#for them to actually believe it and to not lay the blame at the feet of other entities

[arbitrarygreay]

More evidence that Alder would have done gangbusters focusing on espionage: Petra notes in 2x4 that "Intelligence does often have a hard time keeping track of the General's comings and goings." Literally the person in charge of keeping track of information and shit says that Alder and her Biddies were giving them the slip all of the time over the decades. It's like the inverse of the Marshal being able to hunt anyone down, Alder is able to slip the leash when she wants. Which kind of goes against the popular fanon of Alder being stuck in meetings and in the unavoidable public eye all of the time, and finding it a burden. It turns out, Alder not only made a habit of getting around surveillance, but the other side of that coin is that what publicity/propaganda/speeching/posters/etc. she did do was of her own desire. If she didn't want to be a public face, she could choose to avoid it all. (To where when Nicte forced her into the Warding Circle and Petra appeared to make announcements with Silver instead, it was notable by everyone, a duty that Alder relinquished reluctantly.)

[feyascorner]

10 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks, suggestive content!!!! (new warning hehe)

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. actual????? communication????? after 45k words?!?!?!?!?!? or is it...this chapter is literally them being loser teenagers i love them

To you, his touch is like a drug.

His breath, cool against your hot skin, presses against the shell of your ear as something dangerously close to a whine escapes your lips. You can feel him grin as he lowers his head and places a long kiss on your collarbone. His slender hands slide up your back, grinding you even closer than you already are as he mouths at every nook and cranny of your body. It’s almost like he wants to consume you whole. To drink you until all that’s left is a shuddering mess, your body still begging for his own.

White curls tickle your chin as the strings on your shirt finally come undone. His tongue brushes against the peak of your bare breast, and your eyes meet him in a lust-clouded haze, lips pursed as you swear you could reach your peak just by the way he looks at you. It’s so intimate, so vulnerable, so pleasurable that your eyes half close when the palm of his hand smooths against your clothed core.

He stills, lifting his head to kiss his way up to your neck again. As much as you want to beg him to resume what he’s been doing, he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers bring your face to his.

“Don’t hide from me.”

You shudder. You think you know plenty with how flushed your face is, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lowers back down your chest, grinning as he lays his cheek on your skin teasingly.

“If you look away, I’ll stop, my love.”

“Are you insane? Of course, he’s staying here!”

You lurch up from your pillow as the earth-shattering reality of the morning sun blares you awake. Cheeks burning, you rub at the bags under your eyes, humiliated in the face of nobody but yourself, as you hear more voices from downstairs. None of which even try to keep it quiet. You stare down at your legs, lips pursed.

Only still half-awake, you can practically feel his hands on your waist.

Curses. What are you? A prepubescent teen?

With a loud groan, you force yourself onto your feet. Considering how your dreams will only add to your stress, you might as well.

“Oh, thank gods you’re here. Tell him we’re not taking Astarion with us to the celebration, will you?” Shadowheart hisses as you descend the stairs, still half asleep. “Our wizard seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the leech upstairs.”

You swear Lae’zel snorts.

“It was only a suggestion. I wasn’t sure if we’d want to leave him alone here…isn’t that merely an invitation for him to run away?” Gale rubs his temple with his thumb, clearly exhausted.

You’re fully aware of Astarion’s nightly escapes into the city, but you don’t tell them that. It’s better not to cause a panic.

Shadowheart shrugs. “We’ll tie him to the counter. Hells, we can just lock him into the basement.”

Gale sighs. “He’s not a dog.”

“He acts like it,” Lae’zel grumbles, sinking her teeth into an apple.

“We could ask the Duke to spare some of his soldiers for the night. Make them keep watch while we’re at the party,” Shadowheart offers. “Anything to keep that dirtbag here instead of there. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

Gale’s eyes meet with yours. There’s a sort of expectancy in them that makes you squirm in your shoes as they bore straight into your soul as if he’s aware of your deepest secrets. There are bags under his eyes, surely from having to balance Astarion’s less-than-likable presence with all his other responsibilities in rebuilding the city. A part of you feels guilty for the work you’ve dropped on him, but both parties know it’s for the best.

It’s been made glaringly obvious that you and Astarion shouldn’t be anywhere around one another. It’s only a recipe destined to end in a yelling match or…

Your cheeks flare. Last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.

“We’ll keep him here. Lock him in his room like Shadowheart said,” You finally blurt. “Can you send the invitation back with everyone who’s going? I have someone to visit in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” the cleric smiles, obviously pleased with your decision. Gale only frowns. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

So are you.

You hear the door of Astarion’s room open upstairs and decide you shouldn’t stay any longer. After rushing goodbyes to your companions and another questioning glance from Gale, you scramble to fly out of the house, barely grabbing your bag in the process. The contents weigh more heavily than they usually do, and for good reason. Hopefully, younger vampires feed less than fully grown ones because otherwise, the squirrel you found the night before won’t be able to satiate Berry’s appetite.

It’s hard not to wonder how she’s doing for most of your day. You were initially planning to visit her last night until the unfortunate ambush Petras released onto your already sore limbs. Even now, you constantly rub at the ache of your thighs and arms. The healing potions did plenty, but they couldn’t do everything.

She must be starving, you think. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately for you, however, when you arrive at the Highberry residence, Berry seems perfectly fine. In fact, she’s helping her adopted siblings arrange decorative plants around the house, likely to liven up the place after what’s been happening the past few months. There’s a sense of calm here that doesn’t currently exist in your own household. The scene makes a soft smile pull at your lips, which is more than welcome.

“You didn’t visit last night,” the young girl finally says when you’re with her by the window, far enough from the siblings to be out of earshot. She looks up at you sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve gotten attacked.”

She picks at her fingers.

“Were you worried?” you stifle a laugh, and she shrugs, albeit flustered. “I brought you some—prey. You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” she still takes the worn sack and clutches it close to her. “I went out to find food by myself.”

At this, your eyes widen. “What? You left for the forest? You know that place is dangerous, Berry; it’s not safe for someone as young as you.”

“I’m a spawn. It’s probably safer for me than you,” she squints, and you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“...You’re still a child,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Where’d you learn to hunt anyway? The last time I checked, you could barely fight off a few forest animals.”

Her face flushes red, but she huffs regardless. “The haggard taught me.”

“Hag?...”

“Your friend,” Berry perches either of her arms on the windowsill, staring out at the passing civilians on the street. She whips her head to you and points at either of her fangs, opening wide. “He’s been teaching me to hunt with these.”

“Astarion?” you blink. “He taught you? Willingly?”

It’s rather hard to believe.

“No, I had to follow him. By the time he noticed, he didn’t have much of a choice,” she says proudly, puffing out her chest. Then she deflates again as if she just tasted something sour. “He got two big bears last night but wouldn’t share…So, I had to get my own squirrels because he told me I’d starve otherwise. That old hoot is selfish and mean.”

Well, it certainly sounds like him.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” you scold her gently.

“Maybe by him.”

You want to say that she’s wrong and that Astarion wouldn’t hurt her, but the blasted comb flashes back in your mind, and reality sits heavy in your throat. So, instead, you bite your tongue.

“Have you found any of them yet? The other spawn?” she pushes herself off the wall to stand straight.

“I did—if fighting them counts.”

Her face falls and a part of you regrets even alluding to what happened last night. She begins to fidget with the sharp ends of her nails again and stares at your shoes. “There’s too many of them.”

You’d most certainly know.

“We have the Fist fighting for us,” you assure her, albeit pathetically. Even in your own ears, you don’t sound entirely confident. “And besides, the murder count has been decreasing as of late. If we keep going at this rate, we won’t have more than a body every two weeks—”

“It won’t work that way, though. They’ll just keep coming back.”

Were children always this perceptive?

You’re not sure what to say.

She clenches her fists. “Not all of them are bad, you know.”

“I know, Berry. You’re not a bad person at all; it’s just that—”

“I meant the siblings,” she blurts, finally meeting your eyes. “Aurora…she was nice. She was nothing like Petras.”

Aurora?

You’re suddenly leaning down to her, shoulders tense. “You’ve met the other siblings? Since when?”

“Only once, months ago. Petras tried to convince the others to stay here with him, but they said no,” her brows furrow. “He was furious that day.”

Of course. Why didn’t you realize that earlier? Petras, Dalyria, and Leon were the only ones of the main spawn that remained in the city, and being so swept up with their antics, you’d forgotten to ponder on the motivations of the others. You swallow the dry lump in your throat as realization slaps you across the face.

“So not all of them want to go through with the ascension?” you gasp. Berry pauses but nods slowly. 

Help. You could ask them for help. Surely, if they don’t want another Cazador running rampant in the city, they’d be willing to stop the ritual as a whole. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek as your mind races. Were they even aware of what Petras was up to? How many lives he’d taken?

You take her hands to stop her from picking at them, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Berry, where are the other siblings?”

“They told Petras they were leaving for the Underdark like they promised you.”

Gods, bless this girl. Somehow, she’s been more helpful than any other resource you’ve had the past few months—including the Duke, and your vampire spawn. You’d think she might be a blessing from the heavens if it weren’t for all the other bullshit they’ve thrown your way as of late.

“Tell Cora I dropped by,” you smile brightly. Though it’s rare nowadays, you feel almost hopeful. “I’ll come back in a week. Stay put until then.”

By the time you realize how much time has passed being cooped up on your bedroom floor, the sun is already setting. You reach for a candle, flicking a match against the box before lighting a flame to illuminate the pages sprawled around you. In anyone else’s eyes, you might look nearly hysterical, but to you, it feels as if the weight of the entire city is on your shoulders again. In a way, you suppose it is. Unless you want more than just a couple dozen bodies on the city streets in a few months, that is.

Your eyes scan over Dalyria’s drawings for what seems like the millionth time. And for the millionth time, you find nothing. Since the last time you obsessed over her journal, there have been a few additions to your collection: some books on ascension, vampires, and, for some reason, a book on vampire lords. 

You’re not sure you see the point in picking up this particular book, considering the spawns’ master is long dead, which means none of them can become a true vampire unless they were to ascend—the exact scenario you’re trying to prevent. But perhaps spending an entire day at the library blossomed a newfound curiosity within you. 

There isn’t much in there you don’t already know from first-hand accounts Astarion would recall on the nights you couldn’t fall asleep. There are parts, however, regarding the vampire spawn they can compel that lure your attention.

“Vampire spawn were the masters of stealth and charismatic cunning,” you read mindlessly. “...vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators.”

Vengeance. Is that what it was when he tried to strangle you?

Your jaw clenches, and you feel a sort of buzzing on your lips. What an asshole.

Quickly, you shut the book with a slam as you decide that dwelling on information you’re already well accustomed to is a waste of time. You’d likely be a better source of knowledge than the book itself because of how basic its contents tend to be.

You stare at the cover, which simply illustrates a set of fangs. Cliche, you think, but it’s effective.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

Fortunately, the uncomfortably loud growling of your stomach snaps you out of your trance.

Shoving the book under your bed, you swing the door to your room open to pace to the kitchen. Hopefully, there’s some dinner left over from last night—-worst-case scenario, you have to eat one of those days-old fruits gathered in the bowl on the counter. You don’t have much time to ponder, though, because you hear a familiar groan from downstairs as soon as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Will you please stop leaving dead animals in the cabinet? As grateful as I am that you’re feeding on them rather than our friends, it bloody reeks, Astarion!”

Shit.

Astarion stares up at you with wide eyes on his way up to his room while you blink down at him wearily. Gale continues to mutter mindlessly about whatever trouble the spawn has caused in his sacred kitchen, but Astarion doesn’t seem to pay him any heed. You feel naked under his gaze, but you think putting on at least four more layers of clothing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of how you feel.

