#at least one of them is bound to get me a strike at this point

[sinsofsinister]

i paused my queue like a week ago because the queue fell below a number i dont like going under (turned it back on bc come on there's 312 posts in there it's fine) and i fully had intentions of filling it back up again but then i suddenly became heavily fixated on editing this Content Warning video so that's what i've been doing instead of literally everything else for the past week

[celuere]

Sister! My guilty pleasure is to be a damsel in distress, there's just something good about being rescued by your beloved no? Getting them to see them become protective, making sure you're secure, Safe and sound, a bonus point if they're usually calm, gets angry rarely but is now seething in rage just because you were in harm's way??? Chef's kiss!

Now..... Consider being kidnapped by the abyss and have Mavuika saving you? Big mistake because you are her beloved and closest confidant (and lover).

I LITERALLY LOVE THE IDEA OF MAVUIKA COMING TO UR RESCUE. Like have you seen her in the second Archon quest? Imagine how ballistic she‘d go if her beloved is in danger. Jwlwnekwkelkwbww pyro women always having me by my THROAT.

pairing: Mavuika x GN!reader

context: look at anon request!

cw: mentions of injuries, angry Mavuika coming to your rescue (literally so hot), kinda detailed description of Mavuika going crazy on her enemies????, written before the events of 5.0, bit fluffy at the end, NOT proofread!

I never really wrote anything like this before so I really hope this is to your liking anon!

When you took part in the latest pilgrimage you knew what to expect. The dangers, the night kingdom, the abyss. They weren’t unfamiliar with you. In fact, as Mavuika‘s -the currently Pyro Archon‘s- right hand and under other circumstances… lover… you were already old acquaintances with the ongoing conflict between the Nation of War and the Abyss.

But you didn’t expect things to go so horribly wrong.

A vacation. That’s all you thought it would be. You were the last person to ever struggle in the Night Kingdom, always looking out for the younger and inexperienced, never making a single mistake. Ensuring a successful mission with little to no injuries, nobody ever died under your guidance through corrupted realm.

But every hero is bound to mess up at one point.

Clutching your bloodied shoulder with your injured hand, the claws of a Rifthound barely missed your head as you rushed up whatever path opened up to you. You miscalculated. And it was only thanked to your quick reflexes that your whole troupe didn’t got wiped out with a single strike but every success in the Night Kingdom demands an equal sacrifice. Chasca didn’t have that luck.

And now you were stuck in the Night Kingdom. The only exit being sealed from the outside after you helped an injured Kinich make it out in time. It was either him or you and there was no way in hell you would’ve left him here on his own with a broken arm so you quite literally threw the already hurting young man over your shoulder and right into the portal, being left completely alone against a horde of at least 50 abyssal monsters.

Exhaustion was pulling at your muscles, the endless running and dodging drawing the air out of your lungs faster than you‘d like. Ribcage burning from your rapid intakes of oxygen but fighting wasn’t an option, there were just simply too many of them. Of course, you tried but all that earned you was a knife being rammed into your left thigh which only cut deeper into your flesh with each meter your feet carried you. Celestia knows how much longer you will last like this.

Reaching the end of the cliff you were running up to, no other option was left other than to jump down. Without a lake to catch up your fall, you took the leap and the moment your legs came in contact with the hard ground, you were pretty sure you broke more than just both your legs according to the almost mind-shattering pain shooting through your spine.

The pain scream leaving your mouth would have probably been enough to shatter a mirror, your eyes started to water, but not only at the mere agony you find yourself in as you stared in horror at the enemies closing in.

You won’t get to see her again. Won’t get to see her beautiful face next to you every morning, nor those ridiculous sunglasses she wore so often. When she pressed her lips to your cheek this morning, you would’ve never thought to be your last. Does Mavuika know just how much you love her? How much you cherish her in your heart? Did you say those three words often enough for her to be remember them at your funeral? Would she hate herself for letting you go? Or for how often she scolded you for drinking too often to your hearts content with Xilonen? You hoped she didn’t. Hoped she will continue living on without you.

Staring up at the starry sky above you, a sword was raised right above you. The only regret you had was not loving her enough. How you won’t be there when she finally -once and for all- triumphs over the abyss. How you won’t be there for the love of your life to celebrate the victory, the ultimate goal of her life.

A last wish left your lips in a faint whisper as a shooting star came flying towards you as death‘s clock chimed in twelve for you.

But instead of your anticipated beheading, something close to a meteorite came down crashing in front of you. The sheer heat radiating from the collision along with the dust being thrown your way, you shut your eyes closed as your ears became witnesses of the most terrifying and gut wrenching sounds.

There were bones being cracked, skulls being crushed, rifthounds being ripped apart as far as you could make out. Someone was ripping the Abyss to literal shreds before you. And maybe you were next.

From one moment to the next, silence started to echoe through the realm. The only sound to be heard - someone taking harsh breath. Then something heavy falling to the floor, followed by the sound of footsteps rushing up to you.

That’s it. They wanted to finish you off with their bare hands.

„[…]!!“

Ripping open your eyelids in pure shock at the familiar voice, your beloved dropped to her knees in front of you.

Mavuika. Dropped to her knees in front of you.

„Thank the stars you’re alive-!! Kinich and the others immediately notified me of the situation and-”, the rest of her words were drowned out as you stared in disbelief up at her, still clutching your broken shoulder with your hand. Even the pain coming from your legs and spine were to be quickly forgotten as you stared up at your wife‘s worried face.

Even those ridiculous glasses grazing the bridge of her nose. You were never happier to see that specific pair of glasses in your entire life.

She came.

She came to your rescue.

„….-get you to a doctor-!“, the sentence only now registered in your brain, the pain came shooting right back at you and you couldn’t stop the pained cry from leaving your mouth, black spots starting to adorn your wife‘s face as your eyelids became so incredibly heavy-

Maybe you were celebrating a bit too early when consciousness was ripped away from you.

———————

„Their injuries might take a few good months to heal. They will need a wheelchair for the time being until the bones are healed enough to talk about further steps.“, dread settled in Mavuika‘s stomach at the Doctor‘s diagnosis. That would mean no fighting or training for you. Something you won’t like. At all.

„I understand… I appreciate everything you did, Doctor. See you tomorrow.“, bidding her goodbye, Mavuika quietly sneaked into your room. There you were. The completely lower half of your scarred body wrapped in bandages. The sight tugged at her heart. But at least you were still asleep, only waking up for a good few minutes to take in a meal and maybe a trip to the toilet, the pain being suppressed by a few special herbs Madam Citlali mixed together.

Her eyes wandered over your peaceful face, the cut on your cheek still healing. And yet you were the most beautiful thing she ever laid her eyes upon. A fact that will never change.

When the news of your predicament reached her, Mavuika never acted so fast. Never in her life before did she summon a portal to Night Kingdom this fast. Fear. Fear was something that always accompanied her whenever she sent off the winners of the pilgrimage into a new fight. But what possessed her that day wasn’t fear.

It was terror. Cold terror. The mere thought of a life without you was unbearable to her, igniting a completely new flame inside of her that blinded her in that very moment she reached you right before you looked into death‘s very eyes. Will she ever let you participate again? If it goes after her, no. Never again. But she knew you well enough to know you would never let that happen, never let her carry the burden of Natlan‘s fate alone.

She will break it to you when you can actually stay up for longer than fifteen minutes. Your recovery and wellbeing were her top priority at the moment and such life changing news were to be handled delicately. For now she sat down besides you, hand wrapping around your bandaged one as her thumb stroked over the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

She will wait for your next awakening for as long as needed.

[wheeboo]

hi (i love you) | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you take a trip through random glimpses of your growing relationship with minghao. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader (ft. a mention of jihoon, and gyu and seokmin very briefly) GENRE. fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, established relationship, college au WARNINGS. hao is a year or two older than reader, drinking and reader getting drunk, kissing, terms of endearment at the end, the last scene is a lil suggestive WORD COUNT. 5.5k

notes: yes. this is literally just a compilation fic of them saying hi. ty zanna @slytherinshua for reading this over for me <3 there's like significant time skips between each section - just a lil sum to keep in mind cuz i dont wanna cause confusion or anything 😭😭😭 i find hao the hardest member to write for, so i hope i was able to characterize him well here!

i. "hi." (fallow is the colour of dryness to my mouth when your eyes met mine.)

There's no way in hell you're going to let yourself be lost on the first day of university.

It's embarrassing enough accidentally waking up past your alarm and having barely any time to freshen up as much as you would like, so right now, you couldn't afford another disaster.

Taking a deep breath, you double-check your schedule and the layout of the campus on your phone, trying to match it with the signs around you. The different buildings and hallways of the campus seem like a maze in of itself, and you can feel the slight panic course up your veins. A sea of students rush past you, seemingly confident in their strides towards their own classes. A defeated sigh leaves you.

All you had to do was find the stupid art hallway.

You clench your phone tighter, your iron grip practically burning a hole through the screen. The campus map app wasn't making any more sense now than it did a minute ago. Frustration stings painfully at your eyes, but begging the earth to swallow you whole wouldn't get you to class any faster, so you force yourself to scan the crowd. There's bound to be at least someone who knows where it is and is willing to help you.

And so, your eyes catch sight of the first figure appearing conveniently in your peripheral vision𑁋a boy, dressed in a casual fallow-coloured flannel with a backpack casually slung over one of his shoulders, earphones in his ears, and peering down at something on his phone just like you were doing minutes ago (though he seems to be having a much better time than you)𑁋which was somehow enough for your feet to bolt you towards as if it had a mind of its own.

You feel the root of your nerves creep up your legs and branch up to your neck as you approach him, realising at this point, there's no turning back now. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, bracing yourself for a possible eye roll or annoyed sigh.

His eyes widen in surprise before settling on you, and at that moment, something strikes hard at whatever rehearsed lines you had in your head. It was all gone in a simple snap, from a simple look from him𑁋soft yet sharp brown eyes framed by dark lashes peering at you with a hint of surprise, fluffy dark hair showering down his neck and forehead a little, a dainty pair of silver earrings glinting at his ears. His whole face seems to hold a warmth that somehow eases a bit of the knot in your chest, but certainly not the one in your throat.

You open your mouth, but all the words die on your tongue. The air hangs heavy with a sudden awkwardness, and you can practically feel your cheeks burning. Maybe you should just turn around and pretend this never happened.

But then, you notice the way his lips lift up just slightly, and it makes your stomach do a flip. He glances down at his phone for a second, takes off his earphones, then brings his attention back at you.

"Hi," is all he says, and maybe, just maybe, your heart stops a little bit. It's just a simple word, but the way he says it𑁋all soft, quiet, a tad bit hesitant𑁋makes the fabric of your shirt feel tight on your body.

You didn't notice you were clenching your fists until you force them to relax at your side, clearing your throat in the process.

"Hi," You manage back nervously, surprised at how breathless you sound. "Sorry, I-I don't mean to intrude. It's just... Do you happen to know where the art hallway is? I'm trying to find my photography class."

You watch the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, unveiling more of a view of his piercings. He gazes briefly behind you at the clusters of other students gradually spilling into different hallways, hushing the space where the two of you stood. Then he returns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

"You're not that far off," he comments, seemingly amused. "I was just heading there myself too."

"Really? That's a relief. The campus map is awful and confusing, and I swear this place was designed on purpose for you to get lost in, you know? And being lost on the first day is just..." You quickly shut your mouth up from your rambling, letting your voice fade into an embarrassed chuckle instead.

Your gaze falls to the ground for a moment, and when you pick your head back up to look at him, you catch a glimpse of the small curve that he has at his lips, barely a hint of a smile playing there. It's a small detail, but suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world, and it throws your train of thought completely off track. He doesn't seem bothered by your little habit of rambling (admittedly, because of nerves), thankfully. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh, the sound washing over you like a warm summer breeze.

You can't help but sheepishly grin back, feeling a certain lightness bloom within your chest that probably has nothing to do with the weight of your backpack suddenly seeming lighter as well.

"It's okay," he reassures, voice as quiet and gentle as his gaze. "Everyone gets lost here sometimes. I've been there."

He starts walking, and you hesitate for a second before falling into step beside him. There's a small part of you urging to get to know him, as if this was the only opportunity to do so, but all the words you want to say sound clumsy and loud compared to the easy peacefulness that surrounds him.

And honestly, it feels... nice.

The hallway he leads you in is perhaps more than just a simple art hallway, the intoxicating scent of oil paint and clay blend together in the air. Paintings by students and faculty of every style imaginable line the walls, some bursting with vibrant colours, others muted and contemplative. Sculptures poke out from odd corners, and bulletin boards are overflowed with announcements of upcoming exhibitions and workshops, even though the year just started.

"Welcome to the art hallway," he beckons you casually and welcomingly, as if only this portion of the campus was a separate entity than others.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding in. "Thank you so much. Wow, this place is, um..." You stop yourself from continuing on, zipping your mouth shut. "I owe you. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. If there's anything I can𑁋"

"There's no need." He waves a hand dismissively at your offer, and for a second you feel something inside you sink, but the small hint of a smile to his face chases that feeling away just a little. "And it's Minghao... yeah. I'll see you around."

Before you can say anything more, you watch as he turns himself around and swiftly enters inside the room standing right behind him. A painting class.

(You are eight minutes late to class when a near-clear picture on the wall catches your gaze. It looks like a picture of Minghao standing next to a particularly vibrant painting of abstract art, and your heart swells just a little bit more.)

ii. "hi." (laurel is the colour of the grass that you lay on with me, gazing up at the same sky together.)

There was a time during Minghao's first year of college where a friend of his𑁋Lee Jihoon is his name𑁋called him crazy and bonkers for spending majority of his day outdoors rather than inside. Obviously, Minghao didn't exactly care, nor was it insulting in the slightest knowing Jihoon's stubbornness and tendency to stay holed up in his room buried under piles of music textbooks.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the outdoors more than anything else, like from the way the sun kisses upon his skin, the gentle breeze that caresses his face, and the colours of nature that found him at his lowest times. Minghao thinks that's how he got into painting and art in the first place, though he didn't dwell on it too much. It all just came natural to him. He likes to think it that way𑁋that it found him instead.

