#golden sun 2: the lost age

[crsinclair]

they have golden sun and that is all i fucking care about-

I hate Nintendo Switch Online. I hate the lack of optimization. I hate the expensive subscription service. I hate the lack of games. I hate the limited time releases. I hate that it's never gonna have the level of content that the Wii virtual console had. I hate what capitalism has done to gaming.

This collection includes: All the GBA, GB and GBC games currently available on the Switch!!

+ And a few extra bonus!! Mostly from the same series'seses

Download here for free!!: https://www.mediafire.com/file/pzycxh6zu9b8drf/GBA_Online_PC.rar (405 MB Uncompressed)

They're all ready to be played in HD on PC. Just drag and drop the files on the included program

[slutpoppers]

[thekinglemingle]

You do not want to know how many weeks I spent as a child stuck at this bit, because I forgot that you could jump over holes in the ground. On my second and even my third playthrough!

[lucid-moon]

Golden Sun 2: Reloaded: Poseidon

What a fucking challenge. After several brutal wipes, I grinded several levels to bring the whole party to 30, and barely scraped through with multiple party members being dead at the same time, multiple times.

I played around with different Djinn setups, but ultimately went with something similar to the Aqua Hydra fight, but this time I had 6/6/6/6 Djinn.

Sheba, Jenna, Piers, Felix had Jupiter, Venus, Mars, and Mercury mono-focused Djinn, respectively. This allowed both Jenna and Felix to be able to resurrect downed party members continuously if needed, and allowed for Jenna, Piers, and Felix to all be able to AoE heal as necessary, although I kept Jenna as the primary healer.

Jenna kept one of her Venus Djinn on Standby the whole time. This allowed Felix to use Shade every other round and Piers to use a random Mars Djinn on opposite rounds. When one of them was using their Djinn, the other would Summon that element the same turn. This worked because Felix's Agility was lower than Piers', allowing for consistent use of Shade's high round priority one round and then Summoning after Piers' turn next round.

Sheba's role in this is to keep Jenna supplied with Psynergy via use of Ether, and weaving in damage when possible, or utility when necessary. Her cycle looked something like: Ether, {Breath or Wheeze}, Atalanta, {damage or utility Djinn}, Ether, Atalanta - interrupted only when she was needed to revive one of the other party members with an emergency Water of Life.

Everyone died in this fight, multiple times. I used two Water of Life and A Lot of backup Mountain Water.

Super great thing I noticed later in the last fight: If you use Coal then two turns later use Reflux, the counterattacks have a chance of doing about as much damage as a 4-cost non-Meteor summon (if Poseidon uses Watery Grave and/or his other AoE spell), and he can't get his AoE off before you activate Reflux, ensuring you don't lose damage - your party is Fast. Reflux used at normal Agility levels risks Poseidon being able to use a large AoE first.

-----

Onward! To Lemuria and then on to the Great Western Sea!

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑶𝒏𝒆

CW: x fem!reader, smut, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, older dadbod!kento and older reader, mention of having kids ,fluff, au, reader is chubby/plump/curvy

A/n: I had a vision. Some of the plot from the movie Klaus and my unquenchable desire inspired this. it's still the 12th where I am so we're still on time 😩 Idk even what I'm getting myself into with Smutmas but we're gonna say fuck it and see how it goes and how much I can do 🥰

12 days of smutmas masterlist

Wc: 1.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest.

Hear me out, Kento Nanami as Santa Claus...

Nanami, who retired at the age of 28 and moved to Malaysia. Who loved the sun and lived on that beach for many years.

Nanami, who traded in the powdery white sand and teal seafoam for a humble cabin and blankets of snow in a thicket of evergreens in the far, far north sometime around after he turned 40.

Nanami, who realizes he's got it bad for you, the lovely woman who rides by his cabin while he's chopping wood, on your merry way to sell your world famous cranberry jam to the local village.

Nanami, who has fought some of the most menacing curses known to man, but can't muster up the courage to invite you in for hot chocolate, until one evening.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who simply can't say no to the beautiful blonde man with scars on the left side of his face, with crinkled eyes sweeter than the butterscotch goodies you loved to bake, a quiet handsomeness and gentleness he possessed that rattles the forgotten corners of your heart that no man has reached before.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who both realize when you find yourselves accidentally underneath the mistletoe, that being "just friends" isn't gonna last much longer.

Nanami, who feels so warm and sweet like the peppermint tea he was drinking as he kisses you for the first time.

Nanami, who accidentally leaves a quiet moan in your mouth as the kiss gently escalates in intensity next to the cackling fire. Who turns red and apologizes for moving too fast but doesn't get to finish his sentence before you just grab him and press your lips against his with an even hungrier fervor than before.

Nanami, whose lips part at the elegant curves of your body and how they're even more bewitching against the silk of his sheets.

Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who coos softly, "Kento...", whose fragile voice quivers and shudders as your tight walls gently get coaxed open to the fat swollen tip of his long, heavy cock.

Nanami, whose hands intertwine with yours, who's in love by the first stroke, as your pussy just welcomes him, so soft and gushy, as it tightly embraces every inch.

Nanami and Future Mrs. Nanami!Reader who are lost to the throes of pleasure that first passionate night in the cabin. Your legs end up on his shoulders as his thrusting only gets faster and harder in sexy rhythm before he cums inside you, only to sweetly interrupt your fleeting high with the unexpected but delicious warmth of his tongue as he shamelessly laps his love out of you, before a finger or two is added, before he's hard again, and you're onto round 2 already.

---

Timeskip to Kento Nanami who's 58 years old. His belly is softer and hangs over his pants thanks to you, his darling plump wife, who knows how to feed him and his bulking to adjust for the harsh conditions over time.

Nanami, whose golden locks are now overwhelmed by streaks of grey with chest, arm, leg hair, and a happy trail to match. Whose crows feet are more pronounced with laugh lines he's added along with his scars as memories he's made with you. Who's taken the liberty of growing his beard out ever since you complimented it.

Nanami, with a pair of thick thighs and a juicy bum that pillows when he sits in his chair by the fire after giving you a kiss, the fleeting cold on his lips, cheeks still rosy, and the faint gleam of sweat on his brow from working in the snow.

Nanami, who has always been that sweet soul you fell in love with and decides one year to leave the wooden creations he made in his shop for your future children you never had as surprises for the local kids in the village as a random act of goodwill.

Nanami, who realizes his small gesture is now the talk of the town and the kids can't wait for the mysterious "Santa Claus" to visit if they're lucky again.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loads up a bag on his sled pulled by a small team of reindeer, visiting home after home to ensure no kids are left behind, a twinkle in his eye as he rides away into the night and imagines the adorable smiles that will break out that morning.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who now has a large workshop of loyal elves after they happened upon your humble abode in search of work one day.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's the best boss around and offers free meals, a place to live, PTO, paid vacations, a pension, retirement, and 3 years worth of parental leave to his elves in exchange for their labor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who upgraded to 9 reindeer who are the best kept reindeer on planet earth, spoiled with endless carrots and pets and cuddles to pull his sleigh every Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who loves Christmas and all the cookies and milk the kids leave out for him but not quite as much as growing old with you, Mrs. Claus.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's on the cusp of 60 and still fucks like he's in his twenties when he's alone with his you, his lovely wife.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's more pent up than ever before but you wouldn't know it until Christmas Day when he lumbers into your shared bedroom after a busy night of delivering presents.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who doesn't need mistletoe to fuck your brains out. The workshop is empty, every one is home celebrating the holiday that was a year in the making while he's slowly peeling those frilly pajamas off your body and discarding them on the polished wooden floor.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's eating his favorite cookie of all, the one between your thighs that seems to mold to his tongue like you were made just for him by now.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who drinks his fair share of homemade ale but has never been drunker than right now when he's going down on you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who has a knack for licking his plate clean(hence his dadbod) which has only served him extremely well when it comes to licking up both sides, underneath and all around your perky clit in slobbery trails that leave you a shaky mess.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who is happy to take his time. The gift of aging has left you both with a delay in getting ready, but it's considered a win since you both could spend all day with your heads in each other's crotches like it was all you were meant to do.

Santa Claus!Nanami who whispers in your neck while he fingers you,

"So good for me, darling. Always so warm and wet for me. I'm such a lucky man..."

"Did you think of me while I was gone, sweetheart? Bet you did, oh I can tell, darling. So naughty underneath that innocent smile...and just for me..."

"Kento..." You rasp as his lips snake around your nipple as he angles his thick fingers that are soaked by now in search for all those spots that make you cry to the stars, the soft wisps of his beard scratching the wrinkly skin of your inner thighs, and the aching bud of your clit. "Gonna cum too f-fast..."

"Isn't that the point, darling?" He groans. "You know I love it when you soak my beard. Don't be shy, now, love..."

And when you do his eyes are closed and he's humming like he tasted dessert for the very first time, nectar stained beard he wears with pride and it's no surprise he's already going back for seconds.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, who've been at it for nearly two hours now, surpassing the record you two set last Christmas.

Santa Claus!Nanami, who's already cummed inside you twice, but hasn't quite had enough of you yet. Your mouth is dribbling up and down his shaft with mindless strokes of your head and eyes rolled back. You're relishing the salty taste, saliva mixed with the milky white thinly dripping around the base, letting the absent-minded little thin spurt of cum for his nth orgasm trickle down your throat while his tongue lazily squelched in and out of the unrecognizable gob of juices that built around your wet entrance from endless orgasms he drew out of you already, groaning when you manage to squirt another warm trickle right into his waiting mouth.

Santa Claus!Nanami and Mrs. Claus!Reader, now cuddled up in one another in the large porcelain tub with the jacuzzi jets, faint smell of pinecone candles lit on the countertop and bubbles all around you easing their way into your aching joints.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers to you.

Santa Claus!Nanami, whom with forever only gets sweeter as the blissful passage of time with him by your side makes it feel like Christmas every single day.

@actuallysaiyan

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Right This Way

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get lost on a campus on your first day of college and a helpful stranger shows you around.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: this is the third of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’ve leapt over one hurdle for the day but it won’t be the last. Your first lecture is done, but now you have to find your way to the second. Typically, you’d be on your way home. For years, you languished in part-time or sabbatical coverage but now, you have achieved regular faculty status. It might not be the school you hoped for, but these days, a job is a job. 

You gather up your things as the class disburses. A few keeners come down to ask you about the midterm and you assure them it’s only day one. Full details will come soon. In the meantime, they can review the readings schedule. 

You set your phone on the corner of the table as you search for your wireless mouse. You bring your own. You’ve had enough experience with neglected classroom equipment. 

“Hey, Miss,” a deep voice rolls behind you and swings you around. A young man with golden hair, a square jaw, and a letterman jacket stands across the table. He is a factory-issue frat. You had your share of those in your own time as an underclassman; as a professor, they don’t often bother you unless they get an F. “Just wanted to chat about a few things I got this term.” 

“Oh, sure,” you say as you reach for your phone. His eyes follow your hand. His cheek dimples. 

“You on your way to Ford too? We can walk and talk if that’s easier?” He offers. 

You’re not sure if you should take his eagerness as a good sign. At least he is mindful. At first glance, you don’t expect that. 

“Um, if you don’t mind, I have my next class there,” you agree. 

You hike up your bag and black the screen of your phone. You’re a bit embarrassed that he noticed the maps wide open on your phone. You’re still gearing your way around. 

He waits patiently, bouncing in his brown leather Vans as you round the table. “Steve, by the way.” He offers his hand in an overly formal gesture. You know that brand of frat. They put on that gentleman act for the elders. It’s a charm you would’ve fallen for twenty years ago. 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you shake his hand then continue to the door. 

He hurries past you and pulls open the door ahead of you. Again, that overly helpful gesture twinges your suspicion. He must be asking for something big. 

“So, I play baseball,” he begins as you set off down the hall. He quickly catches up, walking parallel with you. “And I just got my schedule. I can get coach t give you a call if you need but I’ll be out of town for a few classes...” 

“Right, baseball,” you repeat. You’re not fighting the senate on this one. They prize their start athletes much higher than due dates. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Did you have your schedule with you?” 

“Um, you know what, I don’t have it printed but I can email it,” he says. 

Once more, he opens the door ahead of you. You step out into the early fall sun and descend the steps. It’s a quick conversation, it might be awkward to stick around. 

“That works,” you agree. “I don’t want to keep you so if you want--” 

“Nah, really, I’m headed in your direction,” he insists. “You do know where that is, right?” 

You look at him. His blue eyes gleam. You peer around and shake your head, “that way?” You point. 

He laughs, “no worries, professor, I got you.” 

He puts his hand on your lower back and points in the opposite direction. You turn to move away from his touch. You blame the little club he’s joined in his youthful arrogance. They never do abide by the rules. After all, he is asking for exception, so why wouldn’t he overstep other barriers. 

“So, you must be new,” he intones. 

“Here, yeah,” you confirm. 

“What else do you teach besides Renaissance history?” 

“My specialty is medieval but I’ve taken on various subjects; ancient warfare, Victorian culture,” you rattle off. You know he doesn’t really care. For the jocks, classes are simply an afterthought. “What got you into this subject?” 

“I like art,” he says. “Figured it wouldn’t be a bad elective.” 

“I hope,” you reply. He points you around the curling path. You hesitate. You peeked at the map. This seems wrong but you did find the only dead end on campus earlier. 

“You seem young for a prof,” he says. 

You snort, “I don’t give extra credit for compliments.” 

“I mean it,” he argues. 

“Right,” you huff dryly. “Steve.” 

He smirks as you glance at him, “wow, you got that professor voice down. ‘Steve’.” He mimics your tone and chuckles. You shuffle closer as you pass a group of young girls but he doesn’t seem to notice them. 

“Like I said, it isn’t my first gig. Just new around here.” 

“I think you’ll like it,” he intones. “Nice campus, nice people,” he preens. “A few profs pop by the parties even. Open invitation.” 

It’s your turn to laugh, “oh, I’ve outgrown that.” 

“Classy lady, I’m sure,” he agrees. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you. “Well, what about back in the day?” He wordlessly gestures you along as he guides you. “You are party girl? Sow your wild oats?” 

“That was a long time ago. It’s probably better left back then,” you deflect. 