“Good morning,” he blurts.

He never greets you. Not like this, anyway.

It’s not even morning.

Fortunately, he looks just as confused at his words as you do.

Searching for a response that won’t come to you, you refer to the lamest solution. A scapegoat, if you will. “I need to walk past you.”

Astarion immediately nods. “Right. Yes, of course.”

He stands to one side of the narrow stairs, and you cautiously squeeze past him. Has it always been this much of a struggle to fit two people on the stairs? It’s terribly awkward as you shuffle by, holding the air in your lungs in hopes that he doesn’t recognize how uneven your breath is. You’re sure he does, but it was worth a try anyway.

Suddenly, Gale is standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of you.

“Where are you going? I thought you needed a healing potion for your stomach,” he aims at Astarion with a raised brow.

The said spawn coughs. You almost choke on the air.  “No, I—I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure? That bruise was pretty nasty, my friend. Letting something like that fester will surely only hinder you…”

Astarion closes the door to his room. Slams, more like.

You glance at Gale pitifully, who only crosses his arms with a sigh as he turns to return to the kitchen. “He’s moodier than I was when I was going through puberty.”

Wordlessly, you trail behind him until he resumes whatever dish he’s cooking up inside a pot while you reach for an apple. There’s a comfortable silence as you perch yourself on the counter, legs gently swinging as you chew, cringing whenever you feel a mushier part of the fruit. Gale lifts his ladle to his nose and takes a quick sniff before nodding in satisfaction. He then puts the lid over the pot.

“I’ve never seen Astarion as awkward as he was earlier,” he comments, and you cough.

“He wasn’t that charming in the first place,” you grumble.

“I never said he was charming. Just that he isn’t awkward.”

“Maybe he’s still drunk from last night,” you scoff, blood boiling at the mere thought of how he acted. A strange sense of pride spreads through you, knowing you hit him hard enough to do some damage, but you still think you could’ve hit harder. All those months pent up should’ve garnered far more strength, surely.

“Or perhaps it’s from the kiss.”

You do choke on your apple this time.

After you wheeze out whatever apple chunks were lodged in your throat, your head whips in the wizard’s direction. “Gale, you–”

“It wasn’t voluntary, I’ll have you know,” he cuts in, crossing his arms. “I just happened to leave one of my books on the couch, which I only wished to retrieve for my nightly routine of reading at least 100 pages.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your face deepens in color, even as you beg it not to.

“I, of course, being the most fortunate lad I am, had to walk into the room when his tongue was halfway down your throat.”

You nearly shriek. “There was no tongue!”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief!” he laughs. “I likely would have had to pry my eyes out with one of Lae’zel’s swords otherwise!”

On any other occasion, you’d bite back at him, but you’re too busy drowning in your own humiliation to register half of his words. A blessing and a curse in this case.

“It didn’t mean anything!” you blurt, even though he never really asked. “It was—he kissed me. I punched him afterward, too.”

Gale raises a brow. “Really? It appeared to me that you were kissing back, though it might have just been the angle. Quite passionately, too, but that might’ve been the trick of the light…”

You slap your palms over your ears, praying to the gods that he shut his mouth for once in his damn life. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Does he know that?”

“He hates me! And he’s kissed hundreds of people—I doubt one stupid kiss even bothers him.”

“Yes, but it’s a kiss from you. His ex-lover,” Gale shoots back. “And he doesn’t seem unbothered. Neither of you do.”

“So what?” You know exactly what, but it’s difficult to acknowledge at the moment.

“Tav,” Gale says carefully. “If you’ve—by any chance—begun to grow accustomed to his presence again…and I don’t blame you at all, by the way. I’ve become rather fond myself of forcing him to listen to magic lectures that nobody else is willing to listen to; however…if it’s becoming something more on your end–”

“It’s not,” your tone is more stern this time. Colder. “It never will be.”

“Really?”

“Do I need to punch him again for you to believe me?”

“That’s not quite what I’m getting at. I just witnessed the tension between the two of you, and it would be irresponsible of me as a friend if we didn’t work through what you’re feeling before things start to get out of hand.”

You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “There is no tension, Gale!”

“Now now, I might not be the most experienced out of all of us in romantic affairs, but I’ve had my fair share of them. With a goddess, no less! It would be wise if you heeded my advice and discussed what the kiss meant to both of yo–”

You clap a hand over his mouth, words gritting through your teeth. “Stop saying it!”

His response comes out muffled against your palm.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. I’ll go up to him right now and tell him how I’ll bury him alive if he tries anything again. Would that be enough to shut you up?” 

Gale smiles. You don’t return it.

The angry march up to Astarion’s room should’ve been enough to wake up your other companions, but it doesn’t. You knock heavily on his door, foot tapping impatiently as you glare at Gale, who stands halfway up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging. It only makes you want to shrink into your shirt.

When Astarion fails to answer after multiple knocks, you decide you have no time for this. “I’m coming in. Please don’t be naked.”

The door doesn’t even have a lock. His room is empty except for the cold air that hits your cheeks. You realize that the window is swung wide open, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the wooden floors where he’s left his cloak in favor of what you assume to be usual nightwear. You pull the door behind you and cautiously step into his room, eyes glazing over the rest. It’s a stark contrast from your own. Despite how much time he spends in it, there isn’t a speck of dust or an article of laundry where it shouldn’t be. His bed is neatly made, his chair pushed into his desk, and if it weren’t for his books organized on his desk, you’d think nobody even lives here.

You slowly inch toward the window, running your fingertips over his books. They’re worn but somehow still well taken care of. You can feel how old they are, yet their pages remain perfectly intact, without a single crease on any corners. 

When you reach the window, you finally notice the vines growing on the sides of the building that protrude just over the window sill. You hear soft thumps from the ceiling, resembling the pace of his footsteps. Or at least, what do you think they’d sound like if he made any sounds while walking.

The asshole knows you’re here. Of course, he does.

With a wary glance at the vines, you firmly grip both hands on the roots and slowly lift yourself off the windowsill. Thankfully, the stones making up the building make for good boosters to haul you up toward the rooftop, even though your instincts suggest you’d likely fall and die an unfortunate death here. Still, somehow, you manage to haul yourself onto the roof's edge with a final groan.

You slump rather unceremoniously onto the angled edge, and the slight snicker from the other occupant of the space doesn’t go unnoticed. You glare at him, and Astarion only grins, leaning back on both elbows. “Should I have lent you a hand?”

“I can climb a wall, thanks,” you snap, crawling to a spot that allows you to lie back and stay a generous distance away from the vampire spawn. The tiles of the roof feel cool against your skin. From only two stories up, you can see a full four streets further than you usually can from your window, where only a few people now shuffle through the city given the time of night. While you think it should be peaceful here, all you can focus on is the undead individual lying a good few feet away from you, staring up at the sky rather than the city.

“As much as I enjoy all the colorful insults you throw at me, I was hoping for some peace tonight,” he finally says.

“This is my rooftop that I paid for. I’ll go where I please.”

Astarion sighs, his eyes still gazing up at the stars. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight? If it’s about the dead animals, I’ve already told Gale I’d store them outside from now on—”

“Last night didn’t happen.”

There. It’s like a weight off your chest. At least, it should feel that way.

He stops, moving to stare from the stars to you. “And since when could you manipulate the very essence of time?”

“Don’t get smart with me unless you want another repeat of yesterday. Maybe I’ll knock out a fang this time,” you hiss.

“The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

This boils your blood just enough for you to tear your gaze away from him and back onto the city. “Just forget it happened.”

“Must I?”

“Yes! It was clearly a lapse of judgment!”

“It was,” he affirms. From the corner of your eye, you can see him put his chin against the palm perched on his elbow, fully turning on his side to face you. “An exciting one. I thought I knew you well enough that I could trust you would never kiss me again.”

You glower. “I was bleeding half to death—I was barely conscious. For all I know, I thought you might’ve been someone else.”

You can both hear the obvious lie in the statement, but neither points it out.

“I do wish you’d stop doing that,” he mutters, staring through lidded eyes. “It’s hard not to pay you any attention when you constantly smell like fresh bait. It’s like seeing an entire feast before you but being unable to have a taste.”

“Yes, because I wanted to get attacked by your brother.”

“Right. That.”

He stares up at the sky again. Hells, if he stares any harder, you’d think his damn eyeballs would fall out. His white curls blow gently against the breeze, and from here, it appears like nighttime was really made for him. Or do all vampires just glow during the night?

“For all it is, I’m truly sorry.”

Your eyes resemble barrels as you turn to look at him. He’s now occupied with his hands—those flawless hands of his that, by some miracle, don't have a single scar on them even after all the two of you have been through. Those very same hands you’ve once loved and that you’ve grown to hate.

“I, of all people, should know what it feels like to have someone forced upon me. And if I had any sort of control over my body at the time, I assure you what happened last night wouldn’t have happened.”

Though it’s not the main point of his apology, you find yourself focusing on the implications. He would’ve never kissed you if he was sober. You know this—you’ve known this—so why you’re so preoccupied by this confession, you have no idea. Internally kicking yourself, you steel your mind to remain calm. He hates you. You hate him. Simple. You only notice, moments later, that he’s still talking.

“---and I’m aware we aren’t on good terms,” he says, softer. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stoop down to the levels of the dirtbags I had to deal with for two centuries. I might have questionable morals about all else, but in that aspect, I’m unlike them.”

Still wide and unblinking, your eyes slowly relax as you soak in his words. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him so sincere (in a manner that isn’t insulting), and it feels like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, you want to deceive yourself that you’d never reached Baldur’s Gate. That you and your companions are still camping in the woods, and Astarion is still only learning to care for another. That he never went to Cazador’s palace, and you never needed to stop the ascension.

You would’ve indulged in such fantasies months ago, but now, they feel too artificial to derive joy from them. They feel too hollow. Fake. Like biting into a poisoned apple. You can sense him waiting for your response, and it takes a moment, but you manage to mumble it out. “It’s fine. I did kiss you back. We were both not in our right minds. Just…forget it happened.”

You don’t know how to decipher the look in his eyes, but you’ve long given up on how to do it in the first place. Because every time you think you finally understand him, it turns out to be a mask or a plot to deceive you. And every time, you don’t see it coming. It’s better not to try at all because it means he has no way to lie to you in the first place.

“Very well,” he says numbly. “It never happened.”

Both your heads turn to look up at the dark sky. The stars twinkle overhead, glistening in their own respectful glories. There’s one in particular that shines the brightest, floating right beside another that dims compared to all the other stars. It seems to drag behind the brighter star like a shadow, always following but never truly acknowledged.

You pity it.

“Why did you quit music?” he asks suddenly. “I thought it was…your passion.”

“I can’t see the beauty in it anymore,” you say simply.

Astarion hums. “A shame. I was rather fond of your lyre.”

The brightest star almost appears to move again. The darker one trails right behind.

You raise your brow. “Is this where you run off to every night? To stargaze? It’s pretty, but doesn’t it get boring?”

“It’s not pretty at all, darling,” he grins, attention never leaving the sky. “I watch every night, hoping that the dimmer star dies out before the brighter one notices it’s there.”

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[nightwings-robin]

If Jason is responsible for the death of Felipe Garzonas then Bruce is equally as responsible for the death of Felipe's father, José.

I've seen so many arguments and counter-arguments about whether or not Jason actually pushed that guy off of a building to his death, but I have literally never seen anyone talk about the very next issue which involves his father blaming Jason regardless. I didn't know this was a thing that ever happened in the comics until I started reading them in earnest.