The scenery of the campus is his oasis. He can do his own thing while others are walking through their own lives. He can sit outside for as long as he wants until dusk settles in and paints the sky with hues of orange and pink, or until the stars twinkle above and remind him that he's just an utter speck in the universe.

Today is no different.

Minghao finds himself sprawled out on the grass near the art building, sketchbook propped up against his bent knees, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the way the afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves of a nearby tree in his line of sight.

A low breeze runs through the air, stirring a few strands of hair across his forehead. He brushes them back absentmindedly, just as a sound cracks into the quietness.

"Hi!"

Minghao shoots his eyes up, slightly startled from the unexpected greeting. He catches sight of you slowly approaching up to him, a hesitant smile gracing your lips as you stop a few feet away.

"Hi," he replies, voice soft as he notices the way you're fiddling with something behind your back. "Vending machine did its ol' thing again?"

"Can you always read my mind?" You murmur, teasing annoyance biting at your words, but you can't contain the smile to your face either way. Maybe he can read your mind, but he's just skimming over it instead. "I can take it if you prefer to die from dehydration."

Minghao chuckles lightly. He glances down at the water bottle in your hand, then back at you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. There's a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, but also a hint of something𑁋maybe surprise, mischief, or perhaps a touch of shyness.

(You don't catch the way he subconsciously pushes the other water bottle he had stashed earlier deeper into his backpack.)

"Thanks." He accepts the water bottle from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a second, and takes a quick sip to cool his slightly parched throat.

Then he sets the water bottle down beside him, patting the grass next to him invitingly.

Without a word, you take a deep breath and lower yourself down onto the grass next to him. You catch the scent of the fresh paint lingering on his clothes and blending with the earthy aroma of the grass beneath you. The sunlight catches on the side of his face, highlighting some strands of hair flying in the breeze and the silver earrings reflecting in his ears.

There's a small groan that leaves you when you get yourself to lay fully down on the grass, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. Minghao just peers in your direction curiously, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you settle in.

"You know," You sigh, letting out a contented breath as you spread your arms out a little, fixing your eyes up towards the sky. "This is actually really nice, hanging outside and all, but I am so out of shape. You pick the worst spots."

Minghao's smile widens a fraction at your words. He shifts his own gaze to the sky, observing as the clouds drift lazily overhead, fingertips kneading at the laurel-coloured grass below. The soft yet vibrant green reminds him of a new set of paints he recently bought.

"I think you'll survive lying on a patch of grass, Y/N."

"Not if I get up and there's a goddamn earthworm crawling in my ear, Hao."

"Just don't fall asleep, and you'll live."

You let out a giggle, though you wouldn't be lying if you said that the warmth hitting your body was making you feel just the tiniest bit of drowsy. "No promises there."

The silence that lingers between you and Minghao isn't uncomfortable, but it's not exactly filled with chatter either. It's a comfortable silence, with the distant sounds of other students laughing like white noise and the occasional rustle of a breeze flying past your ears.

It's always like this when you're here together, a quiet that feels more familiar than the few months you've known him. Whether it's your little study sessions at the library, or when you hang out with him after hours in his painting class, it's familiar being around him. The thought settles around you like a well-worn blanket, a comfort you didn't know you craved until you found it here.

You glance over back at Minghao, who seems to be focused back on his sketchbook. He taps his pencil against his bottom lip in concentration. There's a small smudge of charcoal on his nose that you pinpoint, just hardly noticeable, but it makes you want to reach out and brush it away with your thumb.

The bold thought makes your stomach churn.

"Lay down with me, Hao."

The words leave you before you can stop them, surprising even yourself. A blush creeps up your neck, warming your cheeks as you continue watching Minghao. He's still focused on his sketchbook, but the tapping of his pencil against his lip has ceased. He looks down at you, eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening into a gentle smile.

"Lay down?" he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Y-Yeah," You stammer, suddenly wishing you'd phrased it differently. "I mean, if you want. The sky looks better from here, you know?"

Minghao just tilts his head to the side as if in contemplation, before closing his sketchbook and shifting his position. He tosses his backpack right next to yours, laying himself down on the grass and stretching his body in relief. The grass crinkles softly beneath him, his arm briefly brushing against yours, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he settles in, peering up at the sky with you.

He's painted the sky many times, but for some reason, it feels different looking at it right now, and he isn't entirely sure why.

"What's the weirdest colour you've painted with?"

The sudden question makes Minghao sit up slightly, leaning on his elbow to face you better. The corners of his lips are pulled up in the hint of a smirk.

"Goose turd green."

His eyes detail the way your face contorts in slight disgust, before nothing but laughter tumbles out of you, and Minghao thinks he'd never get tired of hearing that sound.

iii. "hi." (vermilion is the colour that seeps through my cheeks when the alcohol beats me and i think about you.)

"Y/N𑁋jeez, how much did they drink tonight?"

"I don't even know𑁋woah, hey! Hold them steady, wait..."

"I'll take them back to their place," Minghao tells the other two boys struggling to keep you from falling over in their hold.

Mingyu and Seokmin stare at him for a second, exchanging a glance with each other before guiding you into Minghao's hold carefully. Minghao secures an arm around your waist, loosely at first, before tightening instantly because you're just about to fall out of his grip. He bids the other guys goodbye, then sets off with you towards your dorm.

"Are you alright?" he asks, even though he knows the answer already. "I told you before that you should know your limits."

You giggle, a wobbly, off-key sound. "Oh, I feel peachy, thank you so much."

Minghao just sighs, shaking his head slightly as he adjusts his hold on you, making sure you're steady on your feet.

The walk back to your dorm is painfully slow. Streetlights cast an orange glow on the sidewalk, painting long shadows that seem to dance alongside you. You lean heavily against Minghao, head hanging down to the ground, your footsteps unsteady. The world seems to tilt and sway with every giggle that escapes you.

Your vision is a bit blurry when your dorm comes into sight. Relief washes over you, and you lean even heavier into Minghao, practically melting into him by the time you reach your door and it swings open.

He steps you inside, moving you past the shoe rack by the entrance and towards your bed, and you flop down on the plush mattress with a low groan, nearly dragging down Minghao on top of you.

He catches himself just in time, a hand landing on the mattress beside you with a soft thud, and suddenly he's hovering above you, his breath catching with the sudden closeness of his body pressed up against yours. However, it just makes a laugh bubble out of your throat from deep within your chest, and with half-lidded eyes, you find yourself staring dazedly up at him.

"Wow, hiiii, you're like..." You drawl your words and tap aimlessly at his shoulder. "You're like... so pretty, you know? Have I told you that before?"

Heat creeps up Minghao's neck. He blinks down at you, eyes trailing over your face and cheeks which were stained a soft shade of vermilion from all the alcohol earlier. A small, surprised airy laugh escapes his lips.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. And even after pulling away from you, you continue, voice thick with inebriation.

"And your smile? Oh, don't even get me started," You slur, a goofy grin plastered on your face. "Those big, cute eyes you have? They, like, make the whole world look... sparkly."

"Y/N, you need𑁋"

"And whenev... whenever you paint," You continue, voice trailing off away. The world seems to be spinning a little slower now, the grin to your face faltering for a moment, replaced by a furrowed brow as you try to focus on the thought. "Yeah, whenever you paint... you get this... this really focused look on your face. Like the world fades away and all that's left is the canvas. It's kind of... hot."

Minghao could simply only stare at you. He knows he should probably get you settled into bed and leave, but his feet seem rooted to the floor below. His gaze flickers up and down your face, then back up to your eyes, searching for any sign of what you just said being a joke. But all he sees is a genuine, albeit slightly hazy and inebriated, fondness.

"You think so?" he finally manages to ask.

"Yeah," You mumble knowingly as if instinctive, eyelids drooping closed a little further. "Makes you look, uh... determined. Like you could𑁋like you could paint the stars out of the sky or something."

Minghao cowers his head down for a second, before looking back up at you, crossing his arms together bemusedly. "Do you want me to paint the stars for you?"

You give a dreamy nod. In your cloudy mind, the idea sounds incredibly romantic, like something out of a dream.

"I think..." You start once again. "that would really make me like you even more."

Minghao feels his lips twitch, somewhat hopeful yet also reluctant, before letting out another sigh.

"You need to go to bed." He walks back over and helps pull the covers over you. "I'll leave you some water and meds to take in the morning, okay?"

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as he pulls away, a sleepy pout crossing over your features. You watch him with heavy eyelids, the room tilting ever so slightly with each passing beat of your heart.

"Wait," You murmur, grabbing weakly at his sleeve.

Minghao turns back around. You're looking at him, eyes a little more focused now, a hint of a playful smile on your lips, and shooting him a look that means business.

"Don't forget the stars, okay, mister?"

iv. "hi." (pewter is the colour of the clouds when the earth can't hold it in much longer, and the words burst all at once.)

It hits you on a random Wednesday near the end of the month during an exam on English Romanticism that you simply can't stand this anymore.

You're avoiding Minghao, purposely attending more study sessions that your classmates offer and taking up more shifts at the small café across from campus that you applied for a while ago to make some extra bucks. You know you're avoiding him, and he probably knows it too, and it's all your fault𑁋you're letting him get away and slip through the cracks between your fingers.

Minghao's art had been selected for a prestigious exhibition out of town, and he was set to leave at the end of the month for this internship just as summer is starting, and the thought of him being gone brings a hollow ache to your chest. It's becoming unbearable each passing day, each millisecond that passes knowing you've been so stupidly immature to push him away when he's quite literally been the best thing that has happened to you.

You may never understand how Xu Minghao𑁋this sophisticated, well-mannered, and endlessly talented artist𑁋had managed to wriggle his way into your heart so effortlessly, but there he was, occupying every crevice and corner with his gentle smiles and soft laughter that seem to flip the world over. He was just this sentient, living breathing form of peace that you can’t seem to let go of.

When another boom of thunder shatters outside, you think, screw this.

Screw avoiding him. This wasn't how this story was supposed to end.

You're quick to shove your belongings back in your bag the moment your class ends. The rain has calmed down a little when you step outside, which only seems to fuel the determination within you.

With a deep breath, you pull your jacket tighter against your body, and start to spring across campus. The rain might be getting heavier with each passing minute, but you don't care. All you care about is getting to Minghao before the storm within you bursts too.

Reaching his dorm building, you're merely a shivering mess, hair damp and plastered to your forehead and clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You barely have the breath to push open the heavy doors, collapsing against them for a moment to catch your breath.

But just as you're about to push open the door, a figure blocks your way, and you peer up to see Minghao standing in front of you. There's an umbrella clutched in his hand, and a puzzled look etches across his features when he takes sight of your disheveled appearance in front of him. You could only gaze at him.

"Hi," You say breathlessly, as if you've been holding on to the singular word for dear life.

Minghao just blinks a few times, unsure if he's looking at you as if you were crazy or if he's just imagining you.

"Hi," he finally responds, voice all gentle and slightly hesitant.

You glance down at the umbrella in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?"

Minghao opens his mouth to respond, also looking down at the umbrella in his hands as if magically appeared there out of thin air, then a bashful look crosses his face.

"I forgot some supplies back in class, so I thought I'd grab them before the storm gets any worse," he explains somewhat lamely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But I𑁋Are you... are you okay?"

You give a loose nod, then shake your head dismissively right afterwards. Gosh, you're losing it.

Minghao clears his throat. "What are you doing out here in the rain? You're going to get sick𑁋"

"You know I-I like you, right?" The words stumble clumsily over your tongue, shattering whatever fragile tension was building up between you two. "And you probably knew that already, to be honest, because you always seem to know me better than I know myself. But the thought of you leaving just... scared me, and I panicked and pushed you away."

A lump forms in your throat. Minghao's expression is practically unreadable in front of you. There's a mix of surprise, a hint of something that could be hurt, and something else you can't exactly decipher.

You let out a dry chuckle, embarrassment crawling up your face but you try to ignore it as much as you can.

"I-I know I sound crazy right now," You say, forcing a smile that seems more like a grimace. "But I... I couldn't let you leave without knowing how I feel. So yeah. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than that. I don't know. It sort of scares me, honestly."

You wait a few moments, simply standing there in the falling rain while anticipating just anything from the boy standing in front of you as if the world had come to a pause. His silence stretches suffocatingly long, nothing but a cloud swirling in those beautiful eyes of his.

Then he looks down at the umbrella in his hand for a moment, then back at you, his gaze lingering on your soaked clothes and shivering form. And just before you can spiral into a wave of panic, Minghao steps forward close to you. Without a word, he unfurls the umbrella and holds it over your head, tilting it slightly to ensure you're fully covered from the rain.

"Let's get you out of this rain," he says finally, low and calm. "You're freezing."

"I..." You start, then stop, giving a muted nod. "Okay."

Minghao leads you back inside his dorm building and up to his room, the warmth seeping overwhelmingly into your bones. He ushers you into his space, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind you.

You've been inside Minghao's room before, but it feels different now, more intimate somehow. The air hangs heavy as you awkwardly perch yourself on the edge of his bed, careful not to let the water dripping off you land on his sheets, and you watch as he quietly makes his way to his closet and disappears behind the hanging clothes. A moment later, he emerges with a soft, oversized hoodie and a towel in hand.

"Here." He holds out the towel and hoodie towards you. "Dry yourself off and change out of those clothes."

The softness of the towel against your skin is the equivalent to luxury as you meticulously pat down your hair and face. You shoot glances at Minghao across the room, seeing him busy himself at his desk, back turned to you, a low hum escaping his lips.

You slip on the oversized hoodie, the familiar scent of Minghao washing over you and instantly relaxing your jittery nerves. The sleeves hang past your fingertips, the material engulfing you in a comforting warmth.

"Feeling a little better?" Minghao asks, turning around to face you after a few minutes. You hardly notice the way his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on the way the hoodie basically swallows you.

A shy, self-conscious look crosses your features. "Yeah, um... Thanks."

Minghao returns the smile, though there's a hint of something else in his eyes𑁋perhaps relief or maybe even a touch of fondness. "Always."

That particular silence passes again as you both sit in his room, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the window. You fidget nervously with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Then, you let out a sigh. "Look, Hao𑁋"

"Do you want anything to drink?"

The offer zips your mouth back up, leaving your unfinished words hanging in the air. Is he... trying to brush away everything that has just happened in the last fifteen minutes? All just like that? You nearly want to scoff at the thought, but you bite at your bottom lip instead, a pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

"Honestly?" You lay your hands flat on your lap. "I'd kill for a hot chocolate right now."