“Come on. I won’t judge. I’m a bit of a square myself. I’m the designated tidier. I pick up after all the drunks,” he snorts. 

You hum. You don’t miss those days. Everything was so much more stressful. Not just classes but everything outside of it. Who to hang out with, what to where, where to go. 

You slow as you look around again. You’re behind one of the large gray buildings but not too sure where. It’s a path lined with trees and abstract statues. They’re benches and an engraved stone wall memorial. You don’t see any buildings close by. Maybe it’s one of those at the other end. 

“Told you, it’s a nice campus. Doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten to see much of it,” he says. 

“Not yet,” you agree. 

“It’s a short cut. Trust,” he says. 

You nod and continue on. He turns towards the twisted metal owl and you go with him. You really don’t think he’s going the right way. You sneak your phone out of your pocket and press your thumb to the screen. 

Suddenly, you’re nearly knocked off your feet at he bowls into you. 

“Woah,” he collides with you so hard your phone falls onto the ground. “Shit-- I mean, holy cow. Sorry, miss. I tripped on--” He steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. “Did I--” He looks down at your phone on the stone path. “My bad.” 

He scoops it up before you can and you recoil. Your eyes wander away from him and you examine your surroundings. The trees, the statue, it all blocks you off from the main path in an eerie way. You can hear the bird’s tweeting and the coeds chatting but you can’t see them. 

“Damn,” Steve’s voice draws you back as dread simmers in your stomach. “I think it’s cracked.” 

He walks ahead of you as he examines it. You trail him, “it’s fine. I can take it to the store and have them look--” 

“I’m real sorry, professor,” he cradles the phone between his large hands. “I’m such an oaf. Bet I’m not gonna get that extension now, huh?” 

“Everything’s okay, Steve. You can give me my phone,” you reach for him as he leads you into the shade of a large oak. “What are you doing?” 

He pulls his arm back, aims, and throws your phone. It flies through the air as you gasp and lunge forward. What the hell? 

His arm wraps around you from behind and he swings you back. You cry out but only for a split second before his palm smothers your mouth. He leans his body weight back and brings you down with him into the grass. What is he doing? 

You struggle to get away. You grab at his arm hooked around you and claw at the grass with your other hand. You writhe and try to twist away from him. He follows you, crushing you to the grass beneath him. You wheeze as his weight forces the air from your lungs. 

You flail both arms and sink your fingers into the dirt as you fight to drag yourself from under him. You can’t. He growls as he pulls his arm from under you and grips the back of your skull. He keeps your head twisted on your neck, clamping it between his large hands. 

“Shut up,” he snarls. “Be good for me, professor, and this will all go quickly.” 

You gurgle into his hand as your heart hitches. Why is he doing this? You said yes. You didn’t argue. 

“I’m going to move my hand and you’re going to stay nice and quiet, aren’t you?” 

You try to scream into his palm and he wrenches your head down into the ground. The grass is soft but the impact is enough to make your nose fuzzy. He hushes you. 

“I mean it, alright? Shut your mouth or I’ll fill it with dirt,” he snarls. 

You whimper and nod, puffing against his palm. Your body tenses before you slowly make yourself go limp. You lay your head against his hand and let your arms still. You raise your hands slightly to say, ‘see, I’m good’. 

He huffs and slowly drags his hand away, smearing your spit across your cheek. You sniffle as your eyes prick and you inhale the scent of dirt. You can hardly breathe as your chest throbs and burns. 

“Ah, don’t act so hard up,” he chuckles. “Bet you don’t get a lot of guys these days,” he pushes his knee between both of yours. “Sad, cause you don’t look half bad in this.” 

He tugs your skirt up your legs as he shifts his weight around. The satin tickles your thighs and sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes, your forehead flush to the ground. You liked that skirt so much. You bought it just for your first day. 

The thought stabs into your heart. You push your hands flat to the ground and brace yourself. Denial cords around you as terror clogs your throat. This can’t be happening but it is and all you can do is let it. 

“Mm, not bad,” he rasps as he pushes between your thighs. “Come on, loosen up for me.” 

He moves your slack legs apart and runs his fingers along the cotton of your panties. He purrs as he traces the edges along your ass and back again. He snakes his hand under you and presses against the fabric and feels your folds through the thin layer. 

“I’m so goddamn hard right now, you have no idea,” he says.  

You chuff out air. You try not to hear him, not to feel him. He slips his fingers beneath your panties and rubs your lips. He pets your head as he cooes in your ear. 

“See, I’m being nice. Isn’t that nice? I know you wouldn’t be shaking like that if you didn’t like it.” 

He rubs between your folds roughly as he presses his crotch against your ass. He rocks against you as he teases you. You scrunch your toes tightly as a tingle crawls along your thighs. No, please. You don’t want to feel anything. 

He purrs as he continues to move his pelvis, breathing heavily behind your ear as he growls. He stretches his fingers along your cunt and delves into you. He pushes his hand further and curls his finger through your entrance. 

The heel of his hand brushes against your clit as he moves. You whine as the coil winds around and around and around, tying up your guts in knots. You shudder and bring your hands to your hand, digging your nails into your scalp as you spasm. You cum, slickening his touch as a mortifying moan escapes between your lips. 

He slides his fingers out of you. You groan. Your tears leak out and trickle onto the grass. He trails his hand around, leaving wetness along your shirt. He angles above you, pushing your knees apart with both of his. He splays you and tugs your panties to the crease of your thigh. 

His zipper slices the moment. Your breath cramps in your chest as you hold it in. He guides his tip along your thighs. He feels you quiver, teasing and toying, as he rubs up and down your folds. He slides up by your cheeks and you clench. He laughs and traces back to your entrance. 

He uses his thumb to push his tip through your resistance. You tighten around his intrusion and squeak out your breath. He shushes you and you swallow down a sob. He inches into you, his own exhale flowing over you like a cold storm. 

He sinks in to his limit and you bury your toes into the dirt. You heave as he pulls back and thrusts in again. Your shoulders curl with tension and your spine locks. He pumps again and moans, petting your hair as he falls into a rhythm. 

“God, you’re tight,” he grits. “I heard... well, I guess everyone lies.” 

He runs his hand down the side of your head and beneath your forehead. He forces your head up and nuzzles your hair as he tilts into you. He puffs across your scalp. 

“I didn’t see a ring,” he reaches up to clasp your hand, twining his fingers through yours as he continues to rut. 

He keeps you like that, fucking you harder into the dirt. He lifts his hips, slamming them down so his zipper bites at you. He pounds at you relentlessly, shallow breaths mingling damply in the cool autumn breeze.  

You open your eyes and stare across the grass. Your vision blurs around the tree trunks and wooden benches. Your grief and glazes over and drowns you in horror. 

“Welcome to campus, prof,” he growls between nipping your ear. “Oh... and don’t worry about those missed classes. I didn’t make the team.” 

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 2

Azriel x Cassian x Reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Reader unwell/not eating, depression and lots of angst.

Keep reading ⬇️

--------

You slept through any offerings of daylight the next day.

The bustle of the infirmary was a hum to your ears, your exhaustion keeping the world a distance away. Even the healers couldn't stir you when the frequented your room, changing your dressings and checking your pulse.

You woke for a meal of simple broth in the evening, and were glad to have kept it down. You still fought feverish sweats and chills, and the ache in your stomach and chest was persistent. Madja would oversee your care as she had the evening before. She had given one instruction – the more rest, the better.

Night set on the ward again, and you were glad to be enveloped by dim lighting and quieter activity.

Unsure of when sleep had found you, you awoke in an open field. It was bright, the high-pointed sun drenching the landscape in gold, the lake in the distance sparkling and inviting. Familiarity warmed you more than the sun, yet the scene around you remained hazy.

Ears pricking at a ripple of laughter ahead of you, your heart fluttered with excitement. It was instinct to chase that voice, your bare feet pushing from the warmed grass beneath them as you broke into a run. Your skirts kicked beneath you before you hiked them above your knees, both your speed and smile growing.

Ahead was the source of the laughter, a child who also ran, her long locks bouncing with a distinct curl. Meryl. She was no more than 10 years of age, her childish laugh echoing in your ears as your heart pulled at the sight of her.

“Meryl!” you called, continuing the chase, your heels pounding to the ground as you tried to speed up. “Slow down!” You heard your own voice then, also of a child.

The setting around you flooded with detail as a lost memory found you. Your visit to your parent’s good friend in Spring Court, an Uncle of sorts, his charming lake-side cottage where you and your sister would spend hours swimming and playing – and chasing! Of course! Each day you raced to see who would reach the lake first, and Meryl had always been that little bit faster.

Meryl responded with another laugh, so innocent and carefree, as a child should be. You reached a hand out, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch up. You ached for one more chance to speak with her or to hold her, or even to see her face. But she bounded onwards without ever turning her head.

A harsh breeze blew from behind, and the golden glow of the once-memory quickly turned grey and harsh as a storm threatened the sky. The water of the lake was now violent, thrashing with unforgiving waves. You halted your run, yet Meryl bound forward, her laughter drowned by the roar of the wind.

“Meryl!” you called again, your voice now of your adult self, urgent and panicked. As you tried to resume running, you almost toppled over, your hands catching you before you could fall. Something had anchored your bare feet to the ground.

With a yell of frustration, you tried to pry your legs free. Up ahead, your sister’s figure grew smaller, her direction set for the dangerous waters.

“Please! Meryl stop!” Tears began to well in your eyes as you fought to free yourself. You saw them then, the swirls of shadows that kept your legs pinned and unmoving.

“Wha-? Get off me!” You frantically clawed at them, but instead they climbed your arms too, forcing you to the ground.

Hands were on you then, tugging at your clothes and pulling at your limbs. Shadows mixed with siphons blue and red, and swirls of night clouded your vision, between it peeks of Meryl slipping further and further away. You clutched at the roots of the grass, desperate to pull yourself free.

“Stop! I have to save her!” you begged, your voice breaking with despair. But those hands were unrelenting, so strong in their grip as you tried to summon your power. That too rendered useless, cracking to a quick fizzle without so much as a sting.

Before you could call one final plea to your sister, shadows and hands and magic smothered your mouth, drowning your cry in their hold. All you could do was watch in horror as Meryl dived beneath the thrashing waves before your vision was overcome with smoke and night, and finally black.

————

Azriel and Cassian watched as you writhed in your cot, the feverish sweat on your brow glowing in the soft fae light of the infirmary wing.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cassian whispered, his face etched with concern as he stepped closer to you. He gingerly bought a callused hand to your cheek, running one gentle stroke down the length of it.

Azriel’s frown deepened as he heard your sister’s name muttered on your lips, followed by a whimper and ragged breaths. “It’s a fever dream.” he answered, his arms folded as he kept to the edge of your cot.

Cassian looked down at you, noting the tears that stained your cheeks.“We shouldn't have come here,” he said, his jaw tight from guilt. “She’s still unwell, we should let her rest.”

He and Azriel had easily snuck into the ward, winnowing straight past the few healers on night shift, and even slipping past Madja who was buried in paperwork at the desk near the entrance of the infirmary. But now Cassian eyed the door, just as eager to leave.

Azriel was only half listening to his brother as he commanded his shadows. They climbed at the base of your cot, swirling inwards as they found their way to your face and limbs, cooling you as you continued to stir, now a little more gently. Azriel did not show his satisfaction as he watched you sigh, finding some comfort in their touch.

The sound of a curtain being harshly drawn caused the males to jump, revealing an incredibly unimpressed Madja. Azriel cursed himself silently, having used all of his shadows to soothe you without setting guard to the room.

“I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses,” she said coldly to the males, pushing past them and setting a pale next to your bed. She shooed Azriel’s shadows as if they were a mutt on the street, and they quickly scattered back to their master.

“How is she doing?” Cassian asked, eyes pleading.

“I will not disclose that to you,” the healer answered tightly. Wringing the towel within the pale, Madja wiped the sweat from your brow. Your stirring had stopped at least, and you seemed to have found a deeper slumber than before. Madja sighed now, before casting a half look to the boys. “She’s improving, but is still quite weak.”

The males nodded, your sickly skin, limp body and slick hair as evident as the healer’s prognosis.

“Do I need to have words with the High Lord and Lady of their emissaries overstepping my regulations?” Madja asked without looking their way, wringing the cloth yet again before pressing it to your neck and bust. “Not to mention violating patient privacy,” she added.

Cassian hung his head low. “I’m sorry. I don't know what we were thinking.” Azriel refused to look at the healer, his eyes never leaving you.

Madja continued to care for you in silence, allowing Cassian and Azriel to grovel for a few more moments. Picking up the pale, she made to leave your bedside before answering the males. “I have worked with enough Illyrian’s to know of your possessive nature. But I won't be so forgiving if she wakes to find you here. Already your scents have caused more harm than good. She must not know you came, it will only upset her and might unravel her progress.”

“She’s that upset with us?” Azriel asked, his gaze beyond the healer before him, still fixed on you.

“Yes,” she answered plainly. Neither of the males knew what to say. “Now leave, before I regret showing any patience for boyish brutish idiocy.”

Azriel took the risk of another tongue lashing to send a final shadow to caress your cheek, before clasping his brother’s arm and winnowing back to the House of Wind.

————

You were kept at the infirmary for another four nights without any further disturbance from your family. They asked to visit, of course, practically begging through letters and pleas to Madja. But each of their requests were left unanswered, and you too buried your need to have them by your side while you healed.

It gave you time to think of a plan – you could not stay at the infirmary forever. When you had first moved the Velaris, while training as a spy, you lived in a small apartment in the cliffs that faced the Sidra. You hadn't visited there in almost a decade, but your once-home was written to your name, and vacant.

Madja insisted on settling you in, helping you climb the stairs to your room as fatigue still lingered.

Prying the stiff wooden door open, you almost smiled at the sight of your old home. A mattress lay on the floor in the corner of the room just as you had left it – you had never been able to afford a frame on training wages. A small chest of drawers was pushed up against the wall, and the kitchenette was lined with those charming blue tiles just as you remembered.

You were thankful Madja had sent a maid ahead of time, and while the musk of an unused apartment lingered, you were glad to not have to dust in your current state. The small fireplace contained fresh logs of wood which meant there was no urgent trip to the markets either.