This event is often talked about as a defining moment in Jason's time as Robin (and it is) but I think this little arc actually says a lot more about Bruce and fan's interpretations of Jason's actions than it does about Jason himself.

Like just look at this panel from Batman (1940) #425:

Batman is on top of a pile of cars, José shoots at Batman, the tower of cars falls down on top of José and he dies. It's sort of an accident but then Bruce goes on to imply that this guy's death is also Jason's fault:

Bruce is saying here that actions have consequences - the name of this issue is even titled "Consequences" - but the way he says it to Jason implies that these are the consequences of Jason's actions. In Bruce's mind, Jason "killed" Felipe, so his father wanted to get revenge and ended up killed as well. Bruce lays both of these deaths at Jason's feet but I don't think that's totally fair to Jason.

Regardless of whether or not Jason really did kill Felipe, José Garzonas believes Robin is responsible. This sets off a chain of events that leads to José's death. And one could argue that Bruce is actually the one responsible for Garzonas' death as he was the one on top of the tower of cars that falls and crushes Garzonas. I find it interesting that Bruce doesn't hold himself responsible for that, even though it's an accident. He seems to blame Jason for this death that he himself had a hand in because he seems to blame Jason for Felipe's death that started this all.

Maybe Bruce doesn't even think that Jason pushed Felipe off of that building and that he really was just "spooked" off. But Bruce still blames Jason because Jason didn't try to save Felipe from falling. No matter Jason's real actions or intentions, Felipe still died and his father still blamed Robin.

If we go off of the theory that Felipe really was just spooked by Jason and slipped off the building by accident, then Jason didn’t kill Felipe so much as he didn’t save him. Which Bruce has done to KGBeast for example multiple times (no seriously there's AT LEAST two separate times when Bruce may not have killed KGBeast but certainly and purposefully left him in a situation in which death was eminent, but whatever I digress.)

I think a lot of people don't know that that story is actually a two-parter and that the next issue after Batman (1940) #424 deals with Felipe's father trying to get revenge for his son's death and he very clearly blames Robin for it.

Thoughts and opinions?

[meowpmzai]

JEALOUSY AT ITS FINEST. / ft wanderer/scaramouche

Prologe: where your boyfriend gets jealous at the sight of someone being too touchy with you.

WANDERER

Everyone knows that you are in a relationship with him, well atleast most. Wanderer eyed the interaction from afar, it’s not that he wanted to. He’d rather pull you away from the incompetent loser who isn’t worthy to be near you even 1 feet. He huffed out a breath of annoyance.

He hated sharing his personal belongings to others, or either he hated sharing at all. But you can’t blame him, can you? He has lost everything at this point besides you. He crossed his arms in disappointment at the sight infront of him

A man, slightly older than you, hands draped over your shoulder. A sweat bead had formed on the side of your face due to uncomfortable feeling of the stranger being to close to you. He frowned at the weird feeling at the pit of his stomach, unknown to what it is or chooses to believe that.

“Hey, excuse me- thank you for your compliment but I’m already taken” You said, declaring that you wanted nothing to do with the random person beside you. “What? Silly girl, I already knew that!” A giggle made its way out of the persons mouth, shivers running down your spine.

“Ok, then leave me alone” You gently pushed the person off of you, not adding any effort at all. You dusted the dust off of your shoulders and sighed wondering where your boyfriend was. ‘Where is he?’

You thought, slightly worried that this male would do anything to you. But fortunately for you, owning a vision and knowing how to wield a sword does come in handy in these types of situation.

“C’mon love, havin a lil fun like this once in a while ain’t so bad” he walked closer towards you, taking ahold of both of your wrist. And pulling you forward, head on his chest. You tried to pull away but he grabbed you harder “hey let go!” You shouted, hoping to catch the attention of passersby’s.

The random man had dragged you, trying to get you out of the city quick as possible so he can do whatever he pleases with you. Worry was evident on your face, you pulled one of your hands back and summoned your sword, swinging it towards the side of his cheek. It had scratched him, that’s what you wanted.

“You bitch!” He pulled on your hair, making you groan in pain. Finally after what felt like hours, your boyfriend made his appearance. His hands at the hands of the man and threw them off of you. “Wanderer..” ah, that name you’d only call him that if you were emotional or something bad happened to you. But he didn’t need the sudden change of name to see that something bad happened to you.

Your hair disheveled, teary eyed, wrists slightly swollen and red due to events that took place. All of this had pissed him off, he grabbed the male by the collar and lifted him.

“You dare lay a hand on them with these nasty hands of yours? Shall I do the honors of cutting them off.” He spat, he wouldn’t actually cut of his hands well not anymore. He’d just inflict pain onto the man

“W..what!?” The drunk grumbled with a panicked look on him, wanderer had raised a brow. “What, are you that useless you can’t understand anything?” A laugh followed at the end of his sentence, he decided to make this short.

Eyes brightening, a shadow loomed over his face making him more intimidating. “If you are still alive in 3 days, I’ll personally come and find you and once I do I’ll kill you.” He said, half joking. And threw the man down onto the ground

He walked over you and took your hand, leading you away from the man. The small walk was sudden but it came to a stop when he stopped and turned around to face you.

“Sorry I took a while.” He mumbled, whilst rubbing your forehead. You winced in pain but smiled either way. “s’ okay, i just wanna go home now” you assured him, he hummed at that and took your hands once more and began to walk back to your shared home.

IM SORRY IF THIS WAS SHIT, pls request I’m hungry for them. <3

[babydollmarauders]

PDA — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

FAITHLYNN'S 500 CELLY!

🌷: “Please just kiss me already.” with Luke.

“you guys are disgusting.”

my boyfriend and i are sprawled across the couch; Luke laid down on his back, and me laid down on my stomach on top of him between his legs. Luke and i separate our lips, looking over to Ethan and Mark who stand in the living room entryway.

“you’re just jealous that you don’t have anyone to be like this with.” Luke taunts, tightening his grip around me, letting his hand slide down to rest on my ass.

“no.” Ethan tells him. “i’m disgusted because you guys can never keep your hands off each other.”

“can you blame me? look at her!” my boyfriend exclaims. “actually, don’t look at her.”

“i wasn’t gonna look at her anyways.” Ethan states, flopping down into the armchair a few feet away.

“what is that supposed to mean?” i ask, purely intending to make him flustered. “am i not pretty, E?”

his eyes grow wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish.

“no! i- uh i mean yes! er-” he stutters over his words, not sure of how to respond, and Luke bites back a laugh.

“she’s fucking with you, bro.” Mark chuckles, slapping Ethan on the shoulder as he passes by the armchair, taking a seat at the opposite of the couch from Luke and i. Ethan looks at me, finding me red faced from holding in laughter.

“you’re mean.” Ethan counters me with a glare.

“she’s an angel.” Luke defends me, pressing a kiss to my lips once again.

“thank you, baby.” i mumble against his lips.

“Ethan’s right, you guys are disgusting.” i pull away to glance at Mark, who watches us with a wrinkled nose and a frown.

“we are not!” i rebut.

“ya know what? i dare you guys to see who can go the longest without kissing the other!” Ethan nearly shouts. Luke and i exchange a glance before i send Ethan a side eye.

“why would we do that?” i ask him.

“because i’ll give the winner a hundred dollars.” he tells me. Luke and i give each other another glance, making our decision.

“okay.” Luke says.

“okay?” Ethan repeats.

“okay.” Luke confirms. “it’s just not kissing. it can’t be that hard.”

**

it’s hard. it’s much harder than i think we assumed it would be. i didn’t anticipate the amount of times we would lean in to give our normal every day kisses before remembering we weren’t allowed. it’s only been one day and it feels like torture.

“i don’t like this.” i pout for the third time today.

“i know you don’t.” Luke chuckles, running a hand over my hair from where my head rests on his chest. we’re laying in his bed, cuddled up together before his game.

“it sucks.” i tell him. “i didn’t get my good morning kiss.”

“or your mid-afternoon kiss.” he reminds me. before i can speak, the bedroom door swings open, revealing Dylan.

“hurry up and get ready, we have 20 minutes.” he tells us before walking away, leaving the bedroom door wide open behind him. i groan, clinging to Luke a little tighter.

“baby, i have to get ready.” he coos, attempting to peel my arms off of him.

“you won’t get your good luck kiss.” i frown. that statement makes him freeze. i’ve come to learn that some hockey players are very superstitious. Luke being one of them. he genuinely believes that if he gives me a kiss before he leaves sophomore house every game day, they’ll win. it’s worked so far, so i can’t really blame him.

“shit.” he curses. he hums as he gets up from the bed, trying to think of a solution. i watch him with curious eyes while he gets ready, changing into his arrival outfit and making sure he has all his gear in his bag.

and i follow silently as he sulks down the stairs to the other boys who are waiting for us by the front door.

“i’ll see you at Yost?” his hands grip my waist, mine winding around his neck.

“yeah, i’ll be there.” he nods at my confirmation before we pull apart, him heading towards the door.

“aren’t you forgetting something?” Ethan teases, a smirk drawn across the lower half of his face.

“don’t be an asshole.” Dylan retorts, smacking Ethan’s chest. “this could be our downfall.”

Luke let’s out a stressed sigh at Dylan’s words, and i know this is hard for him.

“Luke?” i call out. he turns to look at me, raising his brows in questioning. “please just kiss me already.”

i don’t have to tell him twice. he struts forward, pulling me in by my belt loops and crashing his lips to mine. his lips are soft and he tastes like the red gatorade he was drinking earlier.

“dear jesus, one day. you guys lasted one day.” Ethan groans. Luke pulls away, sending a glare to his close friend.

“shut up, Eddy.”

-

[kumabeom]

anti romantic - choi yeonjun smau

prologue : i don’t believe in being romantic

synopsis : anti romantic, college student choi yeonjun who thinks he’s seen everything in a relationship, promising himself that he won’t go through another relationship ever again to prevent himself from going through another heartbreak. that was until he sees yn, a classmate, chasing his heart. will his walls be enough to scare yn away, or will they continue chasing yeonjun with all they have ?

slightly suggestive, themes of cheating, swearing, sad jjunie :((

the sky was painted black, it was like a canvas, a black background with little flicks of white paint, the half moon adding diversity into the plain sky. yeonjun’s tears drying from the slight cold, december breeze, his breath appearing right in front of him. the tip of his nose turning red, just how many times was he going to go through an absolute heartbreak. he didn’t want to go through it again, the pain in his chest, the hoarseness in his throat that he felt after breaking down. he hated it. why ? why was this happening to him ? he just wanted to live happily with the person he adored the most, was that too much to ask for

“oh, hyung, why are you crying ?” yeonjun turned his torso around, the metal bench that he was sitting on only sent more shivers down his spine. the small jacket that he had on was not doing enough to protect him from the cold, he couldn’t blame the jacket, but he could blame himself. although it was just the closest jacket he had at the moment. he could still see the scene as if it was still happening in front of him.

“oh love, i’m here..” yeonjun yelled out, throwing his jacket to the side, tilting his head side to side as an attempt to crack his neck, his hand coming up to his shoulder, massaging the skin. he couldn’t wait to lay in bed with yoojung, they had been seeing each other for nearly a year.

yeonjun couldn’t help but feel a bit iffy about the fact that he hadn’t received a response back from yoojung, she nearly always was awake at the time that he got back from his dance lessons, where he actually taught kids in the city to dance, he volunteered to do it, he just loved seeing kids doing something that they enjoyed to do.

his feet led him to the bedroom, checking to see if yoojung was still awake. although he regretted his actions as soon as he opened the door, spotting his girlfriend under the covers with another man, his lips pressed against hers, the sheets covering their bodies. yeonjun couldn’t help but feel his breath quicken. he wasn’t sure what to do, was he meant to quietly leave and just breakup with yoojung the following day, or is he meant to breakup with her on the spot. but he didn’t have the time to be thinking about that, his mind just did what he thought was an appropriate reaction.