Minghao just chuckles softly. "Okay," Then another long, considerable pause. "Are you working at the café later on?"

The thought of working right now makes you cringe internally. "No, thank goodness. My shift actually got swapped with someone else. Lucky break, I guess."

The corners of Minghao's mouth lift up subtly. He glances back out the window, seeing that the rain had become much lighter and cleared up significantly, revealing the sky in a palette of muted greys. His gaze returns to you, a thoughtful expression painting his features.

"Let's go then," he asserts firmly, rising up to his feet.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What? Right now? To the café?"

"Mhm."

"But you can't𑁋we can't just𑁋"

"It's a date," Minghao affirms, cutting your words off promptly. "My treat."

His words catch you off-guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. Your mouth hangs down to the ground, warmth crawling up the cheeks just like the hot chocolate you desperately crave right now. You can feel your heart pounding furiously out of your chest and whatever tension coiling in your stomach dissipating away.

"A... date?" You squeak out, voice coming out small and weak.

Minghao's lips purse together in a thin line. "Unless you have other plans𑁋"

"Oh no, no, no," You blurt out, finding yourself already breathless for no reason at all, struggling to keep the giddy grin forming on your face at bay. "A date sounds perfect, actually."

Relief floods over Minghao's features. He lets out a little giggle, the kind that always makes your insides do a little happy flip.

"Good," he responds simply. "I'm glad."

"Do I get to pay next time?" You ask teasingly as you stand up. "If there is a next time, at least."

Nothing but amusement dances in his eyes.

"We'll see about that."

v. "hi." (calamine is the colour staining your cheeks and your lips against my ear.)

Minghao's lips are on yours before you have the opportunity to breathe in the air of relief of the hotel room.

It's not hard for your body to melt into him instinctively, the kiss soft yet desperate, tender yet urgent. You find your fingers kneading at the silky material of the suit that he wore, and his hand coming to rest on your lower back. Both of your feet move in mere unison together before you feel the edge of the bed nudge the back of your knee.

When the two of you pull back for a minute to breathe, all you can do is faintly chuckle.

"You act like you haven't seen me in years," You tease, letting a hand come to toy with his tie. "Did you miss me that much?"

Minghao's gaze only flickers between your eyes, your lips, and down the outfit that seems to hug your body just perfectly, before settling back up to your face. His own face is close enough to yours that you swear you could pinpoint the flecks of stardust in his irises. He's simply staring at you with nothing but adoration, his gaze so intense like he's trying to memorise every little detail etched on your face, even if he's already done so many times. He's painted stars on your skin with his fingertips, lips, whispered words, and his heart.

And then he's kissing you again, more softly and slower this time, the weight of his body following your own as you fall back down on the bed behind.

Missing you is more than just an understatement. Being separated from you felt like this physical piece of him was missing from his chest. His art had been reaching the rightful hands of museums abroad just as he deserves, and you had gotten used to him travelling for days on end to attend exhibitions and workshops.

You jumped on the first opportunity to be able to visit him. And now, with you in his arms and your lips pressed against his, Minghao feels like he's finally whole again.

His mouth pulls away from the sweet spot to your neck, trailing a soft path back up to your lips, giving you a small kiss before pulling back to look at you. You hear the way his breath hitches in his throat, the feeling of his hand coming to interlock with yours at your side, the metal of the ring on his finger meeting your skin.

You peer up at him longingly, lovingly, a tiny smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"Hi," You whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you.

Minghao's gaze softens even further, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand as he leans back down.

"Hi, dearest," he murmurs back affectionately, adjusting himself so that his mouth is near your ear, barely grazing against the shell as he whispers, "You're beautiful."

You could only giggle as he retreats himself away slightly, but you tug him by the tie again to bring him back down. "Yeah? What else?"

There's a thoughtful look that crosses over his features, his cheeks painted an ethereal shade of calamine pink, mirroring the flush of warmth that spreads across your own face. You've always grown accustomed to Minghao's fairly quiet nature, however it doesn't take much to read over even the most imperceptible shifts in his expressions. Whenever words seem to be too shy or hesitant to come out, the stars in his eyes speak for him.

Minghao just lowers himself even more, the ghost of his lips hardly brushing back against yours.

"I love you."

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[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.

[quixoticanarchy]

Maglor saying "the oath says not that we may not bide our time" is very interesting (not, unfortunately, conducive to conciseness). bear with me.

a) if they can bide their time, that kind of undermines the idea that they are driven by the oath into atrocity; rather, they can choose the moment to obey it (to some degree). the truth of this statement is unclear because it does seem that they spend a lot of the First Age biding their time, but also when they try to bide their time before the third kinslaying, it was said that they were tormented by the oath. was that false? what is it that pushes them into action, if not the pressure of the oath? or, is it the knowledge and shame of the unfulfilled oath combined with events that enable them to strike out for the jewels, but not actually any metaphysical pressure forcing their hand?

b) Maglor is also saying here, let's go back to Valinor and just see what happens. maybe eventually we can get the silmarils peacefully and be forgiven (I have to agree with Maedhros that that seems.. unlikely). probably correctly, Maedhros envisions the difficulty of trying to get the silmarils in Valinor while unforgiven, and what it would entail and cost to do violence there again. Maglor imagines peace; Maedhros definitely anticipates violence

c) I think Maglor also just wants to go home. he wants to stop. he would probably like to fulfill the oath (or be freed from it), but also would be fine with kicking the can down the road, presuming the oath will allow that. but once Maedhros talks him out of the likelihood of success if they wait til Valinor, he's also willing to break it entirely. his contention that Manwë and Varda making the oath impossible to fulfill would also make it void could be interpreted as a hope that both these things would happen

Maedhros makes the points that they can't be released bc they swore also to Ilúvatar, and therefore they're still facing the Everlasting Darkness if they fail. to which Maglor makes the fair point that if they can't be released, then either they hold themselves bound by the oath and keep trying for the silmarils (and if they fail, face Everlasting Darkness), or try to give up the oath, find they are still bound by it and, having auto-failed their task by breaking the oath, face Everlasting Darkness anyway. therefore yes, they would do less evil in the breaking, but the result is the same to them - as long as in neither case do they actually anticipate fulfilling the oath. Maglor therefore is maybe ready to give it up as impossible; possibly, Maedhros is arguing that it remains achievable for now, but "its fulfilment be byeond all hope" only once back in Aman, lending urgency to the final attempt to get the silmarils now.

a follow-up question: do they at this point believe that success is still possible? what is success? if they have to get all 3 silmarils to satisfy the oath, they're up against Earendil, but they never mention that. what does fulfilling the oath mean - that they evade the consequence of failure? is the force that 'drives' them to stick to the oath not so much (or not only) a metaphysical pain or burden that torments them, but the fear of the failure condition itself - the Everlasting Darkness?

this would explain Maglor's interest in wanting to stop pursuing the oath, but also wanting it somehow neutralized - whether by biding time or having the oath declared void. and Maedhros is arguing that a) they can't be released, b) they can only keep the darkness at bay by continuing to actually try for fulfilment, and c) they should take this one last shot while arguably they still have a chance (or at least it's easier than it would be in Aman). it may not matter whether success is ultimately possible (i.e. if Earendil does come into the picture, or the crosshairs), but it matters that they are trying.

but then, what to make of them reportedly realizing Eönwë was right and they've lost their right to the silmarils? what does that matter to the oath? the oath declares they'll do anything to get them back, and they do. as much as it sucks to get burned, getting them back (ignore the 3rd silmaril) should mean their deed has not failed so they should not face Everlasting Darkness.

I see a couple of possibilities here: a) they ceased being bound by the oath when they lost their right to the silmarils, which would make it vain and mean none of the atrocities had to happen. but is that how the oath operates? did they stop being bound by it long ago and just not realize? or, alternately, b) does their losing their right to the silmarils mean they auto-fail the oath bc they’ll never truly “reclaim” them? and therefore, rather than their never being at risk of Everlasting Darkness, are they consigned to it now no matter what? (but Maglor at least seems to evade that, unless it’s very metaphorical…) or, c) were they indeed bound by the oath all along and indeed fulfilled it, it just doesn't really matter bc the victory is hollow, and they themselves can’t hold the very things they killed others for holding? could be harsh enough on its own, whether or not the oath responds to the status of their “right” to the silmarils.

there is also the matter of we don’t know what the Everlasting Darkness is. lol. but I’m not touching that now beyond I think it’s a thing the SoF are genuinely afraid of

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Twenty

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Canon-level violence (blood, gore, fighting, killing, death), mentions of SA, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You compete in the Blood Rite.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen

Day 1 

Your eyes were heavy as you opened them, feeling the cold snow covered ground beneath you. You should have been freaking out, should have been getting up to run already. But the only thing that was running through your mind was, “Mate, he’s your mate. Mate… Azriel’s your mate.” 

Out of all the times, why was now the time it decided to snap? Did the Mother know you were going to die here and wanted to play a cruel trick on you? If that was the case, you hope it didn’t snap for him like it had for you. Did you see a flash of gold in his eyes before you passed out or was that the gloriella you breathed in? 

You couldn’t think about that right now. Your wings were bound, your head was heavy, your Siphon gone, and your shadows nowhere to be seen. You took in a deep breath, the cold air waking you up bit by bit. You rose your head and noticed a few others around you stirring. You had to get out of here. Now. 

You scrambled to your feet as quick as you could, stumbling a little. No weapons were allowed in the Rite but these males were much much bigger than you. Even though you’ve been building up your strength, and learning how to easily overpower them, you knew it would only take you so far. Especially without your fae strength or senses.

You ran towards the tree line, needing to get out of sight if you could. You were glad that you had your cloak and fighting leathers on when you fell asleep last night. You weren’t sure how anyone could survive in anything else.

You ducked behind a tree, finding a low hanging branch and snapping it off as quickly as you could. You could use it as a weapon if you needed to. But your main priority was to survive this. If that meant hiding out in a cave for the week, you would do it. 

You noticed more males rising and starting to fight each other. Some for clothes. Others because of revenge and old grudges. You steadied your breathing, slowly turning around to only come face to chest with a male that was near Cassian’s size. 

“What do we have here? A little female trying to play warrior?” He teased. If he made any more noise you could easily be surrounded. You wished you had at least one ally here. But you were completely alone. You didn’t even know this male and came to the conclusion that he was probably from another camp. You cursed yourself for not visiting the other ones to see what you were up against. 

But you stood your ground, holding onto the broken tree branch. While your main focus was on the towering male standing before you, you were also looking for ways to get out. Preferably without killing him. Azriel and Cassian both taught you how to knock out someone with hitting the right pressure points. But you were still slightly drugged. And this guy was huge. 

“Not going to say anything?” He sneered, stepping forward. What was his plan? Tease you to death? He should’ve been swinging already. You perked your ears up, hearing a shift in the snow behind you. Just as the male behind you went to strike your head, you ducked, causing him to hit the male in front square in the jaw. You took that as your opportunity to run. The male who teased you didn’t seem too happy with his companion and started a brawl with him instead. You rolled your eyes. Males. Maybe you would make it out of this alive after all.

You made it far away from anyone else, choosing to go north since you knew that was the most difficult way to get to the mountain and not many males would choose to bother with it. But that also meant you had to find shelter in the deadlier part of the forest, so you quickly made your way to a stream, drinking as much water as you could and finding a sharp rock for you to hold on to. You would sharpen the tree branch into a spear tonight. You wouldn’t be getting much sleep this next week, so you knew you needed to keep yourself busy, dry, warm, and fed. It was about survival. Not being a hero. You repeated the two things you promised Azriel over and over again. 

First, I will survive. Then, I’ll make my way to the mountain.

You added a third thing, for yourself. 

I will see my mate again. 

It quickly shortened to Survive. Mountain. Mate. Like a mantra in your mind as you trekked north. You kept hidden, either up in the trees or between rocks, when you heard others walking or fighting nearby. If you could avoid all of them for the whole week, you would survive. 

Survive. Mountain. Mate. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t run into another male that day. You killed two rabbits, made a very very small fire to cook them, and then found a cave to hunker down for the night. 

That was the easiest day of the week. 

Day 2

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep in the cave. And by some blessing from the Mother, you were still alive and clothed when you woke up. You narrowed your eyes, getting up with the spear you sharpened last night. You grabbed some of the rabbit you cooked, ate it quickly, and made your way to the stream. You quickly drank some of the water, and then began your trek towards Ramiel once you climbed a tree to find it. You were placed in the south, as far as you could tell. 

You set your pace, not too fast and not too slow. You kept your breathing even, your grip on your spear tight. You made two smaller ones that you tucked into your fighting leathers, hoping that would be enough if someone tried to come at you. 

You could tell it was early morning, and a lot of the males seemed to forget that the creatures lurking around at night were not forgiving during the Rite. You picked up a makeshift canteen that one of the other warriors made or found, and slung it around your waist. You’d find water again soon. 

Or at least you were planning to when you heard someone shout and fall from a tree right in front of you, landing just a few feet from you. You cursed to yourself, you should have stayed more hidden. 

“Got some fancy weapons on you there.” The brunette sneered, stepping forward. He lunged to grab your spear and you knocked him back towards the next tree. 

“And they’re mine. Find your own.” You growled, narrowing your eyes. 

“It would be so nice to have a female for entertainment out here the next few days, don’t you think, boys?” Your ears betrayed you as you didn’t hear the others rustling in the trees, hopping down as well. Damn human-like senses. You decided then and there that the tradition of the Blood Rite was stupid. Why send so many decent warriors into the mountains just to get killed? Maybe your sentiment was because you realized you didn’t have much chance of taking down five Illyrians that had at least a few inches on you. And many pounds of muscle. 

But you steadied yourself anyway, readying for the fight that was going to come any second now. The one behind you lunged, and you stepped out of the way, ducking as the one to your left tried to grab you. They ran into each other and gave you just enough time so you could hit the brunette with the tip of your spear, sending him backwards as his blood splayed. You counted your breaths, honing in on all of the training you’d done. You could do this. 