“This is it,” you spoke more to yourself as you ran a hand along the kitchenette before making your way over to the chest, prying a stiff drawer open.

Madja was less than impressed. “Child, perhaps you would consider more comfortable accommodation? One where the bed is not on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine here,” you answered, distracted as you searched through your old drawers, finding them empty.

“The High Lord and Lady have offered to accommodate you elsewhere–”

“I don't want their help,” you snapped, shoving the drawer back into the chest with notable anger.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “You don't need to suffer at the cost of their mistakes, Y/N.”

You sighed then, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won't accept their fortune any longer. This home is mine, I worked hard for it. I will be perfectly fine here while I figure out a plan.”

Madja nodded, scanning the room once over. “Do not forget to take your medicine,” she lectured before turning to the door, knowing better than to linger. There was no remedy for how quiet the apartment fell when she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mustering the little energy you had, you set your kettle to boil, waiting patiently for the steam to whistle from the tin, the only sound to fill the apartment beyond the distant hum of the town below.

After a few sips of tea, exhaustion found you again. Setting the mug of tea aside on the cold wooden floor, you crawled into bed, pulling the too-thin covers over your head and leaving your drink unfinished. With your back to the world that beckoned outside, you faced the wall instead, tracing a crack that ran across its length.

How motivated you had felt when you first moved here. At the time, you were grieving Meryl of course, but you had a plan – a one way ticket to ensure a balance in the world, to fight for some sense of justice. Never had you thought it could fail so miserably.

So you traced that crack with a weak finger, remembering your sister, mourning her with a fresh wave of pain.

Grief continued to weigh heavy on your chest the following few days. You had intentions on visiting the market, buying some food and sustaining yourself while you made a new plan. But instead you felt anchored to your mattress, the idea of cooking and bathing and facing the outside world completely overwhelming. Instead, cups of tea brewed only to be left untouched, yours eyes heavy as you watched the steam rising from the mug swirl and dance, and by the time it finally cooled you were already asleep.

And the cycle continued. In the moments you had the strength, you wept. And in the moments you didn’t, you slept.

It was after five days that Madja visited to replenish your medicine. The healer opened the door to your apartment when her knocks went unanswered, casting the first bit of natural light in the room in days. With your back facing outwards, you didn’t stir as she walked over and immediately collecting the assortment of mugs on the floor.

“Have you left this room at all?”

You offered a small shake of your head, unable to lift it from your pillow, your eyes red and stiff with dried tears.

“Have you eaten?”

Your stillness was her answer. Madja sighed. “Well we simply can't have that. I understand a loss for appetite, so I will bring some additional brews to keep you sustained.”

“I don't want them.” It took all your strength to turn over your shoulder and look at the healer, your voice hoarse having gone days without speaking.

She simply shook her head as she looked down at you. You do not have a choice, her expression read.

“Might you try to get some fresh air? Or bathe? I can assist with both if you–“

But you were already turning your shoulder to the wall, immediately exhausted at the thought of leaving your bed. “I’ll do it tomorrow Madja,” you sighed. “I’m too tired in this moment.” You didn't have the energy to wonder if she bought your lie or not.

The healer said nothing as she closed the door quietly behind her.

————

“I’m concerned for her wellbeing.” Madja sat opposite the High Lord and Lady in their study, a large willow desk between them. Rhys sat with his hands laced together tightly, a deep frown etched on his face. Feyre beside him held a sleeping Nyx, doing her best to not stir the babe while she exchanged looks of deep concern.

“She isn't eating. She barely drinks a thing, and has failed to take much of her medicine. If she continues at this rate, she will fall much more ill.”

“What can we do?” Feyre asked gently, stroking Nyx’s hair while he snoozed at her chest.

“I don’t suggests interfering at this stage. I am only here to warn you of my concerns.”

“And what happens if she worsens?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes holding the stare of the healer in front of him.

“I will call for you then. I hate to suggest the use of your daemati abilities, but if it comes down to life or death…” Madja trailed off, her hands clamping even tighter in her lap.

“We understand,” Rhys responded with a single nod, casting a knowing look to his mate. “Thank you for coming here, Madja.”

The healer stood to leave. “Do not thank me. Again, I am clear to not involve myself in what has occurred between you and Y/N. I am here purely as her healer.”

The High Lord and Lady stood too, seeing her to the door.

“Please keep us informed, and if there is anything that we can provide,” Feyre added quickly, almost desperate to convey her care.

Madja responded with a tight nod, turning to leave. And had she left only moments earlier, she would have found two Illyrians by the door, overhearing the entire conversation. But they were already on their way.

————

Lost again in deep sleep, you didn't stir as the Shadowsinger and General entered your apartment, Azriel’s shadow’s having easily pried the lock open.

The sight of your trembling figure curled up on the mattress pulled at both their hearts, your hands fisted at the covers with deep yet disturbed sleep.

Azriel stealthily made his way across to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. With no dining table or chair in sight, Cassian set the meal they had bought in the small kitchen before quietly approaching you. He knelt down on two strong knees, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek before gently shaking you.

“Y/N, wake up doll, it’s us,” he spoke with a hushed voice.

Stirring slightly, you were slow to wake, blinking through the darkness as you were sure you were still dreaming. But as your eyes cleared, the large figure in front of you revealed itself – wings tucked in, hair pulled back in a signature bun, leather strapped up to his knuckles. Cassian was the definition of strength met with comfort, and it took you a few moments to come to your senses.

Your body froze before you sat up quickly, shoving his hands off of you. “Wh-wh?” you stuttered, your eyes dancing between his.

Cassian raised his palms in surrender. “It’s alright, don't panic. We’re just here to help you with a few things.”

Your found your voice then, deep from within your chest, hoarse and broken from days of crying. “Get out,” you spat.

Azriel appeared from the bathroom, watching from the doorway. You flashed your eyes to his, rage quickly filling your veins. How dare they intrude.

“We just want to make sure you’re all right sweetheart, and then we’ll go,” Cassian reasoned. He stood now, offering you his hand.

Days without eating meant the hurry you stood in caused your head to spin, black dots now dancing in your vision. But you held your ground, your voice even icier than before. “I said get out.”

“C’mon doll, let us help you for five minutes.”

“You’re idea of help undid everything I ever worked for.” You shoved at his chest, and he let you push him a few steps back, your hands trembling as you pulled them back.

“Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Azriel’s voice was gentle too, your vision reeling as you whipped your head to glare in his direction. Shaking your head, you curled your hands to fists. It was none of their business.

“Please, sweetheart,” Cassian reached for you then, which earned another shove from you.

“No Cassian! No! Do you understand you have done? Did you even consider what would happen when you decided I wasn't good enough?”

“It wasn’t like that Y/N. We had to keep you safe.” Azriel stayed by the bathroom door, his arms now crossed as shadows slowly seeped on the wooden floor towards you.

Days of isolation and exhaustion had tears pricking at your eyes already. “You are cowards. And I want nothing to do with either of you.”

“Please Y/N–,” Cassian tried one more time.

“Get out of my life.” You had never uttered words so cold. You shoved the General again, but this time he stayed put. Your gritted your teeth, seething at him. “You broke me!”

Cassian looked down at you, his brow pulling in sorrow.

“You shattered my world.” Another unsuccessful push, and you were crying. “Now I have nothing, I am nothing.”

Both of them watched you as your face crumpled, your anger rising as you punched at Cassian’s chest, too weak to cause any harm. “I hate you!”

Cassian’s eyes welled as he stood still, taking the beating without so much as a flinch. “We’re so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head, ignoring his apology as you began pounding against him with weak fists. “I hate you both!”

Tears now rolled down the General’s cheek as he let you continue your assault. “We’re so so sorry Y/N.”

You kept shaking your head as Cassian caught both of your wrists, holding them as he took to one knee in front of you.

“We love you,” Cassian cried, prying your fist open and kissing your palm, kissing up your arm, his thumb stroking your hand in the way he knew soothed you. “Please forgive us.”

You broke at his plea. He was a good male, they both were. But they had turned your heart to stone, turned you to someone so damaged, so unrelenting and unforgiving, someone you never wanted to be. You were a monster of their own making, and there was no undoing it. Sobs racked through your body, and it took everything you had not to crumble to the ground.

Azriel was behind you then, his shadows curling around your exposed skin, soothing you where they could. You did not fight him, not as he took your hands from Cassian, not as he too kissed your tears away while murmuring his own apologies, not even when he lifted you from under your knees, carrying you to the bathroom. You hated him, your mind screaming at you to yell and hiss and spit, to swear him from your home and from your life. But in this moment, where exhaustion and isolation loomed, you had no more fight to give.

Azriel didn’t speak as he undressed you before placing you in the tub. You were still crying as he washed you, scarred hands so attentive to your body, the sound of water sloshing and pouring over your head mixing with your laboured breaths. You kept your knees to your chest, your head turned away, but you let him scrub you clean.

He gently pulled you from the tub into a fresh towel, wrapping you in the soft cotton before lifting you again. Your apartment had come to life with a small fire Cassian had lit, low flames flickering with warmth.

Azriel moved to sit on the bed, keeping you bundled in his lap. Cassian was crouched in front of you, his hands holding a vial of stew, the steaming contents bought to your mouth on a spoon.

“Eat this,” Cassian said gently. You wanted to be stubborn, to fight them more than the pathetic amount you already had. But your stomach cramped with hunger at the scent of the stew, and you were to weak to refuse it. So you let Cassian feed you, your body growing more and more slack the fuller your stomach became. A vial of medicine was quickly tipped against your lips too, and you swallowed its contents with a small whimper.

In your exhausted haze, your hardly noticed Azriel dress you in fresh clothes, even braiding your hair before he lay you down, pulling the covers over your.

Cassian and Azriel were watching you as you fought your sleep, heavy eyes lifting to find them.

“I meant what I said.” Your voice was a mere whisper

They exchanged a look, before Cassian crouched to pull the covers closer to your chin. “We know.”

There was a beat of silence. “I want you to leave me be.”

“Not until you start taking care of yourself,” Azriel spoke, his voice soft yet strict. You didn't have any energy to fight back, to tell him he could blame himself for the spiral you had entered.

“Go,” your rasped before turning your back to them, enticed by the comfort of sleep with a full belly, clean clothes and warm apartment.

“Rest up Y/N.” Cassian’s words were a lullaby you couldn’t fight.

“We love you,” Azriel added, and the last thing you felt was the caress of cool shadows at your neck before you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

————

Waking to sunlight, you felt notably stronger than you had in days. You knew it was because of the care Azriel and Cassian had provided, which frustrated you to your core.

Azriel’s words rung clear in your mind. They would not leave you be until you started to take care of yourself, so you would leverage the strength you had to come up with a plan.

It only took a few days for your Uncle to reply. Yes, he still had his home by the lake. Yes, you could stay with him as long as you needed. There was work to be done in Spring Court, rehabilitation and building after Hybern had depleted almost every resource from the lands, Tamlin not yet strong enough to recoup his court after the war. You could find sanction there, help others and distract yourself with work. And most importantly, distance yourself from the people you once loved.

With your next steps laid clear, you sent a letter to the River House, asking for one final favour.

————

Rhysand was waiting at the River House terrace alone as promised. Cloaked in signature black, he watched the stars dance in the night sky with a gentle grip on the railing, his back to you as you approached.

This was the same terrace that had hosted many evening drinks, jokes and conversations shared with your family, and even offered the much needed escape away from the buzz of various balls and celebrations. A twinge of pain stabbed at your heart at those memories. Today, it was just a terrace, a mere meeting point before you stepped towards your new life.

It was unsurprising Rhys had heeded your instruction to meet you alone, you knew he would do it. You wondered if he lied about his whereabouts, or if he instead warded your presence from the others. He had likely hidden your scent from Cassian and Azriel, but what about his mate?

Saying goodbye to Feyre and Rhys at the same time had felt far too painful, impossible even. While they were equals, High Lord and Lady as well as mates, they were still very different beings. Feyre was too forgiving, too caring and loving to have reached this point on her own. It needed to be Rhys, you needed to direct this at someone who could take it, someone who deserved it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning now, hands sliding to his pockets. You ignored his question, stopping a few paces away. Tension hung heavy between you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said tightly. Rhysand didn't speak, but offered an arm to the seating behind you. You sat down silently, your last act of obedience.

“I can no longer serve the Night Court,” you said plainly.

Rhysand didn’t flinch, wise enough to have known this was coming. “That does not mean you don't have a home here,” he answered calmly, as if that logic was reason enough to stay.

You shook your head stubbornly. “Please accept my resignation.”

Rhysand sighed then, leaning forward on his elbows to level a look at you. “I’m aware, Y/N, and I accept. This formality isn’t necessary.”

You knew that, it wasn't why you were here. Rhysand waited patiently for you to continue.

“I need a favour.”

“Anything,” he responded almost instantly.

“I need you to let me leave.”

Rhysand sat back now, a small frown pulling at his brow. “The choice has always been yours.”

Shaking your head, you looked up at the High Lord. “I don't trust that wherever I go, I won't be followed.”

Rhysand raised his brows.

“After recent events, I know Azriel and Cassian won't allow me that freedom.”

Rhysand let out a quick breath before nodding once, violet eyes finding the nights horizon. “I’ll ask them to adhere to your wishes.”

“As if that is enough,” you bit back, ice laced in your tone. “Pull rank, use your power, lie or cheat or trick, I don't really care. Just make it happen, it’s the least I deserve.”

Rhysand breathed quietly as he studied you. “Consider it done,” he said finally.

Gratefulness was an instinct, but you stubbornly bit down your thanks. Instead, a moment of silence fell between you.

“Where are you going?” Rhys pried.

“Do not ask me that.”

“I care for your safety.”

“I don’t want your care.”

Rhysand audibly sighed then, one hand reaching at the distance between you, finding place on the chase. “Tell me, Y/N. Say it out loud.”

You flashed your eyes to him. He looked back at you, his expression worried, concerned, pitying. Gods you hated that look.

“There is no point,” you said coldly, struggling to hide the grit of your teeth.

“I can take it,” he said softly.