“what the fuck, yoojung !” he yelled, brows furrowed, yoojung’s head turned towards yeonjun, in absolute shock that she’d been caught. she had done her best to keep all of it secretive, she thought that yeonjun was going to get home later than usual.

“junnie, it’s not- i’m not.. its not what it looks like, i promise.”

yeonjun turned his back, grabbing his jacket, “oh so what is it- hmm ? is it all just a huge misunderstanding that i caught you kissing another man ?”

“jun, please-“ yoojung, got up from the bed, buttoning her dress shirt as quick as she could. “it really isn’t what you think it is..”

“i don’t care what that was, yoojung, we’re over..” yeonjun spoke. he felt himself on the edge of a breakdown, trying to keep himself looking stable until he made it a safe distance away from yoojung’s apartment.

and now he was here, facing huening kai, the two of them now sitting on the metal bench. huening kai listening to each and every word that his hyung told him, explaining the situation to huening. yeonjun hated ranting to huening kai, because it made him feel like he was destroying the younger’s outlook on love and relationships. kai, however, didn’t really mind, he just wanted to give his hyung a shoulder to cry on. he knew how much yeonjun’s relationships had failed ever since he was in high school, and he just wanted the best for his hyung. and with yeonjun’s final year of college coming to an end, with only a semester left, he truly wished he found the right person at college- however yeonjun seemed to have different plans.

“i think i give up on love- i don’t believe in romance. i don’t believe in being romantic.”

©️kumabeom

remember that all of this is completely fictional and it doesn’t actually portray any of the idols/people used in the smau ☺️☺️

masterlist : chapter 1 , chapter 2 , chapter 3 , chapter 4 , chapter 5 , chapter 6 , chapter 7 , chapter 8 , chapter 9 , chapter 10 , chapter 11 , chapter 12 , chapter 13 , chapter 14 , chapter 15 , chapter 16 , chapter 17 , chapter 18 , chapter 19 , chapter 20 , chapter 21 , chapter 22 , chapter 23

finale : bloom like pretty flowers on a warm spring

profiles : cyj and yn , besties !!

official release date : aug 25 !!

pinterest board

taglist : @soobadooba @beoms-sugar @yxnjvnnie @myahfig4 @sato-chan-2709 @grayscorner @run2seob @destairea @lol6sposts @cutesince2000 @forever-in-the-sky2 @soobs-things @soobinsman @mackjestic @ameliabs-world @mochijjunie @hyuneyeon @flwerfield @jesssssmaybankk @moa4lifeee @theblueslytherin @k1t0

send asks to be on the anti romantic taglist

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hear. Me. Out.

Lord of calamity pls. "You belong to me now" prompt with reader who's also part of the COA squad (the survivors) pls?

Hear what? Im in his dms. Im licking his tentacles. Im fucking the outer hp lovecraftian god, anon. Im built different lolol hastur is my wife and i love him to pieces

Rated T | Warning: Lovecraftian themed

Perhaps it is too much to ask of humanity to not embrace the false bliss from the creature who is killing the world, but can you blame them? The pain, the loss, it chips at the soul until there are only shards at the feet of this… Thing. The whispers call it Lord Of Calamity, you find it strange it has a name. If Luchino was… If the professor was here, he would hypothesize this creature has been here before. That is the only reason it has such a grim name.

You fear the others are lost to you. Frederick may not be a pod like the others but he talks nonsense as he seems to offer the thing worship— Praise!

You only escaped the pod because… You are not sure actually. One moment you were in paradise, everything you could ever want but you… You saw through the lies. The deceit and it made you angry.

Humans, like animals, can react violently when there is no way to escape. A fight or flight response but you could only fight. In that paradise you killed someone, then another person, more and more until you woke up screaming and crawling at the pod.

Maskless, your clothing is slimy, and parts of it appear to have been started to be eaten at. You stand by Frederick up at the creature.

It is like looking into the abyss.

And soon the abyss looks back at you.

“Fascinating,” You turn around to see the creature now standing not far from you, it made a version of itself to speak directly with you. “Not many of your kind can escape serenity. This one is curious, was it not to your liking?” Polite.

“My liking?” You stand defensive with one foot in front of you and hands making fists, “That was not real!”

“It is as real as you wish it to be. A paradise of your own making. Were you not satisfied?”

“Paradise is not created from a lie.”

“This one has seen humanity prove otherwise.”

What are you supposed to say? Are you supposed to defend humanity with a battle of words? Which you try to do with everything you have but this creature counters every one of your statements. At one point you fear you might believe that humanity has become a blight upon this earth— No! You shake your head and then look around you, you refuse to let that numb feeling of hopelessness get to you.

“You wish this one harm.”

“I wish to leave.” Looking back at the creature. You move slightly to the side and a tendril from the ground wraps itself around your ankle locking you in place. A tug or two and you glare at the creature.

“This one tries to grant you a painless death. Suffering gives this one no pleasure. A mercy humanity is ill-deserving of.”

You look away then look up at it as it slips close to you suddenly, “Lord of Calamity, have you done this before?”

It is quiet, its hand reaching out to touch your face even though you try moving your head away, “At the pinnacle of your species, this one will consume all. A few will live, chosen by natural selection. The one called Frederick shall be my voice. The one called Luchino will be my enforcer.” The creature is laying out its plans. “The others have no use to me. They may enjoy bliss until they perish.”

“You bastard.” Grimacing at the way the fungal tendril maps out your face. A smooth slime trail and you struggle as more tendrils appear from under you grabbing you.

“This one has not seen your type in many of its lives. Few are granted omniscience, your kind is showing growth between each annihilation and rebirth.”

“What are you talking about?! Let me go!” Fighting your damndest to get out of its hold.

“A birth of a God. A fledgling one but a God nonetheless. You shall create a new world.” So matter of fact, “You belong to this one, fledgling. Once you have matured, you will provide companionship to this one.”

You feel yourself being pulled down like before back into a pod, you scream at it.

“Rest. Dream. Envision the world you will create.”

[hcdragonwrites]

River (Jttw-Monkeybuisness)

Ok I wrote another thing for @jttw-monkeybusiness there art inspires me and makes my brain itch and honestly I love Sophie to death so here you go!

And yes I suck at naming things when they are snippets of stuff I just usually name it what it’s about.

‘Getting water should be easy’ Sophie thought.

However it seemed that whatever gods were watching their trek today through China must have been bored and made this their entertainment for the evening.

Force the girl Buddha had plucked out of time to get water. Well it was unfair to assume it was the Buddha but whatever magical force actually had pulled her out of her time? Well that being was a massive dick. Sophie strained her arm, feeling the sway of the tree branch she clung to bobbed under her weight.

The banks of this river were steep as Trip and the group were making their way through mountains. The steep sides slide right into the dark water, rushing by in silent swirls of black- and offering no safe place for any traveler to easily reach it. The tree branch that Sophie now climbed upon, hung low enough off the steep riverbank, almost kissing the water with its bark. Moss had begun to grow from its limbs from the constant moisture. It offered Sophie a perfect opportunity.

She had both legs and arm hooked around the branch as it swayed, one free hand straining forward and dipping the water skins into the dark flow.

Jesus it’s freezing, she thought as her fingers dipped beneath the black current. Must be a runoff from a snow melt… If she fell into it she would be soaked and cold to the bone. Sophie shook herself, scattering that intrusive thought.

‘Only two more skins to go…’. She yanked the first one up, muscles burning. She lay flat, stomach hugging the branch and trying not to slip. Sophie wasn’t the most athletic person but she wasn’t a pushover either. Getting water was something she could do. Maybe she couldn’t fight Gods and humble the heavens like Wukong. Maybe she couldn’t breathe underwater and spear demons like Sandy.

Pigsy- well he was a fighter but mostly she had seen him run either away from a fight, pick a fight with Wukong, or fight to run towards women. Most of the time those women were demons in disguise that Wukong warned about. Sandy and her had a betting game going on silently between themselves as to which women were women and which were demons that wanted to devour Trip or herself. Mostly Trip but sometimes she would be mentioned.

So far the score was tipping in Sandy’s favor(who guessed mostly that the women they ran into were real women)- but only because the last village they had been in had been plagued by a child devouring rat demon. It was a morbid kind of way to make light of a situation that just kept recurring as Pisgy never learned.

Tripitaka even had his own abilities to commend, if some of those abilities didn’t translate over to combat. Staying still, meditating, being able to see the good in everyone - Sophie could hear Wukong now, thoroughly ripping into Trip for that belief- those were all traits that helped.

Sophie- a Girl out of time- was determined to have her own uses.

And if that was just doing minimal tasks then she would be GRAND at them!

She uncorked the last water skin and dipped it beneath the water as twilight began to descend into the gorge. The water turned black by the lack of light made Sophie’s stomach twist just a bit. There’s nothing in the water Sophie- nothing at all.

Her reassurances fell short. She had seen too much of demons and gods and magical mojo to really believe that nothing was staring up at her.

What happened next was a factor of several things. The first of those things we can lay blame at the feet of one Monkey King.

Sun Wukong had been given the task of collecting some fresh meat for the stew Trip was preparing and had sent Wukong to find some. The meat was mostly for Sophie and the rest but Trip would also partake. Being a Buddhist he usually kept to a strict vegetarian diet of noodles and soups. However, even he understood that on the road the pilgrims did not have much choice in diet.

So Wukong had gone, easily catching several rabbits and a large goose from further down the river. After his return and depositing them at Pigsys feet to be cleaned and prepped, Wukong was disappointed in the lack of praise. Usually bringing in a haul of food would give him some thanks- however the person that usually did the thanking was … missing.

“Where is the Reader?” Wukong demanded, arms crossing and tail lashing in annoyance.

Pigsy looked up at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Sophie,” Pigsy drawled, taking the first rabbit and cutting it clean of its pelt, “went to fill the water skins.”

“Alone? No one thought to go with her?” Wukong made a scoffing noise. Between her and the Monk there had been too many occasions where a demon had taken them as bait to lure out the infamous Monkey King. Didn’t she know by now that she couldn’t just wander off?

“She is not a Child, Brother.” Sandy interjected. The great water demon was sitting cross legged at the fire, stirring the pot. As Pigsy quickly and methodically cleaned the animals, Sandy was just as quick in adding them to the stew. The aroma was already becoming tantalizing. “She wanted a task and was given one. You know she does not like to be idle when there are things to do.”

“I wasn’t saying idleness was the correct answer.” Wukong picked at an invisible dust mote on his sleeve and flicked it away. He was feigning boredom when in reality he felt an itch under his fur. It was his responsibility to keep the mortals safe on this quest.

That included Trip and Sophie. The monk was easy to keep in one place, unless there were people that kept begging for help. Which - happened more than Wukong would care to admit.Sophie was … not so easily manageable.

That stupid women wanted to be as helpful as possible. Whether that be fetching supplies in town, carrying messages for the monk, or even tending to Yulong, she was always trying to keep busy. Which wouldn’t have been a problem for the Monkey King if it didn’t make his fur itch terribly so.

The itching would only go away after he knew she hadn’t gotten eaten by some wannabe river god.

“She needs to wait until I am back. Then she could have asked me for my help and I would have obliged.”

“I think the monkey likes Sophie.” Pigsy mock stage whispered, earning a murderous glare from Wukong. Pigsy flinched back, rubbing at the phantom pain on his head from the last time he had egged Wukong on a bit too much.