You managed to knock all five of them to the ground, not without getting a few bruises yourself. “I’m no one’s entertainment.” You ground out to them before you sprinted north again. You were going to have to be a lot more careful. You probably should have killed them because if you ran into them again, they certainly would kill you. 

You panted, coming to a stop near a stream. You filled up the canteen, drank almost the whole thing, and filled it up again before you began moving through the trees again. This time, you kept your eyes not only on the ground around you, but the trees above as well. 

You walked for another hour or two, coming in contact with a few other males here and there, but most of them paid you no mind as they weren’t looking for a fight. You recognized one male, the one that was kissing Ragna in the shed. You were glad he didn't notice you as you hunched behind a tree. Still, you were afraid your luck was starting to run thin. 

Just as night was about to fall, you couldn’t find a cave so you began scouting for a decent tree to climb and stay for the night. That’s when something hard hit your back and you whirled around, spear raised and ready for a fight. The sun would set soon and you would have to fight more than Illyrians if you were still down here. They had to know that. 

It was the male from the first morning, chuckling to himself. “Haven’t gotten yourself killed yet?” He asked, walking towards you again. You might just kill him for his rambling mouth. 

“Is this how you train to fight in your camp? With your mouth?” You asked, readying your stance. 

“I bet your mouth could do some great things for me. But alas, I’m going to have to kill you first.” He said, leaping towards you. You stepped to the side, landing a blow with your spear to his leg. You remembered he had a companion earlier, but a quick glance around suggested he wasn’t with anyone. With a temper like his, he probably killed the male. 

“You bitch.” He growled and landed a blow to your side. You held in your wince and stepped back before going to hit him in the head, but he caught your spear and twisted it. Your arm twisted uncomfortably with it, causing you to let out a yelp. You kicked towards his shin, pulling the spear back towards you when he stumbled back. Again, you tried hitting him, but this time he ducked and tackled you to the ground. You spear went flying just as his hands came up to your neck. You gasped as he started to strangle you. With one hand you tried forcing his grip from you, the other you grabbed one of your hidden wood stake and pulled it out, stabbing him right in the neck. His warm blood splayed into your face and his hands loosened. You pushed him off you, scrambling back as you saw him choke, eyes wide in terror as he grabbed the stake and pulled it out. You winced as that only made the bleeding worse. He fell on his side and gurgled the blood coming up his throat, choking on it. 

You stood up, wiped off your pants, grabbed your spear, and began walking again. Now you had to find a new tree and get away from his dead body. You also had to get the blood off you. You found a stream, tearing part of your clock to soak it and then wash the blood from your face and leathers as best as you could. You didn't even think twice about using your cloak as a rag, knowing that once you were out of this, Rhys would probably buy you a new one. And then some. Just because.

And you knew it was only going to get harder from here. 

Day 3 

You didn’t sleep that night, needing to keep watch and fend away any creature that tried climbing the tree. But you were getting closer to Ramiel, and you were beginning to think maybe it was possible for you to make it to the mountain. You’d have to do it soon if you wanted to try and make it to the top. You heard that climb alone took two days. You wondered what would happen if you made it to the top before the Rite was truly over. And if they would even let you have the title that came with it. 

In the morning, you found leftover food on some of the fallen males as you passed them, so you took it as your breakfast. Not getting sleep that night would severely bite you in the ass if you had to fight, but there was no way you could with the amount of screams from the Illyrians. And creatures trying to climb the tree to get you. Your wrist was soar from yesterday's fight and your neck had a splatter of bruises, but other than that, you were feeling good. If not tired.

Honestly, you were surprised you hadn’t run into more trouble. And just as you thought it, you came upon three males, taking clothes and boots off a fallen Illyrian. Freshly dead, so maybe they were the ones to do it. What a horrible way to die. To have your clothes stripped from your body and lay there for creatures of the night to devour. You shuddered at the thought. That would not be you. 

You tried sneaking past them, but a branch covered in snow snapped under your feet and you cursed yourself. You fought off five Illyrians. You could fight off three. 

They ran towards you, one had shaped a branch into a sword, the other two had spears like yours. What happened next was a frenzie of wood knocking against wood, blood splattering from arms and legs, and one of the males going down as you stabbed him in the gut. You let out a yell as the male with the wooden sword managed to strike you in the arm, a large gash appearing. That was going to be a bitch to keep clean and covered. You growled and whirled on him, but failed to see the other male come up behind to grab your arms, restraining you. “What do we have here? A female?” He asked, the sword’s tip at your neck. You wondered how he was able to sharpen a piece of wood like that in such little time. “I’ve heard that one of you were running around, pretending to be a warrior.” 

“I think your friend would agree I’m more than pretending.” You jeered, his friend’s body lay behind you, blood pooling around your boots. 

The tip of the sword pressed closer to your neck and the male restraining you spoke into your ear, “I’d be careful what you say.” He growled. 

“We could kill you. Or keep you for ourselves to use the next few days.” He said and smirked. “Wouldn’t even have to feed you, you could just die by the end of it.” 

“Are all you males so eager to rape a female out here? Honestly it’s the only threat you can come up with. If you’re going to kill me, do it.” You said. “Because you won’t lay another hand on me again.” You growled. 

He chuckled, nodding to his friend. But you were ready for it, you stomped on the top of his foot, his grip loosening. You kicked him back, but before you could go after the male in front of you, a spear flew over your head. Dead into the male’s chest. 

Another one flew into the neck of the male that had restrained you. Your eyes flew up as you saw a male jump from a tree. 

You stumbled back a bit as you took in the site before you. Your little brother, Varyn.

Chapter 21

A/N: Another Cliffhanger for you all! Next part will be posted at 6PM CDT (Chicago)

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@herondale-lightworm

[zukosdualdao]

something that gets to me a lot when people suggest iroh was wrong for not intervening during the agni kai is like... can we just think through what would have happened if he'd tried?

before i say this, i want to also say that intervening in abuse in real life is also a difficult, complicated, and often inaccessible process. that doesn't mean people shouldn't try or that i think it's right things are that way - but there are legal parameters to what one is allowed to do in a situation where they witness or suspect abuse, particularly for things that are not universally recognized as inappropriate and abusive behaviors.

with that in mind:

the agni kai is a culturally sanctioned, violent, ritualistic duel. that doesn't make what ozai does right, of course, but it does make intervening that much harder. ozai was pretty obviously breaking the acceptable terms of an agni kai (because we may not know all the rules, but even if it's not an official standard, attacking a surrendering opponent is pretty much universally recognized as bad form. evidence that this is also true in-universe is that azula deliberately uses this cultural value to her advantage by faking her surrender when fighting iroh, zuko, and the gaang so that they'll stop attacking and she can strike iroh in bitter work. edit: i misspoke, this was the chase. whoops!) therefore, one could argue that someone (such as iroh) would have been in the bounds of their rights to step in during the agni kai. and i agree! he absolutely would have been, at least morally. but legally, he is living under the imperalist rule of his brother, so... acting like it's so simple ignores the power imbalance not just between zuko and ozai, but iroh and ozai at this stage of their lives.

sure, iroh was once next in line to be firelord, but that hasn't been true in a few years by this point, and ozai is now the absolute monarch of their nation. iroh can't appeal to a higher authority or report the danger zuko is in because ozai is the highest authority in their nation, and he's the one posing a danger to zuko.

some might argue, then, that iroh should have physically intervened, but again, i think it's important we consider context. because again - ozai is the absolute authority of the fire nation at this point. defying him in this way would be treason, and ozai has plenty of guards and other military officers under his rule that could fight iroh for him, even if ozai didn't deign to do it himself.

iroh is a powerful bender and a good fighter, but he's one man and unlikely to be able to gain the upper hand in a fight where he's so clearly outnumbered by people loyal to the regime, which ozai currently leads. the most likely results of iroh's potential intervention, in my opinion, would have been his getting arrested or killed, and zuko still getting burned and banished, only now without iroh coming along to look out for him. if he had tried to physically intervene, it would have been on the frankly very slim chance that he could have somehow managed to fight off ozai/guards/military officers, remove zuko from the situation, and safely get himself and zuko out of the palace...

and, in the wise words of iroh himself, then what? they wouldn't have the (already somewhat meager, compared to zhao's or azula's) resources they have in book one, yet they absolutely could not stay on fire nation soil at that point. maybe they could have figured something out??? like, i don't know how. (the part of my brain that likes thinking up aus and then never writing them imagines maybe he contacted the white lotus and hid out until they came, but i digress.)

but again, there's nothing iroh could have done in this situation that wouldn't have been risking not only his own, but zuko's safety. zuko's safety was already compromised in the agni kai, of course, but iroh maintaining his own safety meant he would be available to try and protect zuko in the long-term.

none of this means that i don't think iroh felt ashamed and guilty about his inaction (he quite obviously did, based on the way he recounts the story and how he "looked away" in the storm.) and i also don't think it would be totally unsympathetic or wrong for zuko to have some amount of resentment for it, either (i think this is less based in canon, but i've seen it in fics - where they otherwise clearly have a largely positive relationship - and i think it can be done well and add to the dynamic in an interesting and meaningful way.) it's obviously awful that this was done to zuko. but the nature of abuse is that it can often leave people, both the victims and the witnesses, with very few, if any, good choices. and that's tragic, but the onus of that tragedy will always be on the abuser - in this case, on ozai.

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by shadow and blood (15)

azriel x magic!fem!reader

You didn’t think you’d find him in the crowd. That’s why you had asked some of the children where the winged man had went. A few of them didn’t know but two of the oldest ones did. They pointed you in the direction of the river.

You took your time getting there. You hadn’t been there in a while. The last time was… that time was over now. Things had changed so quickly and then again so slowly. 

When you reach the river you find him sitting down on the grass. His boots are off and his feet in the water. You’re not sure if you want to approach him or not. Looking at him like this, he kind of fits in here.

“This place is amazing.” He says.

And you know he knows you’re here. He probably could sense you were coming because of his shadows. But there is also no one in town he would speak so freely with.

You saw him standing amongst the people when you first arrived. Some of them tried talking to him, giving him food and offerings. He declined most of them. He couldn’t really decline the single necklace one of the kids offered him. It’s laying around his neck now.

“They’re not scared of you here.” You say.

You walk over to where he’s sitting. You drop to the floor, and take your shoes off too. You put both your feet in the water and hold yourself up by your hands behind you. 

“Have they ever seen an Illyrian?” He asks.

“Some of the older benders. Not the youngest though, they spent their whole lives here.” You answer.

“Is that why they admire you so much, because you get to go outside?” 

You laugh to yourself, “They don’t admire me.”

“The whole town stopped what they were doing to greet you. A band started playing music. There was ale flowing from mug to mug. Children were laughing.” He responds.

You shrug your shoulders, “Admire isn’t the word I would use.”

“What word would you use then?” He asks.

You turn to look at him and find he’s already looking at you. Those brown eyes probably made a lot of women in Velaris swoon and weak in the knees. Elaine too. 

Not you though. Not when you have so much to do.

“Loyal.” You answer.

“Ah,” he nods, “Because of your placement within the palace.”

You nod too.

The both of you turn back to face the river. It was a good view. The sand turned red when it touched the water. And the moon looked red in the reflection of it. A long time ago Cyril explained to you that it was an illusion. Blood benders give back to the earth and in turn the earth gives back to them.

“I bet your family misses you.” You speak.

“I go away for missions all the time.” He rebuttals.

“Yes, but this is different. This isn’t a mission. This is something you got roped into.” You clarify. 

“I don’t see it that way.” He says.

You look at him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking straight ahead at the river. You can see his eyes scanning the water, the illusion of it. 

“What are the chances Rhysand wants me punished for getting you stuck here?” You ask.

Azriel shrugs, “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. You’re stuck here because of me.” You goad him on.

The word stuck seems to strike a chord with him. You've been saying it over and over waiting for some sort of answer from him.

He slowly turns to look at you, “You and I both know I’m not stuck here.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting him to just flat out tell you that. You thought he’d put up more of a fight. Or that you’d at least catch him in the lie. Maybe you would tell him that you can still sense your blood in his veins. Or you would push him into the wards to see how he’d react. 

You weren’t expecting that.

“You didn’t say anything to your family.” You speak.

“Neither did you.” He responds. 

You shrug your shoulders, same as he did, and look straight “I have my reasons.”

“So do I.” He says.

A few moments pass between the two of you. It's not awkward or weird. In fact you welcome the silence. Until a startling thought pops into your head. The offerings that Azriel was handed. Where did they go?

"Did you eat all the food they gave you?" you ask startled.

He laughs to himself at your question. And you think to yourself then, he most certainly ate all the food given to him. Usually the food lasts a couple of days. But he's different, he's not a sub-human species like you.

"Illyrians have big appetites." he answers.

-

The two of you walked back in silence to the palace. While you wished you didn’t have to go back there and sleep, it was the only way you could protect anyone else from getting hurt. If Kynas was still around and he thought you were in town he wouldn’t hesitate to pillage through all of them to get to you.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Azriel and you make it to the palace steps. You walk up them, solemnly, until you reach the tope. That’s when you realize that he isn’t besides you anymore. You can feel it.

You look back and he’s a few steps below you. 

“You shouldn’t have to come back here.” He says.

“I’ve only ever laid my head down here.” You answer.

“You have nightmares. I hear it. I can feel it too, you send vibrations through the whole palace.” He adds on.

He felt that? You’re worse off than you thought previously. If in your sleep you were causing tremors to the ground, you needed serious help. It happened a few times before when you were young.

Only this time there was no Cyril and no brother to help you overcome it. It’s your problem now.

You face forward again. But you can’t walk inside. Your feet won’t will it, neither will your heart.

“I had that problem in childhood too. The fear of being alone, they said.” You answer his unspoken question.

You hear him climb the final steps. Then he’s standing side by side with you. You don’t dare look at him now. Now when he is asking such personal things. Not when you feel you’re about to break into a million little pieces. 

“You don’t have to be alone.” He says.

“Do you tend to warm the beds of non fae, shadow singer?” You joke.

He clears his throat, “That’s not what I meant.”

You can see how distraught he is at the mention of the two of you sharing a bed. It makes you chuckle from your belly. But you try to keep it to yourself.

“I know what you meant. But it sounded like something a friend would offer.” You reply.

Azriel comes from your left and stands in front of you. You see his hand jut out. You look up at him a bit in disbelief. 