Rage coursed through you at an uncontrollable speed. “You think I'm sparing you?” You let out a cold laugh, moments away from that savage, lethal switch, your power now stinging at your fingertips.

“I think you’re far from having faced the truth.”

A snarled escaped you, and you could feel your power surge, igniting your irises with a brilliant yellow. Had you not been so blind with anger, you might have realised this was exactly what Rhysand intended.

“It’s the truth you seek then?” you began. “How about the fact that you have plagued my heart with more hate than I ever believed possible. Shall I tell you of the shame that haunts me day and night that I let myself trust you for all these years? Or that I was naive enough to think I could find another family after Meryl’s death? But it would seem the only family I have is dead, and it has in fact always been that way. You broke me Rhys, you all broke me. I was a fool to have loved you so dearly, and ignorant to believe you ever loved me in the same way.”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face, washing away the current that glowed in your eyes. Pressing a hand against your heart, you tried to smother the ache that throbbed at your confession. “You preach of a better court, one of choice and freedom and honour. But you snatched that away the moment it was mine for the taking.”

Rhys had kept his eyes on you, his face breaking with a little more sorrow at each sentence you spoke. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.” He waited a moment before placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Mother above cannot convey how sorry I am Y/N.”

You shook your head, tears welling and blurring your vision. It wasn't enough, you knew that, and Rhys knew it too.

His voice was even more gentle as he leaned forward. “I love you Y/N. Well all love you.”

Your voice was small now. “Not in the way I loved you. Not in the way family should love one another.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “You have to understand, as your High Lord, I would never send you to your death knowingly.”

“I wouldn't have died in vain,” you quietly, breaking his gaze with a flicker of shame. “All I ever wanted was a chance to make things right.”

You shocked yourself with the weight of your words, the extent of your willingness to avenge Meryl was something you hadn't even admitted to yourself. You would have died with content knowing you had at least tried to kill Alvar. But Rhys had seen that in you, well before you understood it for yourself. And together your family decided instead to keep you safe.

“I was hoping your motivation no longer overthrew your will to live,” Rhys admitted. With a deep sigh he cupped your chin in a parent-like way. “Look at me.” Whether you liked it or not, your eyes found his.

“Imagine I had taken the time to let you kill Alvar and instead he escaped, and innocent Velarians were hurt because of it – would you forgive me for putting your needs above their safety?”

Your eyes welled. “How could you ask me that Rhys?”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to show you the weight of the decision I had to make.” He offered you a broken smile, reaching to swipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. To your own surprise, you let him.

“That is not the only issue here.” Your voice was thick, your throat strained as you contained the sob that jerked within. “You’ve asked me to see it from your perspective, now please consider mine. You collectively decided that the mission would be kept a secret. You banded together to act dishonestly, knowing it would ruin me. How can I ever trust you again? How am I supposed to see you as my family?”

Rhys closed his eyes as his brows gave a painful tug, a deep breath pushing out through his nose. A large hand rested gently on your knee, his thumb swiping in a sympathetic way.

“I’ll admit Y/N – I knew that this would hurt you, but I never thought we’d lose you entirely.”

You sniffed. “Then you underestimated me.”

Rhys’s violet eyes found yours, sincerity and admiration shining in the stars that beheld them. “I did. I absolutely did.” He took another deep breath before speaking. “I’m a fool to have underestimated your loyalty, your dedication and your bravery. Over 500 years in existence, and I should have known that was never mine to control.”

You stared back at him, and while the ache in your heart was far from cured, a small sense of calm washed over you. It was relief you desperately needed – to finally be understood. “Thank you for saying that,” you croaked.

Rhys watched you with a pained smile. “I only want good things for you Y/N, wherever you choose to be. You will always have a home here if you want it, if you can ever forgive us for what we did.”

And in those words, a new well opened in your heart, one that you had not seen coming.

Hearing Rhys acknowledge your decision to leave the Night Court was devastating, so much so that your hand instinctively pressed agains your heart again. There would be no more fighting or pleading, no more fists thrown or cries of rage and confessions of love. He would let you go, because you had asked it. It was the least you deserved, yet it hurt in an entirely new way.

Ahead of you, the path of solitude lay clear. You had fought for it without any idea how painful it would be to take that first step. You couldn't help the sob that escaped you as you dropped your head to your hands.

“I never wanted to leave,” you admitted through ragged breaths.

Rhys bought a gentle hand to your back. “Then stay.”

“I can’t! I can’t stay here. I am so angry with you, all of you! And I don't think I’ll ever be strong enough to forgive this, not fully.” Your cries were uncontrollable as you tried to quiet them with your hands.

Rhys was stroking your hair as he said ever so softly. “I know.”

You sniffed, blinking up at your High Lord. “There’s nothing left for me here.” There was a cold bite to your words, even as you let him comfort you.

“I know,” he repeated with that same softness and understanding.

You watched him for a moment longer. Here he was, everything you needed in a High Lord – a leader and a friend, saying all the right things in all the right ways. But he was flawed, like anyone, and that flaw had been your downfall.

“I will be leaving Velaris tonight. Please, don't ask for my whereabouts. I need… I need a clean break.”

Rhys brow twitched before he nodded tightly. “You have my word.”

Gathering yourself, you stood to smooth your skirts before looking up at your High Lord for the final time. “I will miss Nyx dearly.”

Pain sliced across Rhysand’s face in a way you had never seen, tears immediately pricking at his violet eyes. He swallowed, containing himself still. “I wish it could have been any other way Y/N, truly.”

“As do I.”

And that was all that could be said. You turned from him, pacing towards the exit while casting your eyes to the magnificent array of stars, searing the Velarian night sky to memory as you admired its beauty for the final time.

“You must know!” Rhys spoke out, a hint of urgency in his tone. “It was fear Y/N. It was fear of losing you, not ever a lack of love.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you nodded once, a broken smile on your lips. “I know,” you spoke, biting back the quiver in your lip. “I know that now.”

And you let those words be your last at the Court of Night.

--------

Part 3>>>>

AN: Thank you so much for your patience with this, I hope you guys like it! ❤️

YES there will be a Part 3. Update: Part 3 is out. I’m super keen to explore how things go for the Reader in Spring Court, and maybe even weave in a little bit of redemption for a certain blondey?? Besides, there are still some things that have gone unsaid between the Reader and the boys... and she needs to figure out these powers! Watch this space 👀

Comment to my tag list (either general or for Our girl) 😊

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔙𝔢𝔦𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯

Mike Schmidt X male reader

This was requested from a really nice person on tumblr: “I completely fell in love with your Mike Schmidt x male reader, and I have an idea for part four, if you make one. So you know how in the movie the aunt hires Max and her brother to mess with Mike's job. Well, what if the aunt hires someone to break into Mike's house on a night when y/n is babysitting Abby. Idk really just seemed like an ok idea.” Hope I was able to satisfy your request.

Tags: Part 4 of this miniseries of Mike Schmidt x male reader. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Smut at the start. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Reader being called “good boy”. Blowjob (reader giving). Angst. Some small fight scenes.

Words count: 6000 words

If you have an idea for part 5, please let me know <3. I love spending time in reading others opinions

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Part 1-part 2-part 3-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8-Part 9-Part 10-Part 11

The evening was cloaked in a heavy, golden light, the last rays of the setting sun casting long shadows across the small, familiar space of Mike's home. The day had been long, and you could see the weight of it in the way Mike's shoulders slumped, the fatigue etched in the lines of his face. He was standing in the living room, one hand resting on the back of the worn-out couch, the other rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that spoke of his tension and exhaustion.

Abby was already tucked away in her room, engrossed in some cartoon on the television at full volume, her laughter occasionally ringing out. You watched Mike for a moment, your heart aching with the silent burdens he carried, the unspoken fears that clouded his thoughts.

He hadn't noticed you yet, his mind clearly elsewhere as he stared out the window, lost in thought. You approached him quietly, your steps soft on the wooden floor. When you reached him, you gently placed a hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his worn jacket.

His head turned to look at you, and for a moment, the stress in his eyes softened, replaced by something warmer.

You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him, though he must have sensed your presence because he looked up, offering you a tired but warm smile "Hey," he greeted softly, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"Hey," you replied, stepping closer until you were standing beside him. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "You look like you could use a break."

Mike let out a heavy sigh, the kind that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He nodded, but the motion was half-hearted, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "Yeah, just...' a lot on my mind," he admitted, his voice low and rough, tinged with exhaustion

He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking to the paperwork before meeting yours again "Yeah, it's just.. everything feels like it's piling up, you know?"

You could hear the frustration and weariness in his voice, and it made your heart ache. You knew how hard he had been working, how much he was sacrificing to make sure Abby had a safe and stable home.

But you also knew he couldn't keep going like this without burning out. He needed to unwind, and maybe you could be the spark that helped him do just that.

After all, there were better ways to relieve stress, and your lips were more than ready to offer a hands-on demonstration.

You hesitated for a moment, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you considered your next words. Despite everything you had been through together, talking about anything remotely intimate still made your cheeks flush with heat.

"Mike," you began, your voice soft, almost hesitant. He looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly in concern, and you could see the question in his eyes. “What if...I helped you unwind a bit? Maybe I could help you shake off some of that stress?”

For a moment, Mike seemed caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly as he processed what you had just said. Then, a slow, almost relieved smile spread across his face, and he let out a low chuckle, the sound filled with a mixture of affection and amusement.

“You'd think after all this time, and after all the times we've seen each other naked, you wouldn't be so nervous around me," he murmured, his voice softening as he reached out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin. "It's adorable"

Your cheeks burned even hotter at his words, and you ducked your head slightly, feeling embarrassed but also touched by his reaction. “I just... I’m not the best with words, but I really want to help you, in any way. I hate seeing you like this.”

His expression softened even more at that, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. "You always know how to make me feel better," he said quietly, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest on your shoulder, his fingers gently squeezing in a reassuring gesture.

"And if you're offering... I'm not going to say no.”

His lips met yours. They were warm and soft, moving with a gentle but insistent pressure that made your heart skip a beat.

You kissed him back with just as much intensity, your free hand moving to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Mike's hand tightened around yours, his grip almost desperate as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lips in a silent request. You parted your lips, allowing him in, and the kiss became more urgent, more intense.

His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap, your bodies pressed together.

You reached up, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

"You're such a good boy," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something more primal.

The praise sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped your lips at the sound of it.

"It's okay," he murmured, his hands sliding down your arms to gently grasp your hands, guiding them to the waistband of his pants.

Mike's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he watched you, his gaze filled with a mixture of affection and desire while your fingers began to undo the button of his pants. The intensity in his eyes made your own pulse quicken, and you felt a rush of heat pool in your stomach as you worked the zipper down, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge beneath the fabric.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. He was so warm, so solid beneath your touch, and it made you ache with need.

Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt before slipping underneath, your palms meeting the warm skin of his abdomen. He shuddered at the contact as he deepened the kiss even further, his tongue exploring your mouth with a desperation that made your pulse race.

Mike let out a low groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you pushed his pants down, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the sight of him.

He was already hard, his arousal evident as it strained against the fabric of his boxers, and the sight of it made your own breath hitch in your throat.

"You're doing so well," Mike murmured, his voice rough with pleasure as he gently guided your hands to the waistband of his boxers, encouraging you to pull them down. "Such a good boy for me."

The praise made your head spin, your body flushing with heat as you followed his lead, pulling his boxers down until his length was fully exposed. You bit your lip, your gaze fixed on him as you took in every inch of him, the way he throbbed with need, the way his breath hitched slightly as you ran your fingers along the length of him, testing the waters.

Mike's hand slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you down to your knees, his grip firm but gentle.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you saw the hunger in his eyes. "Please, Mike," you whispered, your voice trembling with need as you leaned in and let your head rest on his thighs, your breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "I want to make you feel good."

He let out a low, guttural groan at your words, his hips jerking slightly in response "Do it," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

That was all the encouragement you needed.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the tip of him, your tongue flicking out to taste him.

The salty, slightly bitter taste of him filled your senses, your tongue swirling around him, tracing every vein and ridge of his cock.

You slid your tongue up one side and down the other, slowly sucking him in as you began to take him deeper.

Mike's reaction was immediate, his breath hitching as his grip in your hair tightened, a low groan rumbling in his chest. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice rough and raw with pleasure. "That's it... just like that... good boy..."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his dick as you kept moving, taking him deeper with each bob of your head.

Mike's hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as he fought to keep control, to keep from losing himself entirely to the pleasure you were giving him. But it was a losing battle, his control slipping as he let out a series of low, guttural grunts, his hands tightening in your hair as he pushed you closer, his need for release becoming more urgent.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You're so good... so fucking good."

You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the tension in his body building with each passing second, and you knew he was close. You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you moved faster, more insistently, wanting nothing more than to push him over the edge, to hear him cry out your name as he came.

And then, with a low, broken groan, he did. His release hit you with a sudden, overwhelming intensity, the salty warmth of him filling your mouth as he came, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. You swallowed him down as you continued to work him through his orgasm, milking every last drop from him until he was spent, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath.

He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand gently stroking your hair as he whispered, "Thank you"

His arms wrapped around you, holding you firmly against him. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

Mike grunted slightly as he shifted, trying to get a better look at you. “I wonder if you’ll ever stop getting all flustered and shy around me.” A small, teasing smile played on his lips, a rare sight that made your heart skip a beat.

Mike sighed, his hand gently stroking your thigh as he murmured, "I should get ready for work."

You knew he was right, but the thought of letting go of him, even for a moment, made your heart ache. Still with your butt seated comfortably on his lap, you tightened your grip on his chest, your voice soft and playful as you whispered, “Stay a little longer.” You laughed lightly, the sound a mix of genuine amusement and a hint of longing, hoping he’d catch the underlying wish in your words.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss while his hand squeezed softly your waist.

“I wish I could.”

You nodded, understanding, even though it hurt to let him go.

Reluctantly, you untangled yourself from him, watching as he stood and began to gather his clothes.

When he put his security vest on, he turned to you and stepped closer, the distance between you closing as he reached out, his hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder.