“She is only down by the river.” Sandy peacefully interjected before Wukong to react to Pigsys tone. “Just past the bend- I made sure she knew not to go farther.”

At least Sandy knew how danger inclined the mortals in their group were.

Wukong turned and left the camp, walking to the river not far off. The women wasn’t too far away to warrant an escort- she had learned from the last couple of times of almost being devoured or snatched up to not wander so far- but his fur wouldn’t lie flat on his shoulders. It itched terribly so. The sooner he could see her, the sooner the itching would go away.

As he came around the bend he saw her. Sophie was clinging to a tree that looked like it could be swept away into the river at any moment, legs hugging the branch as one hand dipped into the water. Her hair hung down, almost skimming the black surface. Wukongs fur stopped itching and he smoothed it down. Since no one but he was near Sophie to see, and she being too occupied by the river to even notice, he decided to indulge himself and stared openly.

When she had first joined their pilgrimage he had been pissed. Another human to take care of, to babysit, to feed was not what Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, had signed up for. If he was being honest with himself, none of this pilgrimage was what Wukong had voluntarily signed up for.

Sophie was strange to boot. Fair of skin, eyes and hair, she looked like a spirit from some heavenly court. However she did not act like any women in the Jade Emperor's Palace, because on one of the more ridiculous of their days where The monk had almost been married to a demon queen and Wukong had to break through and kill a little too much, Sophie had let loose a string of curses that were so foreign and colorful that the Monkey King had been momentarily shaken from his indifference at her to turn and inquire to what those phrases even meant.

It had been the start to something Wukong would never admit openly to. It had grown since that day as he learned that, while she may look pretty, she was no women in courtly garb or village outpost. She had a sharp mind, always asking questions and trying to figure out the why and the how of everything. Why did Wukong have a staff that could shrink and be tucked in his ear? Where had Wukong learned to shapeshifter? How had he been able to master duplicating himself with just a bit of fur and spit?

Sophie was open about questions of herself- where she had come from, what she had done before (something about being an artist) and why she looked the way she did (this last bit was rude on Wukongs part and had had the monk use the circlet around his brow as a reprimand. ‘We don’t ask why they look a certain way Wukong," he had said. The Monkey king had not meant it rudley- more or less he just wanted to know where in the world other people like her existed - that looked like her.)

She didn’t like blood so that was a bit of a downside. But an upside was she wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe when the Monk was being so incredibly and unreasonably unfair in his punishments. Wukong didn’t kill too much. Just enough.

Wukong hadn’t had anyone stick up for him like that.

So Sun Wukong decided to play- though no one else would see it as such. Tormenting and teasing and egging and goading were usually not considered human equivalencies of play. On Flower Fruit Mountain those had been the height of games and pastimes. Finding the little things that would itch someone’s skin, that could in turn get right beneath the armor of good words and embarrass the person enough to stumble out of their rehearsed facade and reveal the true self was a specialty of the Monkey Kings. He had done so with all the attendants in Heaven, with all the would-be demon conquerors that marched onto his doorstep. Dig at something long enough and you will find what makes them tick

So Wukong poked at Sophie’s person. He took things from her bag when bored and kept them away (it wasn’t hard and he didn’t have to even make himself bigger to do so). Wukong would try and goad her into playing pranks with him, sometimes even dragging her halfway through one before letting her know that it was a prank. He would answer her questions, insult her intelligence by calling her stupid women, and challenge her on her moral standings. He did everything in the monkey fashion that would be considered teasing and mildly bullying to figure out who she was.

He didn’t realize till it was too late that this had become more than a game to him. He was enjoying this.

Wukong didn’t get to watch her openly. Pigsy would think him infatuated with her and then he would become insufferable. That couldn’t happen. So Wukong would steal glimpses, brush shoulders, take hidden moments like when Sophie had turned to him, eyes shining and bright, and had begged to be lifted up so she could pet a few monkeys perched within a tree. Wukong could still feel the weight of her on his arm, the smell of her. She had been so enamored with the monkeys above that he didn’t have to worry. He could watch her without disguise.

Like he was now. Her face was screwed up in concentration, lip between her teeth as she corked the water skin and swung it onto the bank. She may be a weak mortal but she had good aim. Sophie placed the last one in the water, blue eyes glittering in the twilight. He would have to teach her how to properly hang. She was so limited in movement on that branch, clinging to it like a cat. It was improper and she could still easily slip into the water and be lost. It was a good thing Wukong was here then.

So it was, in part, the Monkey Kings fault for what happened next. And in part, Sophie’s mind is at fault. Wukong was as silent as a tiger, walking up and onto the tree without a sound. And as he was silent and watching, Sophie’s mind was loud and preoccupied.

She only had one more skin to fill but her mind wouldn’t let go of the thought of there being some beast or creature watching her. Waiting for her. It was just like the irrational fear children get when they swim into the deep part of a swimming pool- that somehow someway a shark would come from the clear cemented depths and devour them.

Only- this wasn’t a clear swimming pool. And this wasn’t some childhood fear anymore. Sophie had seen Tripataka almost go underwater from a river monsters grasping hands. If it hadn’t been for Sandy at that time, the monk would have drowned. She shivered. The sooner she got back to camp and away from the spooky dark water and the night, the better.

“There!” She felt the weight was sufficient enough and quickly corked the water skin. Sophie could get down now, off this tree and back into the warm and comforting light of the fire. Maybe she could ask Wukong for another of his stories- well histories as he called them. He was good at telling stories- if they were centered around himself. She went to throw the water skin, already calming down—

Eyes.

Glowing eyes watching her from above. Something human shaped in the foliage—

“Fucking shit!”

Panic set in and instinct. She flinched back, dropping the skin—

And slipping headfirst into the water. The cold shocked her body, screaming for her to get UP GET OUT DANGER- and she kicked back to the surface, spluttering. The current however was stronger than she thought and was already yanking her down to begin with. Her clothes were a weight that the water happily tugged down, mangling it with the current.

Something shot out and grabbed her around the middle and pulled.

OH GODS THERE IS A WATER DEMON THATS IN HERE! Sophie swung out, flailing wildly to get free. Her hands hit something but it was like hitting stone. She would not end up as someone’s meal or bride or servant or anything else. The thing that had a grip on her didn’t let go. But it didn’t haul her under- it hauled her up. As she breached the surface, she spat water from between her lips, her hair blocking her face.

She breathed in just enough air to start threatening.

“WHOEVER OR WHATEVER YOU ARE, JUST KNOW IF YOU EAT ME YOU WILL REGRET IT.” Sophie breathed in more air so she could get louder- if she was loud enough maybe Sandy or Pigsy would hear. If Wukong was back he would definitely hear her. She had to fight until she could get enough air in her lungs to holler louder. She swung again, connecting to what felt like a face- but it was like runing her hand into a brick wall. “I HAVE A FRIEND WHOS THE BEST MONKEY IN THE WHOLE WORLD WHO WILL SKIN YOU—“

Another hand caught her wrist, holding away. Sophie would just have to swing her free hand around and —

“Stop fucking flailing women you will bring the whole branch back into the river !” The person hissed and Sophie paused. She pulled the wet hair out of her face with her free hand.

“Wukong?”

The Monkey King was holding her close, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other holding one of her previously flailing wrists. His eyes were narrowed to angry yellow slits.

“You idiot who else would it be ?” His face was wet from where Sophie must have obviously punched him and splashed water at him.

“What are you doing out here- I thought-“

“I came to fetch you since you were taking so long and everyone was worrying about you.” He adjusted his grip, and hopped off the branch and back onto solid earth. “Then you had to go and dunk yourself into the river like a fool and I had to fish you out. I was also able to get the water skin you almost lost. ” He held up the skin, tossing it onto the bank.

“I didn’t dunk myself in the river !” Sophie pushed off of Wukong and he let her go, crossing his arms. “If you weren’t spookily hiding in the branches with your glowing eyes I wouldn’t have panicked and lost my grip!”

“I can’t believe you hit me…”

“Of course I would hit you! I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Sophie shouted.

“You should know me enough by now that I’m not like every other gripping demon out there!”

“Wukong how would I know when I’m half drowning in the water and I can’t see you?!” Sophie countered. He rolled his eyes, collecting the cast off water skins she had thrown onto the bank, grumbling about mortals and being blind.

“What were you doing?”

Wukong didn’t reply to her, his tail twitching agitatedly. Sophie looked down at herself. She was drenched from head to bare foot in water. Her skin was already starting to break out in goosebumps as the sun sank behind the mountains, casting the gorge into shadow.

“Why were you hiding in the branches?” Sophie pressed, collecting her shoes and holding them in hand. She would have to be careful walking back not to step on anything. Putting her shoes on now would only get them wet from her pant legs being sodden. Wet shoes were also not fun to walk in and they had a long trek tomorrow. Trip wanted to get to the next monastery and have as he liked to call it “an honest meal” which mostly consisted of mushrooms, noodles and broth. Trip was a vegetarian by nature but on the journey he did at times have to make sacrifices.

“Again I wasn’t hiding. The great Sun Wukong doesn’t hide.” Wukong replied, combing his wet fur back into place. “I was coming to fetch you and bring you back for supper. It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me.”

“Did you call out to me?”

“I was making enough noise a deaf and blind beggar could have heard me!” Wukong patted his pant leg where the majority of the water had gotten onto him. It wasn’t as bad as the full drenching Sophie had taken.

Sophie could smell the lie even as Wukong ignored her angry glower.

“Bull-bull s-shit!” She challenged but it came out between chattering teeth. Fuck it got cold fast.

Wukong paused in his own musings, hands pausing in inspecting himself and turned. He peered up into Sophie’s face, so close that he was almost nose to nose. The Monkey King looked at her eyes, down to her lips, then across the rest of her.

“Um… Wukong?”

“You're cold.” Wukong tapped his own lips, and pointed out the raised goose flesh on her arms. “Blue lips and bumps mean cold” His voice was much softer now. “Stupid women.”

He stepped back, hands crossing over his chest again. He looked her up and down then demanded “Take that off.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’ll turn around, just take off your wet shirt!” Wukong shouted back. “You have those dry … er, shorts right?”

“Yes back in my bag.”

Wukong nodded once.

“Good. Take off your shirt.” He turned around, good to his word.

Sophie did so- shivering as the cold air clung to her skin. The cloth was heavy with water and she sighed. It wouldn’t be dry until well into tomorrow- she would be forced to wear her ‘otherworldly’ clothing. It was fine by her but if they stopped by a village it also meant she would have to wait outside. Sophie had learned the last time that walking into a village with odd clothes could be one of several different reactions, all mostly negative and involving the villagers calling her a demon or witch. Or throwing rocks at her. As she peeled herself free from the sodden clothing the night air kissed her skin and sent her teeth chattering harder. “D-done.”

Wukong hadn’t turned around but he had divested himself of his own robed shirt, holding it out and behind himself. Sophie tried not to stare at his back too long.

“Put it on.” It was kindness Sophie wasn’t expecting. Wukong, the last time he had given her his shirt to wear, had been an order from Tripataka. She had to wash her clothes after a heavy rainstorm had her falling in mud. Of course she had had no spare tops- they all needed to be washed from the travel smell and the dirt. So Trip had ordered Wukong to give up his shirt. It hadn’t been willing kindness but Sophie had still taken it as that.

But this? This was unexpected. Sophie opened her mouth to reply when Wukong continued, “I can’t believe I’m going to have to wash it again of your stink.”

Well so much for kindness. Sophie thought. First the monkey had scared her into the river. Then he had rescued her and blamed her for falling in? All because she couldn’t hear him? She didn’t believe that- not for a second. Great Sage Equal to Heaven Sun Wukong had not been walking loudly. He hadn’t even tried to call out to her to get her attention. What had he been doing when he was on the branch? How long had he been there?