“Friends?” He asks.

You look at him, then back down at his extended hand. He is trouble. He is a liar. He is a spymaster. He knows so much about you already. He’s going to tell his whole family what you are.

Call it fate, or maybe it was your blood calling to his, but you made your next move. 

You took his hand into yours. 

“There’s a room with two beds in it. We can share if you like.” You offer.

“That will do well with me.” He says.

And then he moves to the side. He lets you start walking first, but when you cross the threshold of the door he’s right by your side. The two of you walk into the quiet palace.

-

You pull the legs of your pants off first. Then you take off the soft blouse. You take off all of your undergarments last. And finally you can step into the bath.

It won’t wash off the feeling of carrying more than ten bodies to their graves. It won’t wash off the worry that clings to you like a second skin. Or the fear either. But it will get the sweat and dirt off of your body.

You sink into the bath further.

Azriel was right outside. He had been sitting in bed for about an hour now. You had some things to do around the palace. Mainly clean up and reorganize things the council had left out. 

When you got back from working you found him there. His shadows all around the room. His blade in his hand. 

You don’t know why but the image settled you. You know he’s not here long, and that as soon as this is over he won’t ever be here again. But for a fuzzy second your mind let you believe this was normal. 

Obviously you couldn’t stand your mind for playing such a cruel trick on you like that. So you stumbled out that you were going to freshen up for bed. That’s why you’re sitting in the bath now. Nervous.

You feel a shiver go across your neck. When you reach up with your wet hand to feel what it was, you feel it. The same misty and almost intangible feeling you felt on your ankle when you spared with Azriel. 

Your eyes catch the shadow as it darts over to the bathroom door. You move closer to the edge of the tub.

“Is that what he meant when he said I don’t have to be alone?” You ask the shadow.

And by all accounts you weren’t expecting an answer. You had heard of the magic before but never seen it in person before you met Azriel. So when the shadow darts back to you, this time at the edge of the tub you move back suddenly. 

You laugh at yourself, and how a tiny shadow made you flinch like that.

“He doesn’t have any idea where you are right now, does he?” You ask again.

The shadow moves a bit closer to you this time. You hold out your wet hand and it somehow complies with your unspoken command. The shadow wraps itself around your wrist, like a bracelet. You can only tell it’s there because of the faint grey line that appears on your skin.

You snicker at how the shadow seems to be more forward than it’s master.

It would be best to get out of the bath now. You lift yourself up from the water and reach for the towel to wrap around your body. The water would get cold by the time you felt comfortable getting out. And you have an early start tomorrow. You dry yourself off, making sure to be careful of the shadow that is on your wrist. You grab for your nightgown. You pull it over your head and put it on. And you use the towel to ring out some of the water that got on your hair.

With a big breath you let the towel hang dry and open the door. What you find amuses you. There on the bed is Azriel, sound asleep. You tip toe to your bed and get under the covers.

Your eyes stay on him until they start to blink so heavy that a sleep pulls you under darkness too. Marking the first of many nights where in Azriel's presence you don't feel so terribly alone.

[lucagray813]

Enemy Number One

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 2,266

Characters: MK, Macaque, Mentioned Wukong

Relationships: Hinted Macaque & Wukong (could be interpreted as Shadowpeach)

Summary: The Six-Eared Macaque had been imprisoned by the Buddha centuries ago but he might be the only one that has the answers MK needs.

Additional Tags: Not canon compliant, alternative first meeting

CW: None

Link to AO3 Version

----

It hadn't been easy for MK to find his way to the prison of the Six-Eared Macaque, and it had been even more difficult keeping this whole plan a secret from Monkey King and the others, but they were running out of time and options. And if there was even a chance that this guy had the answers then he had to at least try and get his help.

He wasn't quite sure what was waiting for him deep beneath this mountain. All he really knew about his target was that he was apparently unrivalled when it came to seals and that he'd done something so bad with this knowledge that the Buddha had to lock him away as he once had Monkey King.

When he finally reached the large cave that served as the prison cell, he was immediately struck by how bright it was despite there being no obvious light source. The next thing that caught his attention was the ludicrous amount of gold chains and seals that decorated the space.

Many of them leading to the centre where they bound a monkey that bore a striking resemblance to Monkey King. He held his staff defensively as he carefully made his way over.

The chains forced the monkey to stand, his arms spread wide, legs forced apart, tail restrained. He hadn't responded to MK's presence yet, and his head hanging too low for MK to get a good look at his face.

He stood a safe distance and called out to him but the prisoner didn't so much as twitch. No matter how loud he was, he got no reaction. He worried for a second he might actually be dead before he belatedly realised that there were some golden seals covering his ears.

He frowned. He thought Monkey King's prison had been awful, but this just seemed ever so slightly worse. What had this guy done to deserve this? It really must have been something really terrible.

Wary, he tore out a bit of his hair and transformed it into a pebble to throw at the Six-Eared Macaque's feet in a bid to get his attention. At first, nothing happened and MK feared he might actually have to try and physically rouse him but after a moment he sluggishly raised his head.

He blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, before an unsettling grim spread across his face, his voice was hoarse from disuse, "Well, well, what have we here? I've never had a visitor before. To what do I owe the honour?"

MK tightened his hold on his staff, "You're the Six-Eared Macaque?" He then faltered, "Wait, can you even hear me?"

The monkey laughed, "Hear you? No. But I can read your lips well enough. Peculiar that you would come to my prison and have to ask who I am though. Almost as peculiar as that staff you're holding. That's not yours."

He resisted the urge to hold the staff possessively to his chest, "It is mine! I'm the Monkey King's successor!"

"Successor? Well, isn't that unexpected... That must be quite the story."

Forgetting himself for a moment, he responded, "Oh, you have no idea. I've had this thing for, like, two years and-" He held his staff up properly and pointed it at the Six-Eared Macaque, "Wait, no! No distractions! I'm here on business!"

He didn't know what this guy was capable of but he'd met one too many manipulative foes to let himself be caught off guard. Before the Six-Eared Macaque could respond, he cut him off, "No! No chit-chat! I'm only here for one reason."

He brought one end of his staff to the ground and reached into his satchel to bring out an unassuming wooden box and held it up as he explained, "The world is in danger and the only way to save it is by opening this box. Can you break the seals on it?"

So far, no-one across the realms had been able to do it - some claiming such a seal would take centuries to unravel.

They didn't have that sort of time.

The Six-Eared Macaque drawled, "I've no doubt I could but I'd need a proper look at it and I'm a little tied up at the moment."

Despite himself he felt hopeful, and he let go of his staff so he could hold the box in both hands to carefully touch it with his magic, a white ball of seals immediately appeared and hovered around him. He took a step forward, "The Celestial Realm thinks that it's based on the-"

The Six-Eared Macaque laughed, "I can promise whatever they think it is, they're wrong. That ball of squiggles is all it is. A distraction from the real seal. You really do need my help if you haven't even figured out that much."

He looked around at the seal doubtfully, surely someone would have mentioned to him if they'd made that sort of discovery, right?

"How do I see the proper seals then?"

"I'm afraid, bound as I am, it'd be impossible for me to explain how to reveal them to you."

He thought of the long, rambling, inscrutable explanations he'd heard so far from the number of people that had looked at this box and thought that he was likely telling the truth.

He shifted the box to one hand and pulled out his phone, "You might not be able to explain it to me but I can take back whatever you say to someone who will be able to understand. Just start talking and I'll record it!"

The Six-Eared Macaque looked amused, "And why would I do that?"

"Wh-? Did you not hear me? This is the only way to save the world! A world that you're living in!"

The monkey raised an eyebrow and looked around him, "You call this living? I'm here for all eternity, kid. Makes no difference to me if the world ends - it might actually be an improvement."

Angrily he argued, "And what about everyone else in the world? You can save them!"

"Look, let's cut to the chase here. There's nothing you can say that could get me to help you. You want that box open? You've got to free me. You're really telling me you came here not knowing that's what you would have to do?"

"I'm not freeing you! Who even knows what you did to end up like this! Besides, even if I wanted to - there's no way I would be able to! These are the Buddha's seals!"

The Six-Eared Macaque's grin was dangerous, "Oh, I know how to undo the Buddha's seals - that's why I'm here in the first place."

He offered a confused, "What?"

"I'm sure you must be familiar with the Monkey King's imprisonment, no? He was in a situation not too dissimilar to mine. I intended to free him. Took me five hundred years to learn the secrets of those seals but I did it. Unfortunately, I was beaten to the punch. But as you can imagine, the Buddha wasn't too happy about the knowledge I'd acquired. And so, "to keep the world safe", he locked me up. As if I ever cared about the world. I just wanted us to go home."

"Us?"

He laughed a little sadly, "Not ever mentioned me, has he? Well, we did part on bad terms. But all I wanted was for me and Wukong to return to the island and forget about the world entirely... Tell me, how long has it been since he was freed from his prison?"

Unsurely he responded, "I don't know... Six hundred years?"

The Six-Eared Macaque hung his head, "Six hundred years..." When he looked back up his eyes were wet, "How's the island? How are the monkeys? Do any of them even remember who I am?"

"I... The island and the monkeys are safe. But, I'm sorry, I don't know if they know who you are. I've never heard anyone mention you. I found out about you by accident."

It was Nezha that had half suggested the idea of seeking out the Six-Eared Macaque before Monkey King had snapped at him to be silent and told him that wasn't an option, not even as a final resort.

The Six-Eared Macaque voice was quiet, "I couldn't reach him in the cave. He doesn't know I was trying to free him. He doesn't know that I would have never abandoned him. Wukong..."

Ok, there was clearly a lot more to this story than he realised and he was feeling extremely conflicted about what he'd learnt so far. He looked down at the box still in his hands.

He took a deep breath and looked the Six-Eared Macaque in the eye, "If I were able to free you... What would you do? Because, I'm not sure you would be able to go home..."

"I... I don't know. Start again? I was never the one seeking fame and power. I was content with what we had. But anything is better than this. To see the sky again? To be able to move? To be free? I think I'd spend the rest of eternity appreciating it."

He hesitated. All of this could be a trick just to secure his freedom but at least then he would have ample motivation to unseal this box - doubtful that he wanted to be freed just to watch the world end.

His heart had led him astray before but looking at the Six-Eared Macaque, something told him he wasn't like the other villains he had faced. He believed him when he said he wasn't interested in the world.

"How do I free you?"

The relief on his face further cemented in his mind that this was the right thing to do.

"See the seal above me? All you need to do is move it and I can take care of the rest."

He stared doubtfully, "That can't be all it would take."

"Only one way to find out."

He set the box down and transformed into a large bird, swiping the out of place paper seal from between slabs of gold before returning to his original spot and form. He looked around waiting for something to happen and he was just about to say something when the room was suddenly engulfed in an unnatural darkness.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, he didn't even have the air to shout in alarm. But as quickly as it had came, the darkness receded into the centre of the room, leaving in it's wake ruined chains and seals.

The unnatural brightness was gone and he could finally see clearly the Six-Eared Macaque who was stood stretching and testing out every joint, looking immensely pleased to be able to do so.

MK instinctively took a step back when he started towards him, reaching for his staff, but the Six-Eared Macaque was unbothered. Calmly bending over to pick up the box, MK had thoughtlessly left on the floor.

"Alright, a deal's a deal."

The orb of white seals re-appeared for only a moment to be replaced by tens of layers of blue seals that took up almost the entirety of the cave. The orbs shifted and turned, characters and shapes within them switching places or changing at alarming speed.

What was truly unnerving however were the black, shadow-y characters that were being written and erased in the air all around them. He couldn't explain it but looking at them made him feel sick and even closing his eyes didn't help, somehow still able to see them.

They disappeared however at the same time there was an audible click and his eyes snapped open to see the Six-Eared Macaque holding out the open box for him to take.

He couldn't quite stop the awe in his voice as he carefully took the box from him, "You did it..."

They'd been trying to open this thing for over a month and had made no progress whatsoever and the Six-Eared Macaque had solved it in seconds. He was beginning to understand why he might have been locked up as a preventative measure - there was probably no seal he couldn't undo. If he wanted to, he could do a lot of damage.

The Six-Eared Macaque just stretched, apparently not at all phased by the incredible feat he had accomplished, "Welp, it's been great, kid. But I think we both need to get a move on. You've got a world to save, I've got a life as a fugitive to get on with. Busy, busy. But hey, maybe we'll cross paths again one day and you can tell me all about your wild adventures. I've got a couple of my own that I can trade you."

He smiled unsurely, "Uh, yeah. Stay out of trouble...?"

"Oh, I intend to. You think I want to end up back here again?" He started walking away from him, looking over his shoulder he grinned, "I'll see you around, MK."

Before he could respond, MK was falling through the floor and he had half a second to fear he'd been betrayed before he landed gently on top of Flower Fruit Mountain - open box and staff in hand.

Well, that saved him some time...

He was sure his decision to free the Six-Eared Macaque was going to weigh on him for some time but right now he had to find the others, saving the world came first.

Although it struck him as he made his way down the mountain - how had he known his name?

--End--

LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[lets-try-some-writing]

Getting more information on what the femmes do was very exciting (idk if that's the right word) but if it's not a spoiler I would love to hear more about the process when a femme finishes the preparations

(And it makes sense, find someone insignificant and reuse them to make someone new, someone potentially more useful)

The Grim Dark Archives: Statement #007 Cold Forged

[Statement taken from [Redacted] on [Redacted: Sensitive data] regarding femmes and what they do to their chosen subjects. Concerns have been rising after [Redacted] made it clear that Arcee can latch onto humans just as easily as she can another Cybertronian. Personnel working at the Autobot base have begun attempting to go on strike in an effort to escape.

I can't say I blame them, but [Redacted] was called to explain the process that femmes put their targets through to hopefully give us some answers. I suspect the higher ups just want enough information to weave a half baked like for the staff, but the information is vital nonetheless. The more we know, the better a chance we have of fighting back if need be.

Statement begins.]

══════════════════

Femmes... yeah, I've known a few over the course of my life. Elita was one real piece of work. She wanted Orion when she was still Ariel, and she threw a fit when the Archives got him before she could. She wanted Optimus as well once she found out he had been Orion at some point. She nearly got him too. I think the only reason Optimus managed to get out of her clutches was because of his rather murderous tendencies. I don't know if he meant to or not, but he allowed Elita to try and claim him and then watched on as her abilities backfired.