He glanced over his shoulder towards Abby, who was still, in her room, engrossed in her drawing. "Listen," he began, his voice dropping into a more serious tone, one that made you instinctively pay closer attention. "My aunt... she's been pushing harder lately. She's still doing her best at making our life a living hell. I wouldn't put it past her to try something drastic."

You frowned, your concern deepening. "What do you mean? Do you think she'd actually do something?"

Mike let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of his stress. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "But I've got this bad feeling. Just be careful as always, okay? If anything feels off, anything at all, promise me you'll call."

You nodded, doing your best to project confidence. "I will. Don't worry, I'll keep Abby safe."

Mike's expression softened, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over his features.

"Alright," he said, his voice steady but still carrying that undercurrent of worry. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing against your hair as he whispered, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Stay safe."

The door opened with a soft creak, and Mike stepped outside, disappearing into the twilight.

Abby was already in her room, her small frame bent over a large piece of paper, crayons scattered around her like a rainbow explosion. The television murmured softly in the background, playing one of her favorite cartoons, but her attention was fully captured by the world she was creating with her drawings.

As the clock ticked closer to her bedtime, you suggested a quieter activity to help her wind down. You decided on a movie, something light and fun that wouldn't keep her up later with nightmares. She chose one of her favorites, and you settled down on the couch together, the soft glow of the television illuminating the living room.

But as the minutes passed, you started to notice something strange. It was subtle at first-barely noticeable-but it grew more persistent with time.

A faint noise, like the creaking of floorboards, echoed from somewhere in the house. You dismissed it at first, telling yourself it was just the old house settling, but then you heard it again, louder this time.

Your heart skipped a beat as you strained to listen, but the noise stopped as quickly as it had started. You glanced down at Abby, who was completely engrossed in the movie, blissfully unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Not wanting to alarm her, you kept your concerns to yourself.

Then, you heard something else.

footsteps.

They were faint, but distinct, coming from outside the house. You tensed, trying to discern where they were coming from, but they seemed to move too quickly, as if someone was running around the perimeter of the house.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Abby," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, "I'm just going to check on something, okay? I'll be right back"

She nodded absently, her eyes still glued to the screen. You gave her a reassuring smile before slipping off the couch and heading toward the front window. The footsteps had stopped, but you still felt uneasy. You moved carefully, peering out the window into the darkness beyond.

At first, you saw nothing, just the faint outline of the trees swaying in the night breeze. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw movement. A shadow, darting quickly between the trees. You blinked, trying to focus, but it was gone before you could be sure.

Your heart was pounding now, your grip tightening on the curtain. You leaned closer to the glass, scanning the yard for any sign of life, but the night was still, save for the rustling leaves.

You were just about to pull away when the phone rang, the sudden noise causing you to jump.

You cursed under your breath, feeling foolish for letting your nerves get the better of you, and hurried to answer the phone. "Hello?" you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Hey, it's me," Mike's familiar voice greeted you, instantly soothing some of your anxiety, "Is everything okay?"

You exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, though your voice still held a hint of the tension you'd been feeling. "What about you? How's work?

Mike sighed, the weariness in his voice evident even over the phone. "Boring. Me and the cameras tonight, keeping an eye on everything." He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. "I- I was thinking about you," he added, his tone shifting to something softer, more intimate.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Oh? And what were you thinking?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, and you could almost imagine him fidgeting, trying to find the right words. "Well, I was wondering if, you know, maybe later on, when Abby's asleep, you'd be up for... helping me out a bit? Like you did before I left."

You felt a spark of excitement at the idea. You knew exactly what he meant, and the thought of it made your pulse quicken.

"You mean... like phone sex?" you teased, keeping your voice low so Abby wouldn't overhear.

Mike chuckled softly, and you could hear the relief in his voice. "Yeah.. something like that. Only if you're up for it, of course."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. "I think I could be convinced," you replied, letting a playful edge slip into your tone. "Though I'm not sure you'll be able to focus on your job afterward."

"Who says I'm focused on it now?" he quipped back, his voice carrying that familiar blend of affection and humor that you loved so much.

You laughed quietly, feeling more at ease now than you had all evening. "Alright, you've got a deal. But I should probably warn you, Abby's still full of energy, so it might be a little while."

"That's okay," Mike said, his voice dropping to a lower, more suggestive tone. "Just thinking about it will keep me going until then."

There was a brief pause, and then Mike spoke again, his voice tinged with affection. "I love you, you know that?"

You felt your heart swell at his words. "I love you too, Mike. I'll see you soon."

You hung up the phone, feeling both relieved and anxious. The house was quiet again, but the sense of unease hadn't entirely dissipated. You quickly went around, double-checking that everything was locked, before returning to the living room where Abby was still watching her movie.

She looked up at you with a smile and you forced a smile back, trying to appear calm.

You couldn't help but glance at the window again, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure standing there.

But there was nothing. Just the dark, quiet night outside.

Eventually, Abby yawned, her small hand rubbing at her eyes. You glanced at the clock, realizing it was getting close to her bedtime.

"Alright, little artist," you said with a playful smile, gently taking the crayon from her hand. "I think it's time to start winding down."

You helped her gather up the crayons and paper, placing them neatly on the table for her to continue tomorrow. Then, you guided her to the bathroom to brush her teeth, her small hand warm in yours as you led her through the bedtime routine.

Once Abby was ready for bed, you tucked her in, pulling the blankets up to her chin as she snuggled into her pillow.

"Are you okay, Abby?" you asked softly, wanting to make sure she wasn't picking up on any of the tension you were feeling.

She nodded sleepily, a small smile on her lips. "I'm okay. I like when you're here," she said, her eyes earnest as she looked up at you.

She snuggled deeper into the blankets, her eyes never leaving yours. "Because Mike smiles more.”

The statement caught you slightly off guard, but you smiled gently, curious about what she meant. "He does? What do you mean, Abby?"

Abby nodded earnestly, her face serious as she explained. "He doesn't smile a lot, you know. But when you're here, he does. Sometimes it's just a little one, like he's trying to hide it. But I can see it."

"He talks about you a lot too," Abby continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if she was sharing a secret. "Like when we're having breakfast or when he's helping me with my homework. He misses you when you're at college," Abby added, her brow furrowing slightly as she recalled something else.

"He gets grumpy sometimes when you're not here. He doesn't say it. He doesn't laugh as much, and he's more quiet."

You reached out and gently squeezed her hand, feeling an overwhelming sense of love for both her and Mike. "Thank you for telling me that, Abby. It means a lot to hear that. Sweet dreams, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured, already drifting off as her eyes fluttered shut.

You stayed there for a moment, watching her breathe softly, her small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. There was something so peaceful, so innocent about her in that moment, and it only made you more determined to protect her, to keep her safe no matter what.

Finally, you quietly slip out of the room and close the door behind you.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the lamp in the living room.

You made your way back to the couch, intending to relax for a bit, maybe read a book or watch something lighthearted to take your mind off things.

But as you settled onto the couch, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had been growing since Mike left. It wasn't anything specific, just a gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, like something wasn't quite right.

You tried to push it away, focusing on the book you'd brought with you, but the words seemed to blur together, your mind too distracted to make sense of them.

After a few minutes, you gave up, setting the book aside and leaning back against the cushions with a sigh. And that's when you noticed it. A flicker of movement outside the window, just at the edge of your vision.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes darted to the window. For a moment, there was nothing, just the reflection of the room in the glass.

But then you saw it again, a shadow passing by, quick and almost imperceptible.

You stood up slowly, moving towards the window with cautious steps, trying to convince yourself that it was nothing, maybe just a trick of the light or an animal passing by.

But as you reached the window and peered out into the darkness, you saw it again this time, clearer.

A figure, moving through the shadows, too close to the house to be anyone just passing by.

Your heart began to race, your pulse pounding in your ears as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing.

You backed away from the window, moving quickly but quietly through the house to check the locks on the doors. The front door was secure, as was the back door, but the uneasy feeling in your chest only grew stronger.

You returned to the living room, trying to decide what to do next. Should you call Mike? The police? You didn't want to overreact, but the thought of someone lurking outside the house, especially with Abby asleep in the next room, was enough to make your blood run cold.

And then, as if to confirm your worst fears, you heard a faint scratching sound, like something sharp scraping against wood.

It was coming from the back door.

Panic surged through you, your hands trembling as you fumbled for the phone.

You quickly dialed the number of the eerie place Mike was working in, your heart racing as the phone rang in your ear.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"There's someone outside," you whispered, your voice shaking with fear. "I think they're trying to get in."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a soft curse. ""I’ll call the police and then head over. Don't open the door for anyone except me, okay? I'm on my way.” Mike instructed, his voice firm despite the worry you could hear.

You hung up, your mind racing as you quickly moved towards Abby's room. The scratching at the back door grew louder, more insistent, but you forced yourself to focus on getting Abby to safety.

"Abby, sweetheart, wake up," you whispered urgently as you shook her gently. She stirred, blinking sleepily up at you.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"We're going to play a game," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear that was threatening to overwhelm you. "We're going to hide, and you have to be really, really quiet, okay?"

She nodded, her wide eyes staring up at you, filled with trust. Her innocence made your heart ache, but you pushed that feeling down, focusing on the task at hand. You gently move towards her "secret fort."

You helped her crawl inside, making sure she was comfortable and well-hidden under layers of blankets. The space was cramped, barely big enough for her small frame, but you knew it was the safest place for her. You reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, giving her a reassuring smile even though your insides were twisting with fear.

"Stay here, Abby," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "No matter what happens, stay here until I come back for you. Don't make a sound, okay?"

Abby nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line as she did her best to be brave. "I'll be really quiet," she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly.

You smiled at her, trying to mask the fear you felt, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Good girl," you said softly, your heart breaking as you closed the fort, hiding her from view.

You stood there for a moment, your hand resting on the top of the dresser, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The house was too quiet now, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage as you strained to hear any sound that might give away the intruder's location.

You knew you couldn't stay in Abby's room, it was too risky. If the intruder found you, there was a chance he would discover Abby, and you couldn't let that happen.

He seemed to know how to move in this situations, locking her room from the inside would just trap you in it.

You had to draw him away from her, give her as much of a chance as possible to stay hidden.

With every muscle in your body tensed, you quietly slipped out of Abby's room and moved toward the hallway. The shadows seemed to shift and dance around you, the darkness feeling thicker, more oppressive than before. You paused at the door, listening intently.

The scratching had stopped, replaced by the sound of footsteps moving through the house.

He was inside.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense as you listened.

The footsteps were getting closer, each one sending a fresh wave of fear crashing over you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to decide what to do.

You moved quietly but quickly down the hallway, each step measured and precise. You didn't dare make a sound. The house now felt like a trap, each corner a potential hiding place for the intruder. You reached Mike's bedroom door and slipped inside, closing it gently behind you.

Mike's room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the thin curtains.

You pressed your back against the wall beside the door, your breath shallow and rapid. You could hear the intruder's footsteps growing louder, closer. The sound sent a chill down your spine. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, but every idea seemed more desperate and hopeless than the last.

And then the footsteps stopped, just outside Abby's room.

Your heart lurched in your chest, your breath catching as you realized the intruder was inside Abby's room. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you searched for any possible thing to hit the man.

You knew you had to stay hidden,but when you heard the faint rustling sounds coming from Abby's room, your heart sank. You peered through the small crack in the door, barely daring to breathe as you saw the intruder crouching down beside Abby's bed, carefully placing something under it. The glint of metal caught your eye. A knife, long and sharp, was placed there deliberately.

Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was doing.

He was planting evidence.

Trying to make it look like Mike was keeping dangerous items where a child could find them. He wasn't just trying to scare you, he was trying to destroy Mike.

The intruder moved with an unsettling calmness, methodically working through the room as if he had all the time in the world. He opened Abby's dresser and placed something inside, something small and white that you couldn't quite make out.

Pills, likely. Perhaps the prescription Mike had mentioned in passing, the ones he rarely touched now but kept for nights when the insomnia got too bad.

Anger flared in your chest, hot and consuming, as you watched the intruder desecrate Abby's room, turning it into a scene of fabricated neglect.

How could someone do this?

How could they be so heartless, so cruel?

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes darting to where Abby was hidden, ensuring she was well-concealed. As your foot stepped down on the floor, it creaked loudly, shattering the silence.

His covered head snapped up instantly, and your eyes locked for a heartbeat before you jerked your head back inside the room.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, each one faster and more urgent than the last, echoing ominously through the hallway.

Panic surged through you. There was nothing here, nothing even remotely close to a weapon. He was getting closer.

The door creaked as it was slowly opened, the movements of the man careful and deliberate. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

But it was too late.

His eyes swept the room, and in the dim light, they locked onto you.

For a heartbeat, time stood still. Your eyes met the intruder’s, and in that instant, you saw the raw terror flicker in his gaze as he realized he was caught. The silence was shattered as he lunged at you, his movements frantic and desperate. His hands, cold and clammy, reached out to stifle your scream.

The force of his attack sent you crashing on the floor, your head slamming into the floor with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in your skull, your vision blurring as you tried to fight back, your hands pushing at him, your nails clawing at his arms in a desperate attempt to break free.

His hands found your throat, squeezing with a terrifying intensity, cutting off your air.

You gasped, your lungs burning as you struggled to breathe, but his grip only tightened.

The world around you began to spin, the edges of your vision darkening as your strength started to fade.

You fought with everything you had, your survival instinct kicking in as you tried to pry his hands off your neck, but it was no use. He was nearly double your size, his weight blocking you down on the floor, his strength overwhelming.

Your vision tunneled, and the last thing you saw before the darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling eyes of the intruder. Your hands fell limp, your body going still as the fight drained out of you.

The pressure on your throat increased, and then...

nothing.

A loud crack echoed in the room, followed by a muffled scream of pain.

The intruder convulsed violently as a muffled scream of pain erupted from behind his mask. He stumbled backward, away from your lifeless form, writhing on the floor as the electrical current tore through him.

Mike stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury. He held the taser that Vanessa had given him for protection after Abby was taken at Freddy's, and he was already moving towards the intruder, who was writhing on the floor, his screams of agony muffled by the mask he wore.

He lunged forward, pushing the intruder back on the floor with his body as he tried to get back up. His fists rained down on the intruder’s face with ferocity, each punch fueled by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation.