Well, Sophie thought, I should be more aware of my surroundings- or at least not let my mind run away with the rest of my senses.

Though in all fairness if Wukong had wanted to sneak up on her, she would never have known. He was too quiet for his own good and it played into how well he could slip frogs into Pigsys blanket roll.

Sophie shrugged the shirt up and over her head, feeling the residual warmth from Wukong already transferring to her skin.

“At least you won’t get sick and worry the Monk.” Wukong said. Sophie tapped his shoulder and he turned. Without asking, he grabbed her sodden shirt and held it out in front of him.

He may have caused her to fall in. He may have been trying to scare her or something else. But he had pulled her out of the river. He had given her his shirt- free of an order. Sophie was beginning to read the guilt through his actions. Whatever Wukong had meant to do- he hadn’t meant to do that.

“…. Thank you Wukong.”

He grunted, holding Sophie’s shirt in one hand like someone would hold a gross bug.

“What would you do without me? You are completely incapable of keeping yourself safe. Too weak to fight, and too uncoordinated to even balance properly. What were you doing using only one arm for the water? You should have hooked your legs over the trunk instead. ” Wukong walked only a pace ahead of Sophie, slowing whenever she winced over the ground. At least the ground was only slightly rocky here.

“Maybe I wouldn’t fall in rivers because the person that is so worried about my safety didn’t just scare me half to death.” She shot and Wukong merely grinned wider.

“ It seems you forget how to say ‘You are Welcome Wukong’ ! It was just a dip in the water and I was right there to keep you from drowning.”

“Uh huh.”

“ It was needed.” He sniffed the drenched clothing and grimaced, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “You did stink.”

“Oh hahaha let me laugh it up- not like there’s soap and a bathtub waiting at every spot we stop.” Sophie rubbed her arms, pulling her hair back from her face to tuck behind her ears. “You stink too when you come back from slaughtering half a hoard of demons ya know?”

“I take care of myself. Unlike you.”

“I thought you were some river monster coming to drown me and eat my bones you ass.” Sophie tilted her head and squeezed some water off the edges of her hair. She was going to need a brush, the bits of hair already curling and tangling together. “Lurking in the shadows above me is not a way to reassure a girl you aren’t there to devour them.”

“All the more reason,” Wukong crowed, “Not to go without an escort. If you are going to go anywhere, you have to take me with you. You are in a King's care after all. It reflects badly upon my own standing as King and guardian of this pilgrimage if you end up between the teeth of some demon. Mortals like you and the Monk should know this by now.”

“Sandy knew where I was.”

“And look at the good that did you.”

There was no popping Sun Wukongs bubble of pride- he had already wrapped this story up as a great rescue of some kind. He didn’t grin about it, but Sophie could see he was indifferent to the chaos he had caused her. She wished she could throw him sometimes. Maybe he would think twice about scaring her if she could dunk him in a river.

“…stupid monkey.”

Wukong turned at that, grinning now with all teeth. The game was afoot now in full force and he felt it.

“What we’re you saying as I pulled you up? Something like “A friend whos the best monkey in the world?’”

“If he really was the best he wouldn’t have half drowned me.” Sophie pointed out, sniffing. They were nearing the fire, and the smell of Sandy’s stew was enough to make her stomach give an audible gurgle.

“I didn’t.” Wukong corrected, helping her over a bit of prickly thorn bushes without being promoted. Maybe he did feel a smidge guilty then. He usually had to be begged to assist - or ordered by Trip. “ You slipped. It’s not my fault you can’t hear or see, stupid women.”

“Keep telling yourself that Wukong. Maybe you’ll make it true.”

As Sophie entered the camp she was bombarded from all sides by the concern of her fellow pilgrims. Sandy rose from the fire- a bowl of stew already being shoved in her hands. Pigsy threatened and yelled at Wukong enough that both of them started to get into a spat. Tripitaka had to stand, to command them to stop before it escalated from mere name calling to physical fighting. Trip then held out Sophie’s bag and she gratefully took it and dipped behind a bit of greenery several paces beyond to change out of her drenched pants and into the comfy pajama shorts and a comfy hoodie. When she came back Pigsy was still growling out threats while a disinterested Wukong cleaned his nails. He looked up briefly at her then away.

“When we reach the next village we will grab you a spare.” Tripitaka spoke around a bowl of noodles. He had opted just for noodles tonight, leaving the meat to the rest of the group. His smile was kind and apologetic. “Sophie you will probably have to wait outside the village till we can get you a replacement.”

She nodded. She could risk going into the village with her regular attire on but … being chastised and poked at by the villagers was not a pleasant experience. Once was enough for her.

“When you guys go into the village could you ask for some healing balm- or maybe a big hat?” Sophie looked to Sandy. “The sun is really starting to burn my skin and I only have so much left of my other world stuff.” Trying to describe the items in her bag at times left different reactions from the group- or more questions. Sophie didn’t want to answer those questions at the moment, hungry and cold.

Sandy nodded, passing a bowl to Wukong on her right. “I will ask for you, Sophie.”

As the group dug into their suppers and then settled for the night, Sophie was glad the fire was banked high. The chill was being chased from her bones and, even if the ground wasn’t comfortable, she looked on the bright side. She hadn’t been eaten. As Wukong took the first watch and Pigsy already was snoring, Sophie closed her eyes—

And woke to the stars still shining in her face as something bumped beside her head. She startled up, blinking out the sleep that clung.

“Hello-?”

“Shhh.” Wukong was crouched beside her, his tail being the culprit of what woke her up. His face looked tired with sleep, the scowl deeper and more furious. He shoved something into Sophie’s lap. She looked down. They were new clothes- a robbed top and pants.

“If you tell the Monk I stole it, I will give you a thorough washing in the river.” Wukong hissed, pulling at Sophie’s bag and rummaging through the contents. Well there he goes again, just digging through my stuff. It didn’t bother her anymore since Wukong rarely kept any of the items of hers he pocketed. He pulled out the coin string, taking some of the bronze rings. “I’m taking some of these so it looks like I bought them. Got it ?”

“So you are feeling guilty for startling me into the water.” Wukong opened his mouth, to argue, to plead his case that no he was not feeling guilty he was Sun Wukong and he did not feel guilt, when Sophie smiled up at him and laid back down.

“It’s ok. Your secret is safe with me-“ she grogely replied, laying back down and curling over the clothes. Sophie patted the ground beside her. “Your watch is over right?”

“Yes.” His head was cocked to the side, like a dog confused.

“Good. Get some sleep.” Sophie closed her eyes. She didn’t hear him move off but she knew he had settled just a bit away from her.

“And Wukong?”

A grunt from behind her- already settling into his spot, back to her.

“Thanks. I forgive you for almost drowning me.”

“I didn’t drown you.”

“I’ll take that as ‘your welcome’.”

[thatswhatsushesaid]

Hi so I have a question and u r very knowledgeable in mdzs lore so I gotta ask, why nmj fierce corpse wanted to kill jgy so bad? Did nmj somehow know jgy killed him?

What if nmj simply died of qi deviation without jgys music, would his fierce corpse still be so obsessed with jgy, even though he had nothing with his death in this scenario?

hi anon!

i've been searching for a post i reblogged from @labyrynth last year that includes a bunch of good discussion on exactly this point, but since i can't find it, the tl;dr version is no, nmj does not realize that jgy triggered his qi deviation.

what nmj does know at the time of his death is that he has been looking down the figurative barrel of impending qi deviation for years already, and that his intense sabre cultivation during the sunshot campaign just advanced the timeline of the inevitable. nmj's intense resentment and hatred towards jgy doesn't stem from jgy being his murderer. it comes from 1) their confrontation on the langya front during the war when nmj witnesses meng yao killing the jin commander who had been abusing him, 2) the whole traumatic mess that goes down between them inside the scorching sun palace right before meng yao assassinates wen ruohan and saves nmj's life, and 3) nmj rightly clocking that the lanling jin are sheltering and covering up xue yang's wiping out of the yueyang chang sect and the baixue temple, so that they can take advantage of his demonic cultivation--but wrongly laying the blame for this completely at jgy's feet instead of placing the blame where it actually belongs, which is with his shitty father.

with /gestures @ the above, all of that taken into consideration, i genuinely believe that even if jgy hadn't been involved in nmj's death, nmj still would have become a fierce corpse from the sheer intensity of his resentment and hatred, and tried to kill him anyway. i think jgy still would have had to desecrate his remains and scatter them across the jianghu to suppress nmj's killing intent.

it makes me wonder, would nhs still think jgy was responsible for nmj's death under those circumstances? 🤷‍♀️ i think it's possible, and just emphasizes how utterly doomed by the narrative jgy was as soon as he sealed nmj's meridians on the langya front and ran away.

[lumi-waxes-poetic]

I don't think I like Hugo Weaving's Elrond much but I don't know how much of it is actually his fault.

These are thoughts that I have been ruminating over ever since The Fellowship of the Ring dropped when I was a kid.

I don't much like Elrond in these movies.

I think too much of him was sacrificed, and not for any real trade off.

While I feel a lot of this was a consequence of Hugo Weaving's casting, I don't feel blame should be laid at his feet because he doesn't control what the writers for his characters do.

Elrond in the films is constantly frosty, stand-offish, and almost distant. He comes across as a controlling man through his interactions with Arwen, and ruled by his (justifiable) fears of what Sauron is already capable of, and could be capable of again should he be reunited with the Ring. And that's a valid fear to be ruled by, but the movie overemphasizes this at the expense of the rest of Elrond's character.

Elrond is aloof and ethereal and otherworldly, yes. He's among the greatest of all elves, EVER, and so of course he comes across as a bit... weird when met by non-Elves. But he is not paranoid, angry, or controlling.

He fears much, yes. But Elrond also embodies courage because his fear doesn't rule him, it motivates him. He doesn't sit around going "oh nothing can possibly work", or disparage Men and Dwarves because in the books, while he's well familiar with the failings of others, he's also seen them at their best, and is fully aware that, given the history of HIS people (and occasionally his own personal history), he has NO room to stand in judgment of others. He's also a man of HOPE.

While not impossible, it's difficult to imagine Weaving!Elrond saying "The world may be grim, but there's always hope. Even in the darkest of days, there may be one bright star to guide you" with a kind face. Or, "Such is of the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere." Or perhaps when in the books he commended Frodo's incredible bravery in choosing to carry the Ring by saying "it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Hurin, and Turin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them." Elrond was outright comparing Frodo's bravery and courage to the best heroes his people had ever known! Elrond is regal and willful and a force of nature at times, but he's hopeful. He's kind. He's wise, wiser than almost anyone else. Gandalf considers Elrond his equal in such, if not even more so. Hell, Gandalf regards Elrond the way he once regarded Saruman. That means a LOT! Elrond in the books doesn't really waver in his faith in the Fellowship the way he does in the films. He doesn't judge Men by the failures of Isildur, a man who died thousands of years ago. He doesn't stand in Arwen's way as she decides for herself what she wants (not that this featured heavily in the books at all). He's concerned about Man's possibility to fail, but stands by them as much as he can regardless because he does believe in people and besides that, he gave his word that he would stand by them as much as he could. He mistrusts Thorin's company, but for entirely justifiable reasons as their quest may very well fail and get them, an innocent Hobbit, and Gandalf the fucking Grey killed (and he has no reason to suspect Gandalf might just be able to "nuh-uh" death and come back), and even if it succeeds, they might release a DRAGON (one of the scariest fucking bioweapons Morgoth ever devised during the War of Wrath, more terrifying than even a Balrog and certainly with more capacity for mass destruction) on Middle-Earth, which is far from the pretty racist Elrond we get in the Hobbit films. And said dragon DOES get unleashed and it's basically only by fortune and/or slightly possibly fate that it got brought down at all, so really, the dude was 100% in the right. In the movies, he frankly doesn't want to help Thorin's company first and foremost because they're dwarves, and all his other concerns as stated earlier are just a veneer of reasonableness that he uses to justify it, or as "just another reason" why he should frankly not help them and actually probably have them arrested. Elrond Halfelven in the books is good and kind, compassionate and wise, and we barely see these things in the films! And not for lack of time, because Elrond is really no bigger a player in the main books than he is presented as in the films. In fact, the films ADDED material with Elrond the books did not have, so the idea that these aspects of him were "trimmed for time" is patently ridiculous. Many of his best lines and advice to the heroes in the books are instead given to Gandalf and Galadriel, such as:

Elrond raised his eyes and looked at him, and Frodo felt his heart pierced by the sudden keenness of the glance. "If I understand aright all that I have heard," he said, "I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will."