There is a reason femmes only target the weak. If their will cannot overcome the will of the target, their abilities will kill them instead... and in a rather brutal fashion.

It was a shame. Elita, when she wasn't enthralled with her targets, was a good femme. She treated her cold forged well and was a brilliant tactician. She actually kept Optimus in line for a long time. She ensured he couldn't do anything nearly as extreme as what he does now. That's the good thing about femmes. They are good and kind to their targets. They fill the void in the bot's life that no other could have ever hoped to fill. It is a peaceful end for a mech that would otherwise be cast away by society. Elita was the companion Optimus needed, a level helmed and gentle being who served as his equalizer when his plans demanded more pain than required. I appreciated her for that, especially when I served as as a special agent-

Ignore that remark. No. Ignore it.

Do you understand me Witwicky? You will ignore that remark.

[Note: [Redacted] expressed a severe violent reaction the moment I made it clear that I had no intention of adhering to his wishes. He only calmed when he watched me scratch it from the records. Of course I added back the redacted information following the conversation, but [Redacted] has things he wants to hide it seems.]

Good.

As I was saying, Elita was a fantastic person. Femmes are more than capable of being normal members of society when they are tended to. In fact, they are even worshipped in some circles and given the lowly members of society so that they may be remade. But Elita aimed too high, she went beyond the bounds set by the rules of femmes. She tried to go after a mech who was too strong, and for that reason, she fell.

Femmes are of the line of Solus Prime, the first femme created by Primus. At least that's what the Primacy will tell you. I'm not all that sure on the theological stuff, but there are records pointing to the fact that Solus existed. Because of that, I am willing to pin the femmes existence back to her. I don't know all the details about the first femme. That's the kind of thing you'd need to ask Orion about. He always loved talking about the theological details of history. He always got so passionate about it...

Sometimes... I forget Orion isn't here to answer anymore. I mean, he is, but he also isn't. But that's beside the point. This isn't my forte. Sorry, its just seeing Optimus so often after so many millennia, it can bring back old memories yanno? I will get back on topic.

No one knows what makes a newspark become a femme. In fact, there are no signs at all until the newspark sheds their second armor set. They behave just like every other Cybertronian, and then sometime in their early adolescence, they start following a specific individual around. Usually their first target is someone very old or very young, the weak of society or those without enough knowledge to fight back. Once the femme has picked, that's when the Council steps in and slaps a sticker on them to denote what they are. The poor target is cut off from everyone and left to the femme. Why? Because the first target is always the one who suffers the most.

Femmes are highly territorial. They will never aid one another unless both their targets are in danger and cooperating is in their best interest. So every young femme is on her own, left to figure things out as she ages. For young femmes, they will pick their victims apart. There is no peace to be found as they sink their connectors into their target to try and tear apart their CNA and remake it. The process kills the target without fail. A more experienced femme knows that she must follow a ritual, a process of sorts. She must know her target, she must care for her target, and only once her target is open to her... only then can she dig her claws in and remake them.

Yes, yes I am getting to the actual process now. Calm down. I swear you fleshies are just as impatient as Cyberfelines sometimes.

First she will get to know her target and release a chemical, a pheromone as your kind call it. This chemical causes the target to become calm, more trusting, and it also weakens their immune system. It has some benefits, such as increased processor function and heightened senses, but all this comes at the cost of increasing weakness. Not to mention the increase in processor activity is largely so that the femme may attract her target's attention and push them into seeing her in a light that best fits what role she is aiming to fulfill until the time for harvest arrives.

Around a vorn into her work, the femme will start to introduce her coils, her touches if you will. She will start to touch her target as often as she can, and it is through this that small injectors in her digits will begin to input a specially made protomatter into her target. The target will feel no pain since the injections are so small. But over months, years, vorns... slowly her target will start to think less, feel less, until at last they start to collapse.

Femmes are not needlessly cruel in their efforts. She will be very gentle with her target in their dying cycles. When they begin to forget, she will remind them of the things they lost. She will help them fuel, she will take them places they enjoy, and she will allow them ample time to deal with their lingering affairs. Any living relatives will not be compensated, but that is because she sees her work as the greatest compensation any being could possibly receive. She is remolding the worthless into something greater, and for that reason she is both compelled to her work just as much as she heralds it as something sacred. It is her nature to be gentle in this stage, for by that point, her target will be carrying the beginnings of her cold forged, her perfect creation.

There is no set time for it, but at some point in this final stage, the femme will continue her injections of protomatter and her quiet indoctrination until finally, her target shatters. This can take various forms, usually some type of explosion or contortion of the frame, but the end result is always the same. The target dies, and from their corpse, a new being emerges. Much like a newspark, it emerges without armor, but unlike the newsparks from the Well, it will come forth with memory and a mission.

We call these things the Cold Forged. They are beings that completely lack emotion. Or perhaps the ability to empathize. It is hard to tell with them. They all seem to take sick glee in watching others squirm. But anyway, the Cold Forged have a purpose that their femme gave them, and most often, they do not care to reveal it. Those that have felt like giving up data have often been given a mission that amounts to a concept, a thought or ideal. The most common mission these beings receive is by far the most terrifying.

Perfection.

They are given one concept, and they live out their entire lives embodying and striving to reach it. The Cold Forged are Cybertronian by every single stretch of the word, but they are not... like us. Does that make sense? My kind do not really do the empathy thing. But they have SOMETHING. The Cold Forged don't even have that. They are true machines.

You know what's so funny about this whole thing?

The femmes don't even care about their Cold Forged. They make them, and then they move along to the next target. The Cold Forged are the closest any Cybertronian has to actually having a biological creation, and the femmes don't care!

[Note: [Redacted] laughed for a rather long time following this statement. He seemed to be... unstable while speaking on this matter.]

Sorry about that.

It's just, it feels so clinical to me even millennia after learning about the process. These femmes go through so much effort just to make a creature that they then throw away. Elita was a rare exception in this regard. She liked to keep tabs on her Cold Forged, and I think one of hers even ended up with the Elite Guard. Her missions to her Cold Forged were always super specialized too.

Yeah. Femmes. Cold Forged. It's a hot mess I tell you.

Jack will be fine. Arcee will care for him as best she knows how until his dying day. That much you can be sure of.

══════════════════

[Statement end.

I am unsure how to feel about all this. Every detail I gather about these aliens tells me that there is something deeply wrong with them. I have my theories, but considering [Redacted]'s disposition and what info we have on everyone else, I think I can say that this race has been altered somehow. If [Redacted] is able to comprehend empathy, there must be others.

They are capable of feeling and being reasonable, but there is some factor that changes things for them. I shouldn't get involved...

But I want to know. I want to figure this mess out. I am just one man, but if I can put some pieces together, then perhaps there is something we can do to fix this. If nothing else, I want to understand these aliens. I want to know why.

Why start a war? Why do all this? And why in God's name would they shatter in such a way culturally? There must be an answer, and I have a sinking feeling that the only ones who can give me answers are going to be very dangerous.

Agent Witwicky signing off.

Recording ends.]

[lemon-russ]

Part 2 of my stupid Cato fic. The fleas take me, but in a boring way, because no sex here either. apparently I just need him to call me names.

This one is from fem readers POV.

Part 2/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Violence, blood, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (mildly honestly)

Summary: The ambassador sits in horny jail and Cato is forced to actually do his job.

word count: 1,651

You were pushed onto the floor. Still blindfolded, you felt hard stone under your knees as you fell to them, and heard the squeak of a cell door close behind you. “You’re staying here until we get conformation that your crazy government is backing off.” a soldier said.

Well, today wasn’t going well. And stupid Cato couldn’t do his one job, apparently. You used your shoulder to wiggled the blindfold off your face, mind racing of what you should do now. You did not have any faith your good for nothing bodyguard was actually going to come get you. Though he did stand up for you when you were kicked at least. That was… unexpected. But best not to assume lightning will strike twice and give Cato Sicarius a second instance of empathy, you had to get out of here.

You inspect the cell. Stone on 3 sides, jail bars on the other. Damn, this planet really has nothing but rocks and time to build everything out of stone. You test your cuffs- they feel sturdy, no getting out of them quick. Thinking on all your emergency prep training, you start going through scenarios that could help. No escape points besides the jail bars, no way to break your cuffs or call for help. That leaves endearing yourself to the guards. You can handle that, you hope, your whole job is to endear yourself to people to make them do things for you.

Usually those people don’t see you as the embodiment of a tyrannical coup on their planet, but, you can try at least. The guards stand watch from across the small cell room, scowling at you, weapons drawn. That does not bode well for your chances of befriending them. You take a deep breath, and put on your most harmless, pathetic pout.

“I don’t understand, I thought things were going so well…” You say in your softest voice to them. If they find you cute, maybe they won’t shoot you as fast. People don’t like to shoot cute things. You scoot over to the bars, giving them sad eyes. “What did I do…? Did I offend Chancellor Rolfar…?” You ask sadly.

The guards scowl more. Fuck, maybe this culture sees weakness as annoying and not endearing? You should have researched more on it, but they are so new and you were sure you had the handover in the bag… You sigh, and lean against the bars. One of the guards huffs, walks over, and pushes you back from the bars with a hard push of his foot, knocking you back with a squeak of surprise. “Hey-!” you snap, but he interrupts. “Off the bars, prisoner. No funny business. If we think you’re trying to escape, we’ll shoot you. We don’t need you for the rebellion, you’re just collateral.” he growls out before moving back to his post.

Grumbling and struggling to sit back up with your bound hands, you huff some hair out of your face, glowering at the man who kicked you. Why did Lord Guilliman have to send you with Captain Sicarius of all people? The one person in the galaxy who would side with their enemies in the camp of I don’t actually need you alive, it just would make my life easier for a minute. Sure, Guilliman would chew him out, maybe put him on punitive duties for a while, but in the end nothing would actually happen to Cato if you die here. It was out of his hands, really, even though he was too busy bullying you to pay attention and then he let you walk into a trap.

You scoot back against the stone wall. With nothing to do but think, your mind replays the events that got you here. You were just explaining the supply routes that would be set up when suddenly Cato knocked you to the floor. Before you understood what was happening, he was above you, shielding you with his body and shooting attackers. By the throne, you’d be lying if you said that image didn’t do something for you. Of course, he’s an asshole. But you can’t get that picture out of your head, staring up at him from the floor, him kneeling and curling around you, face a mask of protective rage. You shake your head- no, stop that, don’t get flustered over a man who almost certainly is about to leave you to die here.

He’s probably already on the thunderhawk home, going to apologize to Lord Guilliman about losing his favorite ambassador, oh but don’t worry, he’ll find a better one in a week to replace her, he’ll assure the Primarch. Meanwhile you’ll be rotting here or worse, rotting in the ground. You shudder as the dire nature of the situation sinks in.

Maybe you should go back to thinking about Cato being weirdly protective. OK, you guess it’s not weird, it is his job, and he sucks at it. Which is why it was weird he didn’t just try and handle it with exasperation like normal. No, it was weird. He snapped at that guy who kicked you, and then got you thrown in here because he lost his temper on Chancellor Rolfar. You assume that’s what happened, you were blindfolded, but you got kicked hard, and suddenly people were telling Cato to put the Chancellor down. Your heart felt a little fluttery at the thought of Cato Sicarius of all people being protective of you more than as a job. But like, it was his job. And he was shit at it. So maybe you should deduct some points.

After a while of contemplating, mind bouncing harshly back and forth between mortal dread and maybe Cato is a little hot sometimes but still an ass, you hear a soft creak of the door into the jail. You glance over, and suddenly the guards are screaming, flashes of red and cobalt blue blurring in front of you. You barely even have time to be surprised when a ceramite boot is breaking in your cell door and you’re being carried out like a bag of flour under a large arm.

“You really fuck things up for me, you know that?” Cato says, voice dripping disdain that didn’t quite fit the fact that he was rescuing you. You frown and look up at him. “What- fuck things up for you? you had one job! Keep me alive and un-kidnapped, yet here we are!” You snap. He looks down at you, expression hidden behind his helmet, and then he just drops you flat on the ground.

The air is knocked out of you, sight going white a moment as you hit the stone- this was like the fourth time today, your elbows and knees are going to be wrecked- and before you can process, he is standing over you and yelling. “I’m not a babysitter! I shouldn’t even be here! And because you have no sense, and are so pathetic and soft, I couldn’t get us out without bullets tearing up your fleshy little body- so yes, you are making things very difficult.” He scolds as you sit up, a bit dazed. He taps his helmet. “Ever seen one of these? Why do you go to unknown places unarmored? Not even a flack jacket or helmet? By the holy throne you’re useless-” he goes on.

Without stopping his tirade against your character, clothing choices, intelligence and for some reason your lack of natural bullet-proofing, he picks you back up and carries you like a disobedient child under his arm again. You frown, deeply confused, but happy to not be dying in a cell. You blink a few times, realizing what was happening.

“You actually came for me?” you say in a puzzled tone, looking up at him with a frown. He stops mid word in his beratement, looking at you. “What? Of course I did, it’s my job. What on holy Terra are you talking about, you daft woman?” He snaps back. You look up at his expressionless helmet, then smile a little. “huh.” you say, smiling to yourself and looking back down as he carries you. He scoffs. “What do you mean huh? Did those soldiers finally knock your last brain cell out of your ear you insufferable creature?” He huffs as he kicks open a door and carries you outside.

You shrug. “Just, surprised you came. Maybe you don’t suck as much at your job as I thought.” You say casually. He grumbles, moving you to sit on and arm, holding you upright so he can jog across the rocky dry soil. He pulls off his helmet specifically so he can scowl at you. “What the hell are you on about now? I’m The Cato Sicarius. I don’t suck at anything.” He grumbles, seeming genuinely upset at the implication that he wasn’t perfect. “And Lord Guilliman would have my ass if I just left you. I’m the ultramarine's finest, I don’t disrespect my genefather’s orders so blatantly.” He says almost defensively.

