stood there staring at you as you struggled to your feet.

His look was a mixture of surprise, fascination, confusion, and maybe even a little awe, and you had no idea what was going on.

"Wow," he said "What was that? Are you a... Jedi?"

You frowned at his question, you had heard of Jedi before but never met one.

"What nonsense" you said "There are no Jedi anymore".

"Then explain to me how you did that"

You shrugged your shoulders and said reluctantly "I don't know, I wanted it before you did and it came to me"

"You may not be a Jedi, but you can use the Force" he said with conviction.

To your knowledge, nothing like this had ever happened to you before, none of this made sense to you.

"I don't know, but that thing is mine now, whether you like it or not" you growled.

He sighed.

"I can't let you have it," he said sternly.

You tightened up.

"You're not getting this back without a fight, though," you growled firmly.

With a sigh, he drew his blaster and aimed it at you.

"Hey," you protested "you're not playing fair."

He shook his head and said apologetically "I can't afford to play fair, sorry".

As he pulled the trigger, the stun charge hit you square in the chest. A jolt went through your body, your fingers stiffened, the holocron slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor, shortly after you toppled over. You didn't even realize that your head hit the ledge of a wall before you hit the ground.

Hunter cursed and rushed to your side. He hadn't planned that. He examined your head and saw a nasty laceration.

"Damn it!" he grumbled.

He picked up the holocron from the floor, pocketed it, and finally threw you over his shoulder. He wasn't going to just leave you lying in the alley, injured and alone in the middle of the night in a back alley in a seedy neighborhood like this. Hunter decided that Tech should take a look at your head wound before you parted ways again. Thief or not, he didn't want to be responsible for your death.

@oneshot-one-kill

@moonstrider9904

@photogirl894

@chlorine-claws

@the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond

@brynhildrmimi