The films consciously and deliberately rewrote Elrond's character to make him less likable. Why? I can't prove anything, but I strongly suspect Elrond became a victim of his actor's casting.

In the 2000s, Hugo Weaving was known for A Type. Most were familiar with him at the time via his incredible turn as Agent Smith in The Matrix, and this colored the roles he was offered for years. Fellowship of the Ring's production came hot on the heels of The Matrix, and it's likely that this affected the writer's view of how Hugo Weaving's character should behave. Elrond was very probably altered to fit that perception better while still being an overall heroic character. Whatever happened, Elrond in the films became a vaguely racist Asshole Hero who is presented as a controlling and pessimistic man who basically only agrees to the Quest so he can get the Ring as far from Imladris as he can conceivably do so Sauron doesn't have ANOTHER excuse to lay siege to the place while Elrond is trying to pack his tribes onto a bunch of boats so they can Peace Out from Middle Earth forever, and also because he's so terrified and desperate that he'll try anything to destroy Sauron at this point and there's no reason to expect more conventional means to work. I'm frankly pissed off because Rings of Power, which I famously detest for being a stale and banal and fundamentally disappointing piece of shit, somehow managed to do a better job with writing Elrond's essential hope and bravery and optimism than Peter Goddamn Jackson.

In Rings of Power, he DOES get to show that more kind and compassionate side to his character, with some VERY Elrond-esque zingers like "Where there is love, it is never truly dark", "We do not say goodbye. We say namárië. It means more than simply "farewell". It means, "Go towards goodness".", and this lovely exchange:

Elrond: "You have fought long enough, Galadriel. Put up your sword." Galadriel: "Without it, what am I to be?" Elrond: "What you have always been. My friend."

I greatly enjoy the memes that have cropped up around Weaving!Elrond since the film's release 22 years ago (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!), but it saddens me that Elrond's characterization seems to have suffered for having Hugo Weaving, who is a brilliant actor but also one definitely going through an arc of villainous and anti-hero typecasting at the time, play him. There was time enough in the movies to get him right. They made certain of it. Which means every change they made was deliberate, and one of Tolkien's best and most important characters was effectively assassinated for it.

[victimeyez]

Happy Birthday 🎂🥳🎁 (I also have a September birthday so I think that’s neat)

I think overall, the thing about p/v that keeps me hooked is the intensity of the whump. I’ve read other whump stories before and while what the characters go through in them is horrible, I’ve yet to find another character that goes through the kind of stuff Tommy does. The man’s life is just brutal, and as a avid horror fan I find that deeply compelling. I want him to one day get his final girl moment, even though I read early on that it’s probably not gonna happen.

I think the two whump moments that stand out the most for me so far are the meat hooks and the use of Agent Orange. The meat hooks scene was such a intense body horror moment it almost made me think about quitting, but I also couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to know what was gonna happen next to this poor dude. By contrast, the Agent Orange bit had me thinking to myself, “whelp Tommy and Caius better pray that stuff wasn’t real, otherwise their both dying of cancer lol”

Anyways I’ve rambled on enough. I hope you enjoy your birthday and that you get to do something fun with the people you love. (Tommy sure won’t lol)

Thank you, and happy birthday to you too!!!

Ooh, where to start. A few years ago, I discovered a writer online that wrote the most brutal content I had ever read. To this day, she makes my writing here look quite tame. We bonded over a mutual fandom that was difficult to find content for. One thing led to another, and I ended up helping write and edit her first original book.

I’’d never had someone before that I could talk to about enjoying really twisted stories. I was always admonished for a blossoming interest in horror by my mom, who believes horror is the work of the devil. It is still hard for me to share darker ideas. I get nervous about being judged for going too far, being too much of a freak. 

A big part of what made me decide to write Pro Vic with the design it has is that I wanted to be able to explore lots of different whump scenarios, without things getting too stale of the same things over and over. I have fun with Caius, but I can also explore whatever other forms I want to with clients in my own version of a monster-of-the-week formatting lol. Plus I can throw in extra time with Sam, or Rory, or Michelle, orrrrr whatever! As for the meat hooks and agent orange - Once again, I am sorry, and you are welcome lol. Can I blame Dead by Daylight and weirdly specific Vietnam War nightmares?

I love me a final girl! I actually have a shirt that says FINAL BOY in bloody letters lol. 

I have a long game in mind. Tommy is going through it – that’s not going to stop any time soon. But without wanting to say too much - Tommy has a future ahead of him where he plays a very different role...👀

I cannot tell you how much it blows my mind that people are actually reading this. I’m grateful for the readership, the notes, the tags, everything, I read them all a thousand times and lay on my bed kicking my feet while I write about it in my diary. Okay maybe not literally that, but mentally that is where I am. Getting to be the random person that wrote something you find compelling is the greatest badge of honor in my life. That’s not a joke. Sharing my creative passions has been the one thing I have known I wanted since I was three years old. When I was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, banging pots and pans together for drums and screaming my best “opera”.

[generalluxun]

I think the reason why Chloe is so controversial in the fandom is that both sides can be toxic. Some Chloe stans are toxic and jerks, but some of the toxic Chloe haters are no better. They act like toxic Chloe stans by shaming, harassing and bullying people who do like her. They also cannot respect opinions as well. These are just my thoughts.

There are several reasons I think.

Clearly there are people who project themselves onto Marinette and then project their own personal bully experiences onto Chloé. Without actual therapy or time+healing on their own, these people will never accept any reasoned argument about Chloé as a character, because to them she isn't a character, she is their personal bully. The transference supplants the actual narrative.

There are definitely toxic behaviors among some of the people who claim to like Chloé too. I do think there's value in breaking down the who and why though.

There are the pot stirrers: These people actually don't care about Chloé per-se they just see a hot take and jump on it, hoping to cause as much trouble as they can. These folks aren't really 'Chloé stans' heck, they probably aren't even ML fans. They're instigators. It's important to recognize one when you see them and simply pitch their noise into the bin 'Chloé did nothing wrong!' is such a silly and clearly wrong take that it can only be from one of these folks.

There are those who are frustrated: I lay the blame for this segment squarely at Thomas Astruc's feet. He makes bold, dismissive, and authoritative statements, escalating all the way to open gaslighting when confronted, or even just lightly questioned in regards to Chloé's character.

'Chloé is not abused' -SIR, please consult someone with even the rudiments of child development education and review what has actually been put on screen. I know whether I am going to believe you, or my lying eyes. Thank you.

His antics and the narrative in general ignoring what has already been put on screen frustrates a LOT of people, and deeply so. Child abuse isn't a light topic, people have *feelings* about it. TA is unreachable and unengagable though, and so a chunk of people turn their frustrations elsewhere. They lash out at other characters, and by proxy their stans, and you get this whole negative feedback loop in the fandom while I presume TA just sits back with a drink in hand, throwing darts at pictures of blond girls, and laughing.

There are those who can't express themselves well: Remember this is a kids show so a large chunk of the fandom is well, unsurprisingly, kids! Kids without the raw learning to necessarily articulate their arguments with nuance. This is how you get a dozen tweets to Ta asking 'When is Chloé going to get some development?' to which he can derisively reply 'She has, you just don't like it!' and durr hurr hurr isn't he so clever.

If the fan had instead put forth clear concise examples of the abuse on screen, how it ties into actual child development practices, how they want this *child* to be shown growing and overcoming these huge hurdles because you know, they're decent human beings, and their confusion as to why a show about superheroes/Magical girls hasn't done that.... well, it would be harder to dismiss.

Take that exchange, and now instead shift it to folks among the fandom themselves. Short, sweeping statements that don't really express what they are feeling effectively. This happens between Adrien/Mari stans when they fight too. Not every 13yr old should be expected to know college level Psyche, but it can lead to miscommunication and then acrimony when they engage without it.

I want to point out this also works for things not involving Chloé at all.

Marinette stans trying to explain why they feel Marinette is so put upon while others argue that she gets everything and *Adrien* is the put upon one, all getting into protracted battles while shouting half-formed ideas and confused impressions from an inconsistent and poorly framed narrative at each other.

Is Marinette a Mary Sue who is handed things in a silver platter? *YES*

Is she ALSO an emotional damage magnet, abused by the narrative relentlessly and blamed for things not her fault? *YES*

These two ideas can both exist at the same time, but a lot of people have a hard time juggling that, so we get arguments and toxicity because this is the internet and too much is never enough of anything.

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck: Beyond Canon Upd8 for 2/10/24

We got our news post a little late and our upd8 a little early. I'm struggling today and behind on progress for everything, but I still want to read.

James is being a bit hammy, but he's teasing some good news. It looks like we'll be getting [S] pages in the future. Hopefully with more than one person and a slower upd8 schedule, they won't ever need to pause for them.

Kinda curious about the VTuber mentioned. I like watching people experiencing Homestuck stuff! It's the whole reason I started live blogging.

Now onto the upd8!

Looks like I might have been right about Yiffy potentially having something to do with that ominous red glow. Let's see what's going on.

Like all teens, the worst thing that can happen to her is public parental affection. Though Jade is laying it on thick! Where's Rose with a quip about contacting CPS? Although she'd be calling them on herself.

Not sure how I feel about the gag, honestly. It's pretty cliché, and Tavvy is right there. We don't know how badly Yiffy has suffered, but like Tavvy it's been real abuse and neglect. This comic does have a habit of trying to make child abuse a joke, though.

Kanaya is obviously still struggling, and I can't blame her. Yiffy is one of the most controversial aspects of this comic, supposedly handed down to us from on high by AH himself. One of the great complaints about the Epilogues is that it takes the characters in directions that were intended to challenge fans. But even then, the idea that even a Candy Rose would cheat with Jade to have a secret love child and hide it from her all this time is so fucking out there. Everything about it feels wrong.

And then, of course, they get into a silly dare and name her Yiffany Longstocking Lalonde Harley!

But I'm not saying things that haven't already been said a million times. It's always felt like one of AH's epic troll moments, like the ones I both love and hate in the original work. And I hoping it will eventually pay off to something.

Looking at the text here, Yiffy's color could definitely be the red. Hah! Pepis.

Yiffy's mind is also on Kanaya it seems. We're also getting a sense of her attitude much more clearly now. I'm kinda getting Susie vibes.

Oh wow! They're actually calling it "The Yiffy Reveal" in universe!

Wow! Wow! Fucking wow!

The fuck!

I think my jaw just splintered the floor at my feet!

Rose used her power. She actually used her fucking power! And not only does she believe this will all be fortuitous (it's practically fated since it gives us a set of four kids), but that fortune would dictate Kanaya's eventual forgiveness.