His grunts filled the room, each one punctuating the brutal force of his blows. There was no mercy in his movements, only the desperate need to protect, to punish.

The intruder's attempts to fight back grew weaker with each passing second, his body limp and barely responsive under Mike's relentless assault. His fists were driven by something primal, something that transcended reason or logic.

The world had taken too much from him already, and he refused to let it take any more.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as Mike continued his brutal assault, his rage all consuming.

But then, as if from a great distance, something cut through the fog of his anger. A small, almost imperceptible movement, a gentle touch on his shoulder. His body tensed, but he hesitated for just a fraction of a second. The rhythm of his punches faltered, the force behind them weakening as a different kind of awareness began to seep into his mind.

Mike's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with exertion. His fists hovered above the broken, bloodied form of the intruder, shaking with the effort it took to hold back.

His vision was blurred, the world around him slowly coming back into focus. The room was a mess, blood staining the floor and the walls, and there, just within his line of sight, was you watching him, your eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place.

Mike turned to you, his hands trembling as they reached out to touch your face, as if to make sure you were really there, really okay.

"I thought... I thought I lost you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Without another word, he pulled you into a deep, desperate hug, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as the adrenaline slowly faded.

Mike buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "you’re okay... you’re okay...”

Mike pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching your face as if needing to see for himself that you were really there, that you were really okay. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks.

His eyes flicked to the bruises on your neck.

"I'm okay," you reassured him, though the pain in your throat made it hard to speak.

"I love you," Mike murmured into your hair, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache

"I love you too," you whispered back, feeling a sense of peace wash over you despite everything that had happened.

After a few moments, Mike reluctantly let go, his gaze shifting to the unconscious intruder on the floor. The man was still breathing, though barely, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths.

You moved back to the fort where Abby was still hidden, her small form curled up under the blankets you hide her in. Gently, you knelt down beside her. She was asleep, her breathing soft and steady, unaware of the terror that had unfolded just outside her door. You carefully scooped her up into your arms, holding her close as you carried her out of the room.

Once the intruder was tied up and secure, Mike returned to you, his expression softening he saw you with Abby and he reached out, brushing a hand gently over her hair. "She's okay?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, smiling softly. "She slept through the whole thing. She doesn't know."

Mike let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drained from him. "Good," he murmured. "That's good."

The sound of approaching sirens filled the air, growing louder as they neared the house.

The authorities arrived quickly and the intruder was taken away. He soon confessed to being someone hired by Mike's aunt in a desperate attempt to discredit him.

The police officer's words felt distant as you replayed the night's events in your mind. It was only when you felt Mike's hand squeeze yours that you were pulled back to the present.

"Let's get you checked out," Mike said softly, concern still evident in his voice as he led you to the waiting ambulance.

You nodded, exhaustion finally catching up to you as you allowed him to guide you outside. The cool night air hit your face, a stark contrast to the warmth of Mike's hand holding yours.

The paramedics were gentle as they checked you over, their hands moving carefully as they assessed the bruises on your neck and the minor injuries you'd sustained during the struggle. Mike stayed by your side the entire time, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos of the night.

When they were finished, Mike helped you into the back of the ambulance, where you sat together, the silence between you filled with a thousand unspoken words. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close.

His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of what could have happened was too much to bear. "I couldn't lose you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not you, not Abby. You both mean everything to me."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to gently touch his face, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his cheek. "We're okay, Mike," you said softly, your voice filled with a quiet strength. "We're safe. And we'll get through this together."

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[agatharkn3ss]

Witch references: Lorelei

As I continue having fun with finding the little references hidden all across Agatha's episodes, I keep finding lots of allusions to stories of alleged witches and women persecutions. They are just too delicious not to share and I wonder if there are any similarities we can draw between these stories and what we are seeing in the show.

In this post I will focus on the legend of Lorelei. I found her reference in episode 2, when Agatha enters her living room. There is a prominent painting on the wall to the left.

After some editing and searching I finally found it! The painting is called "The Lorelei" by Albert Pinkham Ryder.

The painting is based on a poem by Heinrich Heine:

"The Lorelei"

What is it that fills me with sadness And weighs down my spirits like lead? An old story that drives me to madness For I can’t get it out of my head.

Through the gorge, a deep river is flowing; The air cools, soon day will be done; Westwards, the cliff-tops are glowing In the rays of the setting sun.

And then, if you lift your eyes higher. You can pick out a figure up there: Her jewels are shining like fire, And she’s combing her long golden hair.

Her combing is slow and erotic, And so is the flow of her song: The melody’s strangely hypnotic, And her voice is compellingly strong.

The man at the helm gives a shiver As fear strikes his heart like a stone. He’s now blind to the rocks in the river; She transfixes his eyes with her own.

That then is the story’s sad ending. And the helmsman’s as well, I’d surmise; And if anyone’s case needs defending It is the Lorelei’s.

In her legend, Lorelei was accused of being a witch, because men lost their heads because of her. But even the priest was not immune to her charms, so he did not send her to death, but to the monastery. On the way to the monastery, accompanied three knights, she came to a rock above the river Rhine. She begged permission from her companions to look down on the river once more, to see where her beloved who had left her had gone. She threw herself from the rock into the deep, and her three companions jumped after her The cliff has forever retained the echo of its name.

So in folklore, Lorelei became an evil seductress who lives on a large rock above the Rhine River. Much like the sirens of Greek mythology, she beguiles sailors with her singing, luring their ships to destruction.

Lorelei's story is an example of a woman being persecuted for her looks, then turned into a femme fatale character, to suggest she was evil all along.

If you think about it, the archetype of "femme fatale" fits the definition of a witch to the dot - "a beautiful, and seductive woman whose charms ensnare her lovers, often leading them into compromising, deadly traps. Her ability to enchant, entice and hypnotize her victim with a spell was in the earliest stories seen as verging on supernatural; hence, the femme fatale today is still often described as having a power akin to an enchantress, seductress, witch, having power over men. Femmes fatales are typically villainous, or at least morally ambiguous, and always associated with a sense of mystification, and unease."

I will leave it to you for your own interpretations - this could be just an homage to the women's tragic stories throughout the ages. Or maybe Agatha relates to the story because of her own experience. Or that maybe the story has some truth to it and Agatha actually has some connections with the events. It could even be a nod to the character of Rio. Who knows?...

[albaricomics]

Who do you think proposed, nacha or Francis? And what do you think the wedding was like?

BTW AHHH I LOVE UR ART U ARE THE BEST TNMN ARTIST AND ARE OUR QUEEN😭🙏♥️

OHGOSH THE PROPOSAL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!

I think they had gone on for at least two years, but honestly, Francis knew Nacha was the one from the first 2 seconds he glanced at her. He was on his knees for her since 💘

He was never the type to do big extravagant things or gifts for anyone (unlike Izaack), Nacha knew this since their first anniversary was just walking out, watching a movie and having the entire day for them, simple date, and she was fine with it

But for the proposal my DUDE worked his a$$ out to get the shiniest, most pretty-looking ring, and a very unique one because if it was hit by the sun, the reflections would show the colors of Nacha's eyes

Such a pretty ring you'd get lost in if you stared for too long, just like he got lost in her eyes all the time

So there she was, sitting at a table of the restaurant where they met; (1941) she used to work there as one of the chefs, the man in charge of receiving food and supplies didn't show up, so Nacha was assigned to do that too (besides all the cooking, ugh yk). A knock on the door made her rush to open and just get done with this delivery already, or else her soup will boil up. Door opened, and a "mmm, hello-" just stop abruptly, and somehow the very visibly tired man's eyes managed to widen, focused on Nacha's. Francis was used to just have a man pick up the milk bottles into the place and be done in just a couple minutes, so this was a very... pleasant shocking surprise. She also forgot how irritated she was just seconds ago, being honest it was nice to see someone closer to her age around here. And so it all started.

(1943) After some minutes of Nacha making circles at the top of her wine glass with her hand, Francis arrived... different. He wasn't in his usual half-asleep mood, he looked very much awake, happy to see her and even a bit nervous. She had to ask what's up with him, they were just having dinner, right? He was up to something, holding himself from letting whatever the secret was slip, and just said he ordered for both and it should arrive anytime. I the meantime, trying to calm things (and himself) down, they chatted on all the wonderful things they've happened to live together, what they've learned from each other, and before they could go on with thinking about the future, a waiter stopped the music machine to turn on the radio; a familiar voice was reading this very specific, romantic poem that was read to Nacha, in one of her dates with Francis...

As she realized, she turned to Francis, who was on one knee already, and now exposing a big flower bouquet he'd hidden in his back; words coming out of his mouth were just revealing how pure his feelings for her really were. As he was done and getting to say "today, I have something very special to ask you...", same waiter came with a silver platter, she took off the lid, and an opened little box with a diamond ring was there, along with a note that said:

"My sun,

... would you marry me?"

The excitement she felt was undescribable, a frantic YES!! was all she could say through her tears and excited jumps, immediately hugging/kissing him (which was a very moving scene for anyone who was there, clapping and cheering filled the place.

The wedding, ooh! Just as beautiful as you can imagine, her dress was pure white with a long tail, golden hour sunlight framing their first husband/wife kiss perfectly 🧡💕

[smash-64]

2024 Game of the Year Countdown #2: The Legend of Heroes: Trails in the Sky Sony PlayStation Portable, 2011

According to my save data, I have not played the first installment of the Trails series in six years! This is quite astounding since I think about Trails on the daily, and going in with all the knowledge I have picked up since last playing it, I am fully enjoying all the little bits of lore that are continually sprinkled throughout the dialogue and story. It makes me wonder exactly how much of the larger story had been planned out when Trails in the Sky was initially released in 2004, as we have now celebrated 20 years of this ongoing and highly interconnected series of 13 games (11 localized). 

Trails in the Sky for the PSP is very much an older style JRPG that would feel at home on the PS1 during the Golden Age of JRPGs. Going back to play it after playing the most modern games reminds me of how much the patience of players has been eroded over the years. You can’t skip battle animations. Menu navigating is slow and saving is slower. There is only a very small amount of voice acting, all reserved for combat phrases and grunts. However, these are simply part of the charm of games from this era, and something that I became accustomed to very quickly. 

The inclusion of voice acting in modern games is a great thing, but I think it can take away from the wonderfully depicted character portraits that are full of emotion and nuance as developers have seemingly decided that having both is not necessary. Falcom has yet to reach the same heights with their 3D animation that they had with these 2D portraits. The subtle differences are really cool and I wish we’d get some sort of return to this at some point. Maybe some sort of mini-installment as a flashback DLC or something? I doubt we’d ever get something like that, but I can always wish.

The first Trails in the Sky game, commonly referred to as FC (First Chapter), is undoubtedly the slowest of slow burns when it comes to JRPGs and Trails games, which is really a thing to behold since Trails prides itself on such things. If you want fast, high-flying and nonstop action, you’re going to be sorely disappointed in this game. Luckily, I was not looking for anything other than a fantastic story and world into which I could dive and be fully immersed. Sky FC is the most charming and immersive entry point to the Trails series. I found myself genuinely wanting to spend time just existing in the Trails world. Walking the streets, visiting the restaurants, seeing the sights, watching the plays. I want to live here!

Estelle Bright remains my all time favorite video game character, and getting to see her grow from a young and inexperienced rookie to a more level-headed senior Bracer by the end of FC was a joy for me. The charm and endearing dialogue that we got in the Sky series has yet to be matched, despite the great work we’ve seen in the Crossbell and Erebonian arcs.

There’s just something that has been somewhat lost as the stories and settings have become larger and with dozens upon dozens of characters. I won’t go too far down that road, but it was refreshing to come back to a much more intimate journey once again.

Players who did not start with Trails in the Sky may find the combat to be a bit difficult at times, especially on higher settings since the games weren’t balanced for anything other than Normal. Aidios help you if you decide to play on Nightmare! I played on Hard with my NG+ save and still had to restart a couple of fights. I didn’t exactly make it easy on myself since I brought the precious cinnamon roll, but absolute glass cannon, Tita Russell, with me to the final gauntlet of boss fights, but I couldn’t pass up putting all my favorites together.

Music plays a key role in JRPGs and Falcom is well known for good compositions. Simple location tunes set the tone wonderfully with songs like “A Cat Relaxing in the Sun” and “Ruan.” Meanwhile, “Sophisticated Fight,” while perhaps a bit overplayed, is a nice break from what many traditional JRPG battle tunes sound like. “Silver Will” is an obligatory inclusion in any Sky music discussion, and “Decision to Leave” brings a soft, sad, distant piano sound to a key moment. However, my favorite is still “Hoshi no Arika,” the song that plays during the credits and closing shots. It fits the mood perfectly and brings a tear to my eye as the game rips me in two, demanding I play the sequel once I recover.

Trails in the Sky is just as good today as it was when I first played it, and it continues to be the best entry point to the Trails series, should anyone who has been blatantly ignoring my pleas for the past few years decided to change their minds. It exudes the same sort of feeling that the Golden Age of JRPGs had and that many people desperately miss in modern gaming. With the announcement of a 3D remake coming in 2025, there is no longer the “it looks old” excuse for JRPG fans. 

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 8. REPRIEVE BEFORE THE STORM

❝When all seems lost, it is the smallest hands and strongest hearts that guide us home.❞

Warrior M.List

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Countdown: 0 years and 2 months remaining

The sun was warm and gentle as it bathed the courtyard in golden light; the gentle hum of bees and rustling of leaves painting a serene backdrop.

You sat on a cushioned bench cradling baby Telemachus as he blinked lazily at the world around him.

His tiny hand curled instinctively around your finger causing you to coo more over him, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

He was mesmerizing—a perfect blend of his parents.

Dark unruly curls framed his cherubic face as his honey-brown eyes glinted in the sunlight—well...most of them. There, in his left iris, a splash of vibrant blue stood out against the brown like a shard of the Aegean sky—Odysseus's unmistakable mark on his son.

"Look at you," you murmured, brushing a gentle finger across his impossibly soft cheek. "You're going to grow into a strong one little Prince. Just like your mother."

The sound of wood striking wood drew your attention. Across the courtyard, Penelope was sparring lightly with a wooden staff, her movements sharp and deliberate.