You smile a bit more, looking up at him as he carries you and runs. “Hm.” you say in the same casual tone. He rolls his eyes, mumbling about emperor damned women always talking in riddles as he carries you aboard the thunderhawk and unceremoniously drops you in a seat. You watch as he voxes to the small crew that they needed to go right now. You sit back, rubbing your absolutely demolished elbows, and let your mind wander back to that image of him curled protectively over you. Maybe not as much an asshole, you think, letting a small smile cross your face as you glance over at him. He gives you a dirty look, shaking his head like what are you looking at me for?? Okay, Still definitely an ass, but, maybe a little less of one than you initially thought.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 30 - Oncoming Storm

The Coastal Run:

Glynn the Coffee Pot watched as the new engine for the branchline bustled about the yard, shunting trucks into place. His regulator sounded wobbly. “My own branchline, the Fat Director says,” huffed Thomas. “And yet there’s you old tin urn here telling me what to do. It’s not mine if there’s another engine!” Glynn could only chuckle. Edward had warned him about Thomas’ cheek and temper, and he was well used to the behaviour of the loaned engines who stormed about the mainline liked they owned the place.

In comparison to them, Thomas was a saint!

Still, there was one thing Glynn had to explain to Thomas before he could get any grumpier. Or before his regulator gave in; he really ought to mention that to Thomas. “It’s only until you’re settled in,” reminded Glynn politely. “Especially with storm season incoming.” “What does some bad weather had to do with anything?” snorted Thomas. “We had storms at Vicarstown and those never stopped trains.” “Oh no,” agreed Glynn. “Trains must get through no matter what. The big issue is the land around here isn’t stable. Knapford, Elsbridge, Dryaw and Toryreck are all built on reclaimed land from the old River Els marsh – it used to be one of the largest north of Liverpool. Rainwater normally drains out via the remaining marsh on the other bank, however during particularly bad weather, there are sometimes floods. It’s your responsibility as this branchline’s engine to look after the line when that happens.”

“Pah!” snorted Thomas, glaring out at the river. “It’s just some stupid water. What’s it going to do to an engine as big as me?” “You should not be so dismissive of heavy rain and flooding,” said Glynn crossly. “It’s very dangerous. You know… the mainline didn’t always go through Knapford tunnel.” Thomas raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Go on…”

“Oh yes,” hummed Glynn. “When we were built, the line only came as far as the abandoned harbour here. But the same company that had dredged the marsh here was invested in building a rail line to get the lead out of the mines. They had us built, and a line built around the headland.”

Glynn rolled forwards, leading Thomas through the yard to a set of points beyond the station. One set of lines continued straight along the mainline while another veered to the left, only continuing a very short distance before dipping down into weed-ridden ballast.

“Today, it’s a set of trap points to keep trains from heading for the tunnel, but back then it was our route to Tidmouth. It was a much longer journey, going right the way around along the craggiest and most difficult cliffs on Sodor. I hated taking my trains along that line; I always felt uneasy when I had to take my lead trains along that line. My siblings felt the same. One day, an oncoming storm had us all scrambling to prepare the line. One of my brothers had to get the last load of lead out to the harbour, and set off just as it began to rain. The rain lashed against the island, unleashing fury upon Sodor and dumping rain down by the lake-full. It was an absolutely horrible storm. Out on the line, my brother was doing his best to struggle against the buffeting rain and howling wind. Or at least… he was.”

Thomas gasped, realisation striking. “He…” “Wiped right off the side of the island with his train and most of the track. It was all swept away in the blink of an eye. Afterwards, a young Mr Topham Hatt helped build a railway through the hills, connecting the two towns and avoiding the cliffs.”

Glynn sighed, going back to his shunting. “I miss him so much. I loved my brother, and now he’d gone.”

Thomas sighed. He didn’t really believe in the idea of sympathy – likely a result of his upbringing. “Well, it’s done now,” he replied. “Let’s just do our best to keep my branchline smoothly. Do you know when that train bound for the Big Station is?” “Half past four,” replied Flynn easily. “But I’d be careful. The wind’s changed – a storm’s inbound.” Thomas scoffed. “Just because you felt some wind, doesn’t mean we’re about to get battered. And if we are, then don’t we have a job to do?”

Glynn couldn’t disagree with that. All through the rest of the day they worked hard, and as Glynn predicted, the weather began to change. Distant thunder rumbled as Thomas made his way up to the mine to collect his lead trucks bound for the Big Harbour. The first few fat raindrops fell as the little blue tank engine entered the mine, cold and wet and leaving dark splotches on the ground.

It only grew heavier as Thomas banged the trucks together. His regulator had begun to play up, leaving him irritable. He finished arranging his train, and set out into the oncoming storm. Rain buffeted the tank engine as he struggled on, each wheel turn struggling for grip against the rails. Wind howled and shrieked around him; branches were ripped off and flung into Thomas’ side tanks while a few stray roofing tiles were dragged from their spots and dropped onto the lineside with a smash.

Thomas was beginning to understand why Glynn hated the bad weather. Worse yet, none of the line were clearly visible, and the signals were barely any help. Thomas was still not used to this part of the island, and he just couldn’t make anything out in the driving rain and fog.

He rumbled through a station, and heard the roar of the sea being whipped up into a frothing monster by the storm. “That must mean we’re near Knapford,” suggested Thomas’ driver; he had to shout to be heard over the rain.

The train rumbled through the junction – or what might have been the junction, Thomas wasn’t sure. At the end of the station, they veered to the left, and the thunderous roar of the sea grew even louder. Thomas wasn’t sure where they’d ended up at all – but he hated it. The train was entirely exposed to the elements here, not even a few trees able to provide the slightest bit of cover. It almost sounded like he was running right on the coast – but that was impossible! The line ran through the tunnel.

Thomas struggled on, wheels slipping furiously as he tried to find at least the tunnel to shelter in. Anything would have been better than where he was. His wheels slipped again, and his driver rushed to stop the train from faltering. He moved too fast. Thomas’ regulator groaned, and with a clunk, slammed shut and jammed.

“Damnit!” groaned Thomas’ driver. “What will we do about the train?” “We have more immediate problems!” yelped the fireman. The two peered out of the cab to see the waves getting higher and higher, sea spray splashing against Thomas. It threatened with every crash against the rocks to rip the line right from the side of the hill!

Thomas felt queasy. “I don’t like this!” he shouted. “Get me out of here! Please!”

Suddenly, a whistle pierced through the roar of rain and sea. An engine bumped into their brakevan; Thomas could have cried in relief. The engine sounded just like Glynn! The engine dug its wheels into the rails and began shoving the train forwards. The minutes felted like an eternity, passing far too slowly. Thomas and his crew held their breath and prayed, both driver and fireman trying desperately to unstick the regulator.

And then, there was a bump. Thomas looked down, and could have whistled in surprise!

“Points?!”

Just behind them was the tunnel. Thomas�� crew did a double take, and fell against the regulator in shock. The bump jarred it back into motion, and Thomas shunted back violently, coming to a stop just inside the tunnel before his regulator gave out again.

Thomas thought he could just make out the shape of a Coffee Pot heading back down the weird coastal route.

A second whistle sounded out, and Glynn appeared in the mouth of the other tunnel bore. “Thomas! Thank goodness I found you! Where have you been?!” “Wait – Glynn? But weren’t you—” Thomas cut off with a gasp. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had happened.

His suspicions were only confirmed when – to his horror – he found that there was no set of points beyond the tunnel. Glynn watched on, worried. “There were points here!” Thomas spluttered. “And a coastal run! I was nearly swept away!” “Thomas, the coastal run was destroyed nearly two decades ago. I don’t know what you saw,” replied Glynn for the fifth time.

But Thomas just couldn’t believe him. Not when he’d witnessed it for himself.

Back to the Master Post

[pinkestlittlebutterfly]

Recently we’ve had lots of reasons to look at the relationship that Lily had with the Alicein family over the centuries he spent with them, because it becomes obvious now that it wasn’t all peace and happiness and maybe never even one built on love in the first place. And I’ve been thinking a lot about this interaction from somewhere in volume three:

Specifically in relation to what we learned about Lily in chapter 136. 

And I know that Lily’s pocket money is a silly, one-off joke made very early on in the series, and that maybe all it wants to say is that Lily is bad at managing money, and that it’s probably not meant to be put parallel to this scene. But that won’t stop me. 

Because the jokes Servamp tells are rarely entirely random; and Lily’s pocket money might just as well be one of the many tiny hints we get as to what’s behind the facade of the little vampire paradise Lily built in the safety of Alicein mansion. He’s not allowed access to the family money, and there’s secrets in the mansion that even he holds no key to. Misono teaches Mahiru that a Servamp’s purpose is to fight despite how much his own Servamp dislikes it, and Mikado presides over an organisation famously riddled with people hating Lily’s kind, and maybe, when Misono threw all those books, it was a little more than a slapstick gag. There is a rift between Lily and the core family, one that’s not entirely Lily’s doing, and might have been there for a very long time. 

I don’t necessarily think that the Alicein were bad to Lily, or that he was miserable in his place by their side. But I find it striking that if you think about Lily then and Lily now, you find that he never really left the place he was in at the very beginning; never really reached a point at which he could stand on his own. He is no employee earning a wage but a Servamp bound to an Eve; and he struck a deal that demands him wholly and completely and allows for possession; that demands not only his time and workforce but control over him and his power and body. But he’s not treated as an equal in return; he gets pocket money rather than access to the family’s wealth because the actual reward he traded himself away for was safety for his children. As far as we know, at least. 

There is so much we have not seen yet, about how the pact between Lily and the Alicein came to be, and how they felt about each other for all those centuries, and I hope canon will explore this at least a little in the chapters that are left before it ends. What we do know is the secluded little kingdom in which they ended up in, and how much it trapped and hurt Misono – and maybe, though he was one of its architects, it wasn’t the most healthy place for Lily to be in either. And maybe, what Misono needs to do to end the chess game and foil his plans is simply to take him away; because he learned to leave and stand on his own and perhaps, it’s time for Lily to do the same.

[ccycloneblogging]

I keep forgetting to ask my questions now is the present I guess-

Well 1, love your work! This AU is so cute and full of potential trauma it makes my mind flow with ideas... one of them being REALLY trauma heavy that has me in a vice grip rn...

So anyways- your post where you showed how in your AU catnap removed dogdays legs... were the murders of the hour in the same way? Because I just- Imagining Catnap dropping an anvil on some poor soul and them getting crushed slowly after the initial impact while catnap watches in apathy- has not left my mind. It's just Saw death traps at that point.

And about the whole "Going back to the cartoon" thing catnap wanted... would that not be suicide? A fully fledged, free thinking being going back to being with a world bound by a script and it's existence only continues if it's makers wish for it seem like killing yourself with extra steps. Again- this Au has so much Trauma potential I just HMMMMMMMMMMM-

And Oc's... well who do you want to hear about? I got a few lying around... well only 2 poppy playtime ones at the moment (and like one is kinda hard coded for another AU)... not to mention all the ones I have not drawn up yet that lie within my mind.

I would not mind another reason for William posting- but I'll let you choose!

Thanks, man! :D

You have no idea how much I've had to edit the scripts and drawings I make for the blog, because I go too dark too quickly for this toon AU.

I'm gonna go on a long ramble. Bear with me.

Like - there's this one script I still need to rewrite. But the premise is that Angel and DogDay are in Home Sweet Home, striking up a conversation - though Angel is injured.

Angel: ...Do you ever just... Stop? *[Angel eyes DD, as DD is in the process of sniffing like an actual dog, walking along the walls]* DD: What do you mean? *[He pauses to look at them, his tail wagging]* Angel: This. *[They gesture to his whole self, which causes him to finally fall on to the ground with a yip]* Angel: We're being hunted by a monster, close to death, and you're acting all... *Looney*. DD: That's what I do, Angel. I was brought here to make people feel happy. Safe. *[His tail begins to wag again as he makes his way to Angel]* Angel: Great. *[Unamused]* At least we'll die laughing. DD: You know, laughter is stronger than you'd think. *[A little "Uh-huh" from Angel.]* No matter how bad things get, you just have to laugh! Even if you feel like you've lost all hope, unsure about tomorrow... Not knowing what you did wrong, wondering how the world collapsed around you... *[DD grabs on to an ear, his smile turning more upsetting. The background getting darker. Maybe emphasize some of the in game model]* DD: Knowing that deep down, it's your fault for their deaths and already missing your chains because you deserve them --- *[He immediately switches back, sunshine and smiles]* DD: A laugh can chase away the gloom! Angel: *[Disturbed]* ...You want to talk about it, Pup?

So, they're all thoroughly traumatized, that's for sure!

I plan on drawing a comic that takes place during the Hour Of Joy, but yes. CatNap has killed some humans with falling anvils, endless pits, trapping them in repeating hallways until they go insane. Humans cannot survive the same punishment a toon takes, you know. >u>

But you know, he's not entirely heartless. Just angy. A poor lil meow meow

Oh, it's just CatNap being unable to cope, being ripped out of his comfort zone and never being able to adjust with the horrible things going on in Playcare. Though the Critters in this AU are not the same as the In-Game Bigger Bodies, there's still been human experiments. CatNap would much rather take scripts and limited freedom over what he was given... You are right though. That is one of the themes I wanted to try and hit with him. Especially if I follow through with an ending of Angel adopting the Critters. Then the aftermath of the trauma can really sink in.

My man, pal, friend.

I love OCs. The floor is yours. Send 'em in!

[tyk-tyk-tyk]

How about, for the meme: good ol’ lodger, and Maxwell if you want to do another!! :3

Sorry this took so long to answer! Going to start with The Lodger, and I’ll put Maxwell from Don’t Starve under the cut!

First impression

I remember the most striking thing was the art style, his eyes were absolutely haunted and I loved them. His design alone is what got me looking at the game.

Impression now

He’s such a little gremlin. I mean, come on, look at him! He’s such a little shit being an unreliable narrator, and I think that’s my favorite character flaw I’ve ever had the pleasure of observing and writing.

Favorite moment

Which leads into the next point, I think the most haunting part of the game was The Lodger constantly contradicting himself and abruptly saying “Help me.” with no other explanation. I know the gameplay is clunky, grindy, and completely unfair—But I will ride and die for the atmosphere at least.

Idea for a story (Mentions of disease/rotting/minor horror elements! Skip to the next one if you don’t want to read this!)