She didn't just decide on, "Easier to get forgiveness than permission." She believed it inevitable, so that made it okay!

The fuck!

We're digging a little into Jade's adult life now. And yeah, it's just as bad as we probably imagined it was. Doesn't justify them going behind Kanaya's back, but you can understand her yearning.

That . . . that oddly makes sense. It still seems wrong, but it's the kind of backward logic that might occur on Candy Earth C. I don't know if AH had this explanation as part of Yiffy's backstory, or if it's writing we can attribute to one team or the other. But it's an actual explanation for how we got here.

Still not enough to pay off the trolling yet.

How . . . Tavvy, what were you doing?

Yeah, no. I'm betting right now Kanaya is feeling a lot more forgiving towards Jade and a lot less forgiving towards Rose.

That's Meenah's symbol, so we know who to expect a call from next time at least.

Of course a lot of attention is payed to the captchalogued corpse in Jade's possession. Did she find Dave's body and is still not dealing with it? Has she considered her taxidermy tradition dealing with it enough? Is this somehow another corpse considered fitting for the Harley traditions?

Tune in next time!

[wordsmith30]

The more that I think about it, the more I realize that Ava’s character arc as the Warrior Nun actually regressed in season two.

Ultimately, Beatrice hits the nail on the head in their fight at the very beginning: Ava does whatever she wants, jumps headfirst into danger without thinking about the consequences, leads with her heart and emotions instead of her head.

Because of the intense pressure Ava puts on herself to be the Warrior Nun, she becomes dangerously self-sacrificing. In her desperation to not let the team down, she throws herself at every threat that appears (whether she needs to or not) and the team gets smoked with her. Afraid to lose her friends, she takes on the whole weight of the mission alone. In the end, she abandons them for a solo mission that nearly gets her killed.

One of the key lessons Beatrice tried to impart to her in season one was to trust her team. The Warrior Nun is not supposed to go at it alone or exist in isolation. She is a symbol, a representative of a collective unit. If only the Warrior Nun was needed, there would be no OCS. There would be no team.

Though the Warrior Nun is supposed to be their designated leader, that doesn’t necessarily mean that she is. In season one, Ava was a complete newbie with no background knowledge, experience, or training whatsoever. Despite her special status, her role was limited to one specific thing and it was the team’s job to protect her so that she could fulfill it. Everyone had their own part to play.

But Ava chafed against this system. She didn’t like the idea of other people fighting for her and wanted to do something, even though she wasn’t properly equipped. Beatrice and the others consistently had to tell her, “No. That’s not your job. You’re going to get yourself killed. Your responsibility is this and that’s all you need to worry about.”

Somewhere along the way, Ava forgets that. She gets roped in with Michael and Reya’s plan (a horrible, stupid plan that doesn’t even work!). She blames herself for everything that goes wrong and believes it’s her sole responsibility to protect the team – that she needs to take the biggest risks and make the ultimate sacrifice.

But the biggest difference between her and the OCS? They chose this. They signed up for this. They have trained for this. They’re prepared to lay down their lives for this, they know what’s at stake. And you need them!

Two seconds after Ava and Michael defect for their own plan, Michael is killed on the spot. Ava is left outnumbered and alone with no way to call for backup.

Meanwhile, one-woman-army Beatrice is slicing through every last one of Adriel’s men to find her. That’s the girl you left behind?

Enough with all this “I’m doing this to save you”. You need her to save you!

Every time Ava was in trouble this season, my reaction was either: “Yaas! Beatrice has arrived” or: “Shoot. Beatrice! Beatrice, help her!”

Beatrice has saved her a thousand times over and when the two of them are fighting side by side – protecting each other, leaning on each other, trusting each other, working together – they’re unstoppable.

After Ava falls fifty feet from a building, she tells Beatrice that “they can’t beat us [...] Not together.”

So why did you leave her? 😭

[onboardsorasora]

sleepwalker, don't be shy pt2

I couldn't let them go, I needed more. So here is a sequel? more? part 2? of the Dewis Sleepwalker fic. @australiansteel this is for you 🩷🩷

Daniel wished he would disappear. Plain and simple. He wished an earthquake would hit just his room of the house they rented and a sinkhole would open up right under his feet and transport him to the depths of the Earth's core.

He threw his open duffle on the bed, and glimpsed the travel white noise machine that sat innocently tangled with his tshirts and not actually plugged into the wall like it should have been. He glared at it as if it personally wronged him. 

Maybe it had. If it had done its job– he was willfully ignoring the fact that he failed to do his job and use it. Semantics! If it had done its job, he wouldn't have just embarrassed himself in front of Lewis. Things wouldn't be awkward now.

His oh so graceful exit didn't help matters but there was nothing he could do. He should probably go before things get any worse. Seb and Lewis could have a relaxing week without him.

He dragged on his hoodie, a bright red one that Lewis had complimented him on and Seb had teased him about (‘everyone's a Ferrari fan Danny’). And then he shucked his sleep pants down his legs. Daniel grabbed his jeans, stepping one leg through when his door opened.

Lewis walked in, shutting the door behind him. Daniel looked up in surprise, almost tripping over himself with his other leg halfway through the heavy fabric.

“I guess you weren't joking about the show.” 

Daniel pulled his jeans up to cover his purple patterned boxers.

“Uh– sorry about that–” Daniel scrambled.

“No– I should have knocked. I'm sorry.”

Daniel clenched his hands together in the pouch of his hoodie. As if bracing himself for the worst.

Lewis looked around the room, the open duffle on the bed, “are you leaving?” 

“I…yeah. It's probably like for the best.” Daniel exhaled loudly. Lewis' eyes shuttered.

“Fuck– did I make you feel uncomfortable Dan” Lewis sagged against the door, that was the last thing he wanted. He figured if he didn't make a big deal about it, then maybe Daniel would be comfortable to talk about it.

Max had texted him but he hadn't anticipated actually needing to use his advice. Seb was the room across from him, surely Daniel would have simply gone there. So when his door had opened and Daniel just… stood there, Lewis had realized quickly what was happening.

He'd calmly brought Daniel in the room, soothingly suggesting that he lay down. Lewis learned a lot about Daniel last night, that he was a snuggler, and that he snored– with that big a nose it almost seemed par for the course. Daniel had cuddled into him almost immediately, pressing his nose into Lewis’ neck as if branding himself with Lewis’ tattoo. Lewis had almost been expecting to see ‘God is Love��� marked into Daniel's skin.

Lewis couldn't say he had been put out with the development. He had enjoyed the feeling of Daniel in his arms, the comforting weight of him on his chest. It was more than he ever thought he could get with Daniel. More than he let himself believe was possible.

Daniel was an enigma; he was open, charismatic and inspiring. In the same way Lewis himself was. On paper, they were they same person– with a few obvious differences. But it took a while for them to actually become friends. Lewis would admit partial blame for that– being too caught up with Nico to really notice anything else around him.

And by the time he took his head out of his ass to pay attention, Daniel was less of himself than anyone realized. It was because of Seb. Sebastian was the reason they were able to get close, tagging Lewis along when he was on his missions to pull Daniel's back to himself. To help him forget about his work troubles for a while.

It was while he was stripped to the barest of himself that Lewis recognized himself within Daniel. His soul in a different body. A kindred spirit, a twin flame.

And last night was the first time Lewis thought that maybe more was in reach. But, clearly that wasn't the case. Clearly Daniel didn't see it the same as he did.

Daniel's eyes widened, he made an aborted movement to step forward, step closer. He pinched the skin on the base of his thumb to anchor him down.

“No. That's not what happened.” Daniel sighed again, the kind that normally came before bad news. Lewis braced himself. “Look Lew, I'm sorry I came to your room– I shouldn't have. I couldn't control it but that's not an excuse.” He rubbed his eyebrows and continued to ramble. 

“I know I made you uncomfortable. Just barrelling into your room like the fuckin Koolaid man on Ambien. I just– I just don't wanna like ruin the rest of your vacation with my embarrassing sleeping habits. I'm just gonna like go home so I don't like accost you in the night anymore like a weird squid–”

“I liked that you accosted me.” Lewis cut him off and Daniel's mouth snapped shut with a click as his teeth came together. He stared at Lewis’ perfect face as he replayed what he said over and over as if on a cassette loop. 

“I'm sorry?” Daniel blinked uncomprehendingly. Lewis just spoke German to him or something. That was the only explanation.

“Which part?” Lewis asked rhetorically. He stepped forward, closing the space between them. “I liked when you came to my room. I liked when you slept in my bed. I liked when you slept on me.”

Daniel knew he was gaping like a caught fish. There was no other word for it. His brain shut down, it was officially old technology. Because this did not compute. Lewis was smiling at him though, his full lips drawn up into a gap toothed grin. 

Lewis was stepping closer, Daniel couldn't move. 

“Lew.” Daniel breathed and Lewis silenced him with a hand cupping his jaw, a thumb swiping his stubble.

“I take it, you were embarrassed because you thought you scared me away?” Lewis was always proud of his ability to read people and situations. His lips quirked up at the side when Daniel nodded slowly, his widened eyes never left Lewis'. He felt arrested in his gaze.

“Daniel, I think we're both being silly. May I kiss you?” Lewis leaned further into Daniel's personal space and Daniel shuddered an inhale. Daniel nodded and Lewis kissed him.

Daniel knew he had died, that the sinkhole he had been praying for swallowed him up. There was no other explanation than he had died and gone to heaven. Lewis was kissing him. 

His lips felt amazing and Daniel hoped this wasn't another vivid dream. He felt out of his body. There was cotton between his ears– static. None of the synapses in his brain were firing. The mitochondria was not the powerhouse of the cell.

He was dead and this was heaven.

Lewis pulled back and Daniel whined a bit, chasing his lips before his eyes fluttered open. Lewis was grinning openly and Daniel couldn't find it in himself to blush. Not when Lewis' lips were swollen and even lovelier from kissing him.

“When you say you liked me sleeping in your room…does that also mean that you like.. Me.. full stop?” Daniel whispered. He hated asking, his chest clenched when he did. But he could be brave to find out the answer. Lewis just kissed him, he felt good about his odds.

“Yes you idiot, I like you.” Lewis giggled and rolled his eyes. “I may even love you. In all your sleepwalking terror– I meant glory.” he chuckled at Daniel's pout and leaned in to kiss him again. He couldn't help himself now that he broke the seal. Daniel kissed him back with equal fervor, moaning into his mouth.

The door opened and they barely let go of each other to see Sebastian walk in with a plate of food and a cup of tea. “Danny, you did bring your white noise– oh. Well hello.” Seb leaned against the door and took in the scene the way one did when they reached a particularly good chapter in a book.

Daniel snorted and Lewis chucked. Their friend was such a gossip queen. They could practically see his hands rubbing together in glee.

“Yeah I brought it.” Daniel answered his original question.

“We can talk later. I expect details.” He made pointed eye contact with the two of them before leaving the room. The pair immediately burst into giggles, leaning on each other.

“I love you too by the way,” Daniel whispered when they were able to compose themselves. Lewis' grin was blinding and Daniel quite enjoyed staring into the sun. 

“What happens now?”Daniel asked after a while, thumb swiping over the geometric lines on the back of Lewis' wrist.

“Well, now… you sleep in my room tonight with your white noise machine and I'll watch over you while you sleep. You came to me for comfort, I'll continue to be a comfort for my boyfriend.” Lewis shrugged and Daniel brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the middle of Lewis' palm.

“Ok. That sounds good to me.”

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (5/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.3k

A/N: All the typical Under the Mountain trigger warnings apply here. There isn't any weight talk in this chapter, but there is a brief mention of skipping meals. A few lines for dialogue are also lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fifth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.