She wore a simple chiton tied high to allow freedom of movement, her dark hair pinned back with golden cuffs that caught the sunlight with each turn of her head.

Her strikes were slower than usual, almost as if testing the strength of her recovering body. Yet every swing carried the precision and grace that defined her—each step calculated, her posture perfectly aligned.

Still you frowned, unable to keep your concern at bay.

"You know," you raise your voice just enough for her to hear, "you don't have to train like you're preparing for war. You just had a baby less than a month ago. Your body needs time to recover."

Penelope paused mid-swing, her chest rising and falling as she turned to face you. A single eyebrow arched and a faint smirk curved her lips.

"Are you telling me I should be resting?" she asked teasingly, though her tone carried a challenge that was hard to ignore.

"I'm suggesting you take it slow," you replied, adjusting your hold on Telemachus as he let out a soft coo. "Ithaca can survive without you wielding a sword for a little while longer."

Penelope chuckled, planting the tip of the practice blade against the ground and leaning on it. "Perhaps, but I've never been one to sit idle," She shifted her weight, the staff creaking faintly under her hand. "Besides, I'm older than you. I think I know my limits better than most."

You snorted, brushing a hand lightly over Telemachus' soft curls, marveling at their softness. "Hardly. And if I recall, age doesn't excuse recklessness."

Her lips twitched, her usual composure breaking just enough to let a smile peek through. "Recklessness?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Coming from the person who once fell into the river trying to prove they could fish with their bare hands?"

"That was one time!" you shot back indignantly.

"Uh-huh," she said, her smirk widening. "And how many times have I pulled you out of trouble now? Five? Six?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the grin tugging at your lips. "Fine. If you must, Queen Penelope," you said with an exaggerated bow of your head. "But if you pull something, don't come crying to me."

Penelope laughed warmly, the sound filling the courtyard, warm and unrestrained. It softened her sharp edges, momentarily chasing away the weight of responsibility she always seemed to carry.

Sheathing the wooden blade back in its rack, she walks over to you, her gaze softening as she looks at Telemachus. She kneels beside you, reaching out to brush a finger over his tiny hand that still clung to your own.

Her touch was feather-light—almost reverent, and her honeyed eyes softened as they lingered on her son. "He looks so much like Odysseus," she says fondly, her smile tinged with a trace of longing.

Before you could respond the doors to the courtyard burst open with a loud thud, shattering the peace.

A man stumbles in panting. His short wavy hair clung damply to his forehead and his spectacles sat askew on his nose threatening to slip off entirely.

His tunic was rumpled—one shoulder slipping slightly—as he braced himself against the doorway, his chest heaving as though he'd sprinted across the entire palace grounds.

"Penelope!" he gasped, his voice cracking with urgency.

Your brows furrowed at the casual use of her name. Very few dared to address the Queen of Ithaca so directly, even fewer without a proper title.

Penelope, however, immediately straightened from her position as her expression shifted to one of concern. The shift was subtle but unmistakable—a softening in her eyes that only occurred when someone she trusted was in trouble.

"Polites?" she asked, taking a measured step forward. "What's wrong? I thought you were with Odysseus."

You cast her a questioning glance, your arms instinctively tightening around the baby nestled against your chest causing the babe to stir slightly.

Penelope caught your look and offered a faint apologetic smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"____, this is Polites," she explained, nodding toward the disheveled man. "One of Odysseus's closest allies—his childhood friend actually. You'd have met him sooner if you'd joined us on our honeymoon voyage. He was part of the crew on the ship."

Her lips quirked into a smile and she raised a teasing eyebrow. Still holding Telemachus, you shot her a scathing glare.

"And be forced to watch you and Odysseus suck faces the entire time?" you retorted. "No thank you. It was bad enough hearing him brag nonstop about how he 'won' you."

Penelope blinked as her smirk faltered. But you didn't stop there. A wicked grin tugged at your lips as you leaned into the opportunity.

"Honestly it's a miracle I didn't lose my appetite," you said, your voice dripping with faux annoyance. "He wouldn't shut up about how he, a younger man, managed to win over a Queen older than him. How it was such a pity that men her age—or even older—couldn't compete for her favor. He said they couldn't match his charm, his wit, his everything." You paused for dramatic effect. "'The cusp of adulthood,' I think he called it at the time."

Penelope froze.

Her teasing mask, so carefully maintained, cracked just enough for you to catch the faint pink rising in her cheeks.

"He—" she started, her voice uncharacteristically strained, "he did not—"

"Oh but he did," you cut in, savoring the rare sight of her flustered. Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, student of the God of War Ares, was struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Her lips parted as if to reply but she quickly snapped them shut again, her cheeks deepening in color. It was as if a memory of Odysseus's shameless boasting had appeared in her mind.

Your grin sharpened and you couldn't resist twisting the knife just a little more. "It's alright Penelope," you said in mock reassurance. "He's very proud of you. And himself of course. You should hear the way he talks about it to anyone who'll listen."

Penelope let out a mortified groan as she presses a hand to her face—as if that might somehow erase her blush. "You're insufferable...just as he is," she muttered, though there was no venom in her words.

Your lips curled into a victorious smirk. Rarely did you get the upper hand in your playful sparring with Penelope. But when you did, the retribution was all the sweeter.

With a contented sigh, you finally turned back to Polites who had been surprisingly standing there silently throughout the entire exchange.

Polites seemed frozen in place. His shoulders rigid as if he'd been turned to stone. Already flushed from exertion, the faint sunlight streaming into the courtyard illuminated the deep berry-red flush that crept across his cheeks.

He was staring. His wide amber-colored eyes fixated on you.

It was almost comical, the way he seemed unable to decide where to look, his expression an odd mix of awe and panic.

They flickered from your face to Telemachus, then back again—almost as if committing every detail to memory; the curl of your hair, the tilt of your head, the way you cradled the newborn.

His chest rose and fell with a tremor that betrayed his nervousness.

"You're awfully quiet," you remarked dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Don't tell me you have something to add to Odysseus's tales of conquest."

The sharpness of your tone jolted him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "Uh—n-no! Not at all!" he stammered, shaking his head so vigorously that his glasses slipped lower on his nose. "I—um—Odysseus may have...mentioned a thing or two..."

"Polites!" Penelope says snaps as she sends him a warning look, her blush still faintly visible.

"Right! Yes! Back to—uh—why I'm here," he said hurriedly, practically tripping over himself as he tried to steer the conversation back on track. "My name—it's Polites!"

"I already know who you are," you said curtly, cutting him off before he could launch into a rambling introduction.

Polites hesitated before letting out a weak defeated "Right," straightening his posture as best as he could, the Kefalonian born soldier adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand.

The action gave him a brief semblance of control as he cleared his throat and turned fully toward the Queen in what you assumed was meant to be in confidence.

It didn't last long. He couldn't resist sending one more nervous glance in your direction only to cause his composure to falter again.

"Well um," he began gesturing vaguely as though the words might materialize if he waved his hands enough. "It was the uh, hunt! The celebratory hunt for Prince Telemachus! We—uh—Odysseus and I—we were out on the hunt you see and uh..."

Polites trailed off, his eyes darting around as if searching for the right thing to say. "We were setting traps—hare traps really," he added quickly, as if this clarification was of vital importance. "The thing about hares is that they're quite clever. Did you know Ithaca has over—"

"Polites." Penelope's voice was sharper this time, cutting through his rambling like a whip. "Focus. What happened?"

"Right! Yes! Focus!" he echoed as though trying to rein in his scattered thoughts. "So um the rookies—the new recruits—they were...uh messing around. Fooling with the arrows at the campsite—you know, trying to show off their aim. Which, by the way, was terrible. I mean their form? Absolutely abysmal—no discipline in their stances, no understanding of how to nock an arrow properly..."

He trailed off upon catching the pointed looks on both your and Penelope's faces. Realizing he'd strayed again he started speaking faster now, as if rushing to get the words out before his nerves got the better of him.

"And one of them—Zeus help him—let an arrow loose!" Polites blurted, his hands flailing in a panicked gesture. "It—it was headed straight for me but Odysseus—he—he pushed me out of the way."

The air seemed to still.

Your breath hitched, a cold knot forming in your stomach. "...What?"

"Odysseus pushed me out of the way," he repeated in a shaky voice. "And he...he took the arrow instead."

Penelope's honey-brown eyes widened in shock. For the first time in years she looked genuinely taken aback.

Polites flinched at your combined reactions; his hands waving frantically in an attempt to explain. "H-he's alive!" he said quickly, his voice pitching higher in his panic. "The arrow hit his leg—it's bad but he's alive. They're bringing him back now!"

You released a shaky breath as the tightness in your chest loosened ever so slightly. Beside you, Penelope's expression shifted, the initial shock giving way to a steely determination.

"Where?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

"Almost at the gates," Polites replied, his voice still trembling. "I—I ran ahead to tell you."

Penelope's jaw tightened, her expression unreadable as she turned toward the palace gates. "____," she said softly, her voice calm but commanding. "Take Telemachus inside. I need to meet him."

You hesitated, torn between instinct to protect her and duty to the child in your arms. "Be careful," you murmured.

She didn't reply.. Her focus was already fixed on the horizon, her steps purposeful as strode away. Polites lingered for a moment, casting you a nervous glance before scurrying after her.

As you turned back toward the palace, Telemachus' small weight pressed against your chest, you couldn't shake the unease curling in your gut.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The soft golden light of midday streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the spacious chamber.

You sat on a cushioned bench near the balcony, cradling Telemachus in your arms as a gentle breeze wafted in, carrying with it the scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens below.

The rhythmic chirping of distant birds blended harmoniously with the infant's soft coos, creating an air of serenity that belied the tension brewing beyond these walls.

Eryna, the wet nurse, stood nearby with her hands folded neatly in front of her. She hovered as if ready to assist, though she rarely needed to. Telemachus seemed to prefer your arms and Eryna had grown accustomed to allowing you to handle him most of the time.

As you rocked the baby gently, his eyes began to flutter close as he dozed off. "You're just like your father," you whispered with a silent huff of laughter. "Except you actually sleep quietly."

Your musings were interrupted by the quiet creak of the chamber door. You glanced over your shoulder to see Penelope standing there, her hand still on the doorframe.

Her face was pale, her features drawn with an exhaustion that went beyond mere lack of sleep. Her shoulders, always held high and proud, slumped just slightly, as if the weight of the world had grown too heavy.

And her eyes—usually sharp and calculating—were clouded with something heavy...something that made your chest tighten instinctively.

"Penelope," you said softly, adjusting Telemachus in your arms as you rose to greet her.

Eryna, catching the unspoken weight in the room, gave a respectful bow and quietly left without a word.

Penelope walked further in, her steps slow and deliberate. She didn't look at you at first, her gaze fixed on the floor as if the act of lifting her head was too much to bear.

When she reached the chair beside yours, she sank into it, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. Your stomach twisted. It wasn't often that Penelope let her composure crack.

And when she did, it was never a good sign.

"What is it?" you asked gently, though you already suspected the answer.

The Spartan born Queen took a shaky breath, lowering her hands just enough to let them rest on her knees. "The arrow...it missed anything vital," she started slowly, her voice steady but brittle. "But it tore through the muscle and tendon. It's bad—he'll have a permanent limp."

She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line as her hands grip her knees. "By the time they got him back to the palace the wound had already started to fester. It wasn't as bad as it could've been but..."

Her voice cracked slightly as she trailed off and she shook her head.

"But he won't be able to lead in the war," you finished for her. She nods, unable to verbally answer.

You sat there for a moment, the gravity of the situation pressing down on you.

Odysseus sidelined by an injury. The man who was supposed to lead in the war to come. A permanent limp. A festering wound.

The implications churned in your mind, but it was the sight of Penelope—her hands trembling slightly, her breath shallow—that hurt the most.

"Where is he now?" you asked finally, your voice quieter than before.

"In the throne room," she said, leaning in the chair and closing her eyes briefly from the emotional tax of the day so far. "The council is pressing him for answers and plans, discussing what to do next."

Penelope lets out a soft bitter laugh—though it lacked any humor. "Meanwhile here I am: doing nothing but thinking about how close I came to losing him."

You nodded slowly as your mind raced with thoughts of what the council might suggest. Another leader? A delay in joining the war effort?

None of the options seemed promising.

Your gaze drift to Telemachus who had drifted into a peaceful slumber, his tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. Gently pressing a kiss to his forehead you rise to your feet.

"Eryna," you called softly.

The wet nurse reentered swiftly, her expression curious yet attentive. Cradling the babe as if he were the most precious treasure in the world, you passed Telemachus to her, your hands lingering for a moment as you adjusted the linen wrap around him.

"He likes to be swayed gently," you said softly, transferring him into her arms with practiced care. "And make sure to hum—he loves that. It helps him settle when he fusses. I won't be long."

Eryna nodded, offering a small smile as her arms adjust to support the baby Prince. "Of course my Lady."

Behind you Penelope's brows furrowed. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and exhaustion.

You turned back to her with a bright mischievous smile as your hands rest on your hips. "Why we're going to the throne room of course."

Penelope blinked. "...What?"

"To discuss all this war of Troy business," you replied breezily, your tone deceptively light. "Odysseus needs answers doesn't he? And since I know you're not going to sit here and let the council push him around without a fight, we might as well go together."

Penelope stared at you, her lips parting as if to argue. But no words came. Instead she let outs a quiet laugh and a shake of her head as she rose to her feet.

"You're...impossible," she muttered, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"That's why you keep me around," you shot back with a grin, already heading for the door.

As Penelope followed you out of the nursery the weight in her steps seemed a little lighter. The worry hadn't left her entirely—how could it?

But for the first time that day, you thought you saw a flicker of hope in her eyes.

[lucid-moon]

Golden Sun 2: Reloaded - Aqua Hydra

I'm mostly enjoying this romhack's balance changes - It definitely keeps me on my toes. I'm about to go fight Poseidon, but before that I want to get my thoughts on a page about the first Hard Boss Fight: Aqua Hydra, in Piers' ship.