I’ve had this draft called ‘doppelgänger’ in my WIPs for ages, but it was meant to be The Lodger finding a wounded stranger out in the woods and nursing them back to health. There’s a funeral custom about draping things over mirrors, so The Lodger hasn’t seen his own reflection in years. Prattles on and on about how this poor stranger should have taken better care of themselves, they look uncanny! Their eyes look hollowed in and their skin is a deathly pale and their red hair looks like it’s falling out—

By the time he realizes it’s a living and breathing copy of himself, he’s already invited it into his home, and he has to decide what to do from here on out.

Unpopular opinion

Is this fandom even big enough for popular opinions I think the lodger would be an antivaxxer in modern times, you know bro would PANIC about conspiracy theories

Favorite relationship

Him and his bed (and if you’re not with the government, I’ll ship him with basically any other man even if it’s toxic just to try and experiment with what he would do in a relationship. Please for the love of god keep him away from the girl in the woods though her Steam card is LITTLE GIRL not grown woman, that’s his daughter not his date)

Favorite headcanon

I always struggle to decide which is more heartbreaking and plausible, if The Lodger is some guy that a nearby town/city sees every now and then and never sees him again for months on end, or if no one even knows he exists and his house is just a stop in the middle of nowhere.

Though while we’re on that note, I think regardless he is insanely lonely and LOVES company of any kind. To the point where it can be kind of overbearing. But he’s trying his best.

Now, about that Maxwell guy

First impression

I haaated him, but only because I always imagined him smugly laughing every time I died to something stupid in Don’t Starve. Everything felt like concentrated spite towards my journey to the throne (that never even got past King of Winter)

Impression now

I like him so much as a character. I remembered unlocking Maxwell with cheats just to run through his dialogue in game (even though I could have just looked at the wiki, I wasn’t smart okay) and watching someone else get to his throne. It was such whiplash for me to realize that someone who (allegedly) was taunting me was actually just in an insane amount of endless misery.

Favorite moment

“Even the king is bound to the board.” Such an iconic line for me.

Also any time he whines about physical labor or his clothes getting dirty always makes me laugh

Idea for a story

It’s hard to say, I don’t tend to do a lot of writing for Maxwell since my amazing and most best friend in the world often writes him. Though I’ve always found the concept of Wilson interacting with William funny. I think once upon a time an ancient moon ago, I wanted to draw a mini comic where Wilson and William were spying on Maxwell using bush hats. Wilson goes ‘Alright, go talk to him.’ and William replies ‘No way, I scare me!’

Sigh, simpler times.

Unpopular opinion

I haven’t interacted with the fandom in LITERALLY YEARS so this could have changed, but I think people like to try and pull like… Internet cancel culture on this old man. Saying that just because he was evil once, he’s evil forever. And while I don’t think he’s entirely sunshine and rainbows, the man was poor and I get why he literally made a deal with the devil. You can tell that he never wanted at least Charlie to get involved, and he quite literally was gaslit back into the dark side, so. I dunno, be kind to your elders or something.

Favorite relationship

Initially I was so off-put by Maxwil, but as I’ve gotten older I think it’s one of my favorite opposites attract tropes.

I love Maxlie more than anything though. 10/10 friends to lovers to enemies to lovers, no notes.

Favorite headcanon

I think he likes to do magic tricks for the kids. Or anyone who will watch and won’t make fun of him. He may put on a refined gentlemanly front but I think he’ll always be a nerd.

[porcelana-r0ta]

Bound for Glory

Fandom: Night In The Woods

Word Count: 2119

Ao3 Link: Only available to registered Ao3 users

Summary: Casey Hartley is nineteen and isn’t ready to grow up (and he won’t).

xxXxx

He strikes the match against the sandpaper side of the matchbox, igniting his small world of the night sky and the train tracks. He brought the orange flame to the tip of his cigarette, and once the flame took, he shook the match out. Dropping it, he stomps on the burned out match: Smokey Bear would be proud. Or disappointed. 

Shoving the box of matches in his hoodie pocket, Casey Hartley takes his first drag of the cigarette as he resumes walking west. The smoke fills his lungs, clouding his organs, stretching them and destroying them all in one. He blows out. He can’t see the smoke under the new moon. The only light on the train tracks lives with the stars and the dim ember of his cancer stick.

“What, not gonna offer me a light?” Cain asks, flipping his Zippo out and sparking the end of his Marlboro. 

“You hate my matches,” Casey says. 

“‘Cause it’s not fuckin’ 1923, damn.” Despite lighting his cigarette, Cain keeps his Zippo out, flicking the flint wheel. Sparks fly, but never catch. 

Casey likes matches. Likes lighting them up and letting the flame crawl down to his fingertips. Likes blowing them out and smelling the woody smoke of their dying breath. Likes stomping them beneath his feet. Likes using them for his cigarettes or blunts, going through the same motions as thousands of smokers before him and the invention of the lighter. Likes feeling like something. Feeling like there’s something other than Possum Springs. 

Mae got out, at least. And Angus and Gregg are saving to get out. 

He and Bea, though? 

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales. Holds it. Lets it out in a sigh. 

“Cain—”

“No,” his cousin says immediately. 

“No?” 

“No, you can’t join the business.” 

Casey is offended, “I don’t want to join your business.” 

“Good,” Cain says. He flicks his cigarette, sending ash to the tracks. “You’re gonna have a future, you know.” 

His stomach curdles. “In Possum Springs?” He tries to keep his tone wry and playful, but his bitterness takes over. Consumes, like the smoke. 

“You can leave. Get a job, like your gay friends. Gary and Angie, or whatever.” 

“Gregg and Angus.” Casey rolls his eyes. 

“That’s what I said.” 

"Uh-huh."

“Yeah, whatever. Point is, you don’t have to be like me. Mary and Bryan love you. They’ll support you even if you get a bitch pregnant and walk out on her.” 

His mom would sooner beat his ass for walking out on a girl after knocking her up, but Casey doesn’t argue the point. 

“That’s not the problem.”

“Yeah?” Cain’s voice takes on a hint of arrogance, the inflection he uses whenever he successfully blows a smoke ring. It’s too dark to tell, but Cain is always sure of himself. “Enlighten me.” 

Casey kicks at the ground, hoping to strike a rock, and only scuffs a plank on the track. 

“I dunno what I wanna do.”

“What, with life? For a job? No one does.” 

The lit end of his cigarette shakes in time with his fingers. “No. Or yes? I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.” 

“Yeah, and no one does. Life is a guessing game, man.” 

“Well, it sucks. The only thing I know is I don’t wanna stay in this shithole town. Maybe I should just hop on a train already.”

“Possum Springs ain’t that bad.” 

Casey scoffs. 

“No, really. It’s kinda nice, minus the xenophobia.”

“Huh, so you did pay attention in high school.

“Shut it, kid.” Cain punches his shoulder. He’s only seven years older, which isn’t that much older, but Cain milks it for all it’s worth. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, the only sounds being their feet on the tracks and earth and their sighs of smoke. Then Cain suddenly breaks it. 

“I wanted to be a teacher.” 

Casey looks down, startled. “What?”

“‘S true.” He flicks his cancer stick. Cinders falls and die in the dark. “Loved art. Loved Mrs. Terry. Wanted to make other kids like me feel like they were worth a damn.”

Casey knows the name, even if he never took art class himself in high school. Mrs. Terry had taken Cain in after he was kicked out, at least until Casey’s parents found out and gave him the spare room. Cain stayed there until he scrimped up enough money for his trailer house. 

“It was really cool of her to take you in like that,” he says quietly in the night. 

“Yeah,” his cousin agrees. “Mrs. Terry’s real cool. She said I could make it. But college’s expensive. ‘N I’m just a dealer now.” 

Casey’s not good with this, with comforting people or supporting people. But he can’t say nothing. 

“Maybe you can save up. Do a ju-co, then something cheap for your last two years.” 

Cain scoffs a laugh. “No…. Nah, that’s just not me.”

He drops his cigarette and steps on it, suffocating the fire. Killing its short life. “Seriously, Case. You can do whatever you want, and your parents will help you. I’ll help, too. You’re my cousin, more like brother, honestly. You can take all the time you need to decide what you want in life.” 

But Casey’s not in high school anymore, he doesn’t want to go to college, and he feels stuck in place. He doesn’t want to grow up. He wants to stay Casey Hartley, seventeen years old, rage-playing drums while Gregg plays guitar and Mae plays bass and Angus sings. He wants to commit crimes with Gregg and Mae, wants to lift snacks from the Snalcon and smoke weed in the upper office of the old Food Donkey and referee Gregg’s and Mae’s dumb knife fights. 

God. He won’t even be a teenager in a few months. His twentieth birthday is creeping up. 

He’s scared of getting a job. He’s scared of hating his job and being stuck with it. He’s scared of taxes. He’s scared of finding an apartment to rent. He’s scared of never owning a house. He’s scared of owning a house.  He’s scared of Cain being arrested. He’s scared that Mae will never come back. He’s scared that Gregg and Angus will leave and never come back. He’s scared that Bea will be crushed under the weight of the Ol’ Pickaxe and her negligent father. He’s scared that he’ll be all that’s left of them, left behind in dying Possum Springs, left behind to die here with no one but conservative asshats and nothing to do and nothing accomplished that means anything.

His parents will stay, and they are young, but they aren’t getting younger, and a good son dies after his parents. He’s scared of that. Of being with just them until old age claims them and then he really is—

a   l   o   n   e

He doesn’t want to grow up.

The train tracks start to rumble, quiet and gentle. A headlight beams behind them, though it has not reached their backs quite yet. Casey steps off on the right, and Cain goes left. 

“You’re right,” Casey says instead of any of his fears. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” He looks at the stars and hums. “Look, it’s late. I’m going home. You should, too.” 

The train gets closer and louder. The light reaches them.

Casey has to yell, “Yeah, I will. See you later!” 

“I—”

Cain’s response is stolen by the train, cutting in between them and blocking Casey’s path back to town. 

The train wails as Casey lights another cancer stick. He lets the fire creep to his fingers before dropping the match and stomping it out beneath his black canvas shoe, his fingers stinging as he puts the cigarette between his lips. 

The air is warm with the birth of summer. He shouldn’t even be in his black hoodie in this weather, but it’s the same hoodie he’s had since sophomore year and he’s not good at letting go. It was only during the hottest August days that he’d shed the hoodie in previous years.

He hums “Die Anywhere Else” as the train passes, whistling and crooning all the way. He finishes his cancer stick, considers lighting another, but ultimately doesn’t. 

When he gets to the chorus, his chest burns, and he sings the words instead of humming the melody. That part was always meant for Mae. But she had bigger and better plans than an idiot like him who was scared and clueless all at once for his future and would throw that future away as soon as he gathered the courage to hop a train.

Maybe I should just jump on the train, he thinks to himself. Leave for Durkillesburg. Crash with Mae for a weekend or two. Start finding my own place.

But his legs are stuck in place, just like he is. Glued down by fear. Petrified of the culmination of the future of his wrong decisions.

The train eventually passes, and Casey is expecting to be alone, Cain long gone to his trailer. But he’s not. 

Someone stands on the other side of the tracks, a silhouette in the darkness. They are tall and look like they are wearing something long, like a trench coat, maybe. Some kind of hard hat rests on their head. 

A crusty, his mind supplies, a vain attempt to calm his heart. His fur stands on end, his blood going cold. He’s jumped off the train, just like a million other crusties.

For a moment, the two can only stare. 

“Casey Hartley?” they ask. They sound male. No crusty is likely to know his name—he’s befriended some, sure, but they hardly ever return, and they wouldn’t just assume that the first shadowy figure they see is him. 

“No,” he says. “Cain, actually. Casey’s my cousin.” 

Their hand goes up to their head. A clicking noise is instantly followed by a beam of bright light. 

Casey flinches back, his arm raising to block the light. He squints against it, trying to make out who is across the tracks. His stomach drops and he takes several panicked steps back, the other suddenly on the same side of the tracks as him. 

“Look like Casey to me,” the person notes, voice dangerous. 

He’s not going to try pleading his case. He turns and bolts.

He makes it maybe five yards before there’s a bang and a sharp pain in his right calf. 

He falls, yelping, sweating, crying. He claws at the dirt, forcing himself to turn over so he’s not face-down and accepting death quietly. Anywhere else, he tells himself. Anywhere fucking else. I won’t die here.

“You fuckin’ shot me!” he cries. He reaches for his leg with a trembling hand, expecting a bleeding bullet hole, but instead he feels something cool and cylindric with fine hairs coming out from the top. He yanks it out and throws it, terror mixing with drowsiness. 

No, wait—

He immediately regrets the action, belatedly realizing it could have been his own weapon if he’d kept it. Fuck.

“No,” says the person, confirming what Casey has already concluded. “I tranq’d you.”

“Why?” His vision spins. He feels alert and subdued all in one. His stomach twists. His body is heavy, like he’s trying to pull himself out of the public pool after being in all day. Please, no. Don’t sleep. Don’t fucking sleep. Don’t even lay down.

“Don’t be scared, Casey.” The person kneels next to him, still bright and unknown. It hurts his eyes, but he’s so scared that if he closes his eyes, he won’t open them ever again. 

Casey swings at him, but his hands glance off, doing nothing against this monster. They coo and cup the back of his head, fingers grasping Casey’s fur, their other hand grabbing at Casey’s upper arm. They force Casey to lay down, and he’s full-on sobbing now despite the call of sleep. 

“No,” he begs. “Pl’s, no. Don’ do this to me.” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This is for you, Casey, and your family. Your parents. Possum Springs doesn’t need another dealer, hmm? But we need business. This is just business, Casey. It’ll all be over soon. You won’t even know it when you’re gone.” 

“Nnnnnnnoooooooooo.” It’s a low moan, grieved and miserable. It takes the rest of his energy, his body numbing, his mind clouding. He tastes smoke.

He wants his dad. He wants his mom. 

Did he say bye to them this morning? When was the last time he said he loved them? He can’t remember—it's all too fuzzy now.

“Shh, shh. Just go to sleep, Casey. It won’t hurt none.” 

He’s supposed to fucking grow up. 

He falls asleep instead.

xxXxx

Casey Hartley's away message:

BORN 2 LOSE COUNTRY TRASH PROUD DRUMMER SK8 AND DESTROY SK8 2 CR8 BOUND FOR GLORY