This boss is pretty tough, with an increased hitpool, semi-regular debuffs and poisons, and two attacks(one fast, one slow), this is the first real filter. Because of its tendency to do regular AoE damage and the occasional Triple Chomp - if it targets Jenna with one of those to start a round and ends with AoE or another attack, you're in peril.

My strategy *requires* all Djinn available up to this point (4/4/4/5) and a primary AoE-Healer. I used Jenna, since Piers was on Shade duty every other turn. My party was all level 20-21 at this point.

*Speaking of Shade,* you really really really need the damage mitigation from it every other turn. The way to do this is fairly simple: Have someone keep a non-Mercury Djinn on Standby, and every turn that Piers uses Shade, have either your utility character or damage character (Felix/Sheba, I mostly used Felix for this) also Summon Mercury. This is why you need a non-Mercury Djinn set - so you can Summon using it the same turn as it's Unleashed. This allows you to keep up Tempo and have your character on Shade Duty do something every other turn that isn't just Ready'ing Shade. (E.g. Cure Poison. Because this fucker *will* poison a party member about every two to four turns.)

While you're having your Shade Duty and Mercury Duty party members do that and whatever else utility/damage on their off turns, your AoE healer must be casting a full-strength AoE heal, basically every turn. Either Healing Aura or Wish Well. I went with the option of giving Jenna all four non-Shade Mercury Djinn I had at the time so she could use Wish Well, since it heals more per cast. Running out of Psynergy isn't as much of an issue as a character randomly dying because they got Triple-Chomp'ed twice in a row from 80% health.

But it's not the end of the world when a party member dies - If Felix has four Venus Djinn he can Revive that party member on an off turn. Or hopefully you've managed to grab and save some Water of Life - don't feel bad about using it on this fight. Seriously, Reloaded is great for helping me get over my "but I might need this item *later*" thing, because I need it *now*.

I had Sheba have all four Jupiter Djinn available at the time for the respectable stat boost mostly. This left her available to use Ether every time Jenna started getting to about half Psynergy. Otherwise her main thing was to just Attack Aqua Hydra to death, or do misc. utility actions(Water of Life, Unicorn Ring(Seriously, this being AoE Cure Poison in Reloaded is *so* nice), Breath, etc.). She doesn't do *much* damage, but this strategy turns it into a war of attrition that allows you to grind down the Aqua Hydra, slowly but surely.

[iinafarawaygalaxii]

Star Wars | One Shot

Captain Rex x f!Reader

A Ghost For Prospect

Okay guys honestly, this just popped into my head while I was writing the fanfic and watching the newest episodes of bad batch (OMG! cries internally*) Soooo I thought Id share with the public, this will contain a couple small spoilers if you havent watched the bad batch yet and its a lil spicy so... read at your own discretion (:

MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: Captain Rex needs information for the sake of Omega and the remainder of the clones being tapped and tortured. He had no choice but to search for you, one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the settled systems and best information brokers in the galaxy. Knowing he didnt have the money to pay you off, he offered other ways to get the information he needed to save his family...

Warnings: 18+ Minors you should've stopped reading at the red

Word Count: 5.3k

Notes: I totally didnt proof read, my apologies. I left it on a cliff hanger because Im still debating on a part 2. Let me know if thats something yall would want!

Enjoy :D

After Omegas escape from Tantiss, the situation to save the clones and the galaxy from the empire grew more desperate. With the Captains headquarters destroyed from the enemies pursuit and now has lost more of his brothers- even the ones he saved that were killed by the blast, EVERYTHING started to crumble. Though because of this deadly sacrifice he now had evidence of the tests being administered to the clones, along with the mention of project 'x' and the need for m-count individuals, but still... no dots were connecting. What he needed was information, which made the finest soldier from the clone wars feel uneasy. 

Ever since order 66 the universe didn't make sense anymore. The lines drawn between good and evil became blurred when he learned what it was like to live free from a shackled organization, making his job... just that much harder. There was too much of a grey area with who or what to save, when or where to be- for instance, what he's doing now, bargaining with one of the most dangerous bounty hunters and information brokers in the galaxy.

You

The Captain stood with two other troopers before you, each their own unique persona. The soldier in blue with golden hair aged like the finest wine in the Corellian systems nearly made your mouth drop. Even just a glance at his build meant he cared for his body as much as his mission, standing stoic and resolved.... The way he looked at you with those honey brown eyes in caution though his gaze  remained soft and calm left you curious for more than wear. His look was formatted by a subtly of fearlessness that almost felt intimidating, showing you he meant business. Though, you did have to admire the man... tracking you down was not an easy feat and the way he waltzed in without hesitation unafraid of the deadly figures around him, turned you on.

The other troopers however, despite being clones, were extremely different. One in black armor had a socket arm in replacement of his own. The weird tubing and wiring attached to his head and neck meant he was either an experiment or a tool. His original color completely faded to a sickly white making you wonder if death itself stood at your door. Either way, he looked extremely sickly which was bad for business and the other well- he shared the captains same demeanor standing with the same amount of caution as they approach you, awaiting your recognition as you take a long gander at his slicked back hair and his muscles nearly protruding out of armor that seems like it lost its touch a while ago. He looked as standard as the clones come when first created nonetheless his sculpted brawny chest and shoulders meant he could probably lift you with ease, amongst other things.

Though you wouldn't doubt it, 

As you sat on the edge of the bar with a bottle of whiskey in hand basking in the warmth of the two suns that lit the planet dry. Your hideout or what the other women call the 'safe house' on Tatooine was directly built on an oasis. A towering open dome for natural lighting with the oasis itself directly in the middle that supplied not only water but bared fruit enough to feed the lot of them. Plants from all over the galaxy were found climbing the walls as if they'd been here for ages, thriving in an unfamiliar home just as much as the women you've brought and saved. It almost seemed like a vacation coming here after your missions and bounties. Surrounded by the finest women bounty hunters and the girls you've graciously saved across the galaxy. All in one spot enjoying the fruits of your labor. The women there looked up to you not only as a leader but as a dangerous figure not to be trifled with- filled with the upmost respect a single person can recieve. 

You were praised and well guarded. 

So when clones show up at your front door asking for something as trivial as information, it made you and the others laugh- hysterically. The eruption making the three soldiers look around in confusion, postering as if they missed something hearing the laughs grow into silence as you spoke up, "Do you know who I am trooper?”, You asked the man in blue hopping of the bar, regretfully, treading closer to him with the bottle of whiskey still in hand. "I do. If I'm not mistaken... They call you Ghost?"

You smiled

Taking a long swig of the bottle in hand before passing it off to one of the bartenders walking past. Your crew had their eyes glued on the men, ready to whip out their blasters on your command should anything or one cause trouble, leaving you worry free as you approach the soldier in your tipsy state. Most of the time, men crumble under the pressure each step you take towards them.... But not this man. Standing inches from him without a single reaction and although he had some height on you, 6 inches give or take, You favorite phrase came to mind...'The taller they are the harder they fall'. You leaned in with a flirty smile admiring his tenacity but with caution as you whispered, "Do you know why they call me that?", in his ear. You wanted to make him nervous as any man or creature who came in asking for the same things- to really test how badly they want that information and for a slight jest of play to assess them as a whole. You began to trace your fingers up his chest piece watching him, watch you. "No...", He uttered lowly and to your surprise he didn't react your touch at all. The gravity of his situation may be more intense than you thought, though it still didn't change anything. You were known as not only the most nefarious but the most devious of all hunters, next to Cad Bane. Using not only your charm and body to get answers but your mind and bronze to create beautiful plans to execute, to get the best rewards out of your missions and to be honest given his demeanor?

It made you want to break him 

In a blink of an eye you were gone, as if your presence there was just a illusion, tracing your finger alongside his back tck-ing from the disappointed response. "Its because the people I deal with seem to just.... disappear with me...". Though the words did not shock him. He knew what he was getting into the moment he ended up on your doorstep. Even with this in mind he still came which made you admire him more. You knew he was here to do business. You giggled trotting off to a large black velvet chair in the center of the room, a couple of twileks bringing you a martini made from one of the finest alcohols in the system. "Please... Help yourselves..." you waved your hand towards the soldiers, the twileks bringing them the same drinks who cautiously accepted them. The captain however… had little time for such niceties placing the glass on the table next to him as he made his way to the edge of the steps before you. "Thank you but ill decline. I came here seeking information. Can you help us or not?", He firmly asked. 

There was something about him- fearless, that turned you on. A malicious grin rose on your face as you tilted you head to announce that, "Everything comes with a price.", sipping the delicious drink that was made for the event, wondering what the man truly had to offer to be worth your time. "Im aware, name it." The troopers in the back finished theirs, bringing a suitcase full of credits up to the captain awaiting for their next order. You nodded for the twileks to check and count them ensuring their validity. After a moment of silence and a quick nod to you, you smiled asking what he needed “go on then…” you replied as you rested, listening to his request.

"The Empire is taking and torturing clones across the galaxy. They’re also after M-count individuals and my sources say youve hunted them and work closely with a man named Royce Hemlock. I need to know… where hemlock is stationed, what project X is, and the need for the m-count individuals”

Your face remained calm pausing between his request as you process whether it was worth* giving him that information. On top of that, what he requested could lead to dangers down the road which, in turn, would effect you and your... business as a whole. You didn’t want that type of attention.  "What you've given does not suffice for the information you requested”, You sipped your drink again twirling the orange liquid in your glass with a snide smile wondering how much you could squeeze out of him before you give anything as you watched his brows furrow with anger. In truth, he didnt need to know about project X, in fact no one does not even you because A: it doesnt concern you and B: no one knows about it....except maybe the man in front of you. But since you already knew his true goal from the spies you had under your thumb, it wasnt a sprise for him to ask such questions. However it wasnt worth the risk. Not to mention… information these days are just- expensive. It was wiser to get your moneys worth if you accept the risk. "Besides, thats not what youre really after…. You want to know the locations of the bases your brothers are free them and build an army large enough to ‘free the galaxy’, right?”, Your response sent a shock wave through the troopers. How did you know their plan?  Not to toot you’re own horn but- youre well… you

 "I imagine Omega is the prime target for the empire at the moment as well... considering how high her bounty is. My guess is... the m-count individual their after is her-" You paused tapping your cheek with curiosity grinning maliciously, "-Almost took it myself actually..." 

The captain placed a hand over his blaster forcing all the other bounty hunters to bring up theirs as everyone stood in a standstill waiting for blood to spill, "Calm down... Calm down-", You gestured your hands for everyone to sit and relax as you went to lean back in your chair with your legs crossed. "Theres no need for violence... Right, captain?", You raised your glass watching him slowly move away from his gun as you nodded finishing off your drink. "Right....", he uttered looking around to the other hunters who took their seats ready to pounce when the word is spoken. "Right. Anyways. I cannot give you what you offer.", You smiled, placing your glass on the stand next to you, getting up to take your leave before you heard footsteps behind and was captured by the wrist tightly, unable to move. 

The action pissed you off. 

You slowly turned back; the hunters who already captured the other two troopers are at gunpoint, had them on their knees behind making you glare up to the captain in pure rage. His grip grew tighter as the other hunters waited for your order for execution with over 30 blasters pointed your way. To kill or not to kill. "Please...", He begged and though you felt the sense of urgency you couldn't just let him go after that. It was time to make it very clear who you are. You quickly captured his arm bending it backwards. The action making him fall to one knee as you quickly grabbed his blaster at the same time, pinning it at his throat. You traced your lips across his neck hearing him groan from the pressure you were putting on his arm till you reached his ear growling to, "Never...touch me like that again….", and thus.... you had a choice, shoot the ignorant man or let him go. Though you didn’t want unnecessary death on your hands so the latter was chosen, flipping the blaster back into his holder and releasing your grip on his arm as he went to rub his shoulder. You nodded to the hunters to release the men having them thrown the heavy weights on the ground before you next to the captain. Their state? Pathetic. Their mission? Understandable. You weighed your options understanding that this war is what actually fuels you, enabling you to havee what you had today. If you stopped giving information now that would destroy your whole purpose. Plus...

Money

The devious smile returned to your face as you look down to the Captain whos eyes were set for murder, not making any action until you. Like a good boy. You kneeled down to him, cupping his cheek- inviting him to your office for being able to stand up to you which no ones ever dared to do.  simple reward really, gesturing for them to, "Follow me...” gesturing for them to trail behind as the twileks grabbed their helmets setting them at the entrance of your hideout, leading both you and the troopers to the upper floors. Upon entering the Captain was met with a sight to behold. The finest furniture some even lined with gold, in a giant open room. A wall area facing towards the sunset completely gone leading to an outside to a deck to overlook your resort. The beautiful trees sprouting from the crystal clear water in the center almost touched the deck itself allowing people to pick the natural fruits that grew. Your bedroom was attached to the office as well as the bathroom in an open concept layout with the ability to walk anywhere freely without a door. 

The twileks offered them seats though the captain preferred to stand watching you lean against the front desk as he waited for everyone to get comfortable. It was mentioned of your beauty across the star field but... not to this extent. The way your skin color highlighted the beauty in your eyes and how your hair waved from the light breeze coming in... it was hard for him not to be attracted to you. Considering you were in your leisure wear, a thin, airy dress that had no problem revealing your curves made the captain almost think it was a mistake coming here. Though you'd made sure he'd think otherwise before he left. After all amongst all the troopers you had seen and killed he was the finest of them all. 

You folded your arms learning against the front of the desk as you informed them that "What you paid.... is very little but because im feeling... generous-" You smirked answering his question sparingly as you walked slowly towards your desk tracing your fingers along the guest chairs that sat in front. The long pause leaving the captain in suspense as he follows captivated by your movement, “I will give you this... Yes Hemlock wants Omega but thats because his project cannot be completed without her or someone with a similar m count. Though Im not sure what the project is for, its practically...necromancy." 

"necromancy....what do you mean?"

"I dont know. Not my field of expertise but i will tell you that they will find omega with whatever or whomever it takes. Even me. Though my prices are high..." You checked your nails panning a malicious grin to the troopers who were all glaring from the comment ready to put the infamous ghost out on the spot, even if it meant risking their lives... "Don't worry boys, Just a joke. I don't hunt children...." One of the twileks handed you a pad gesturing them to bring 2 others from your safe. "This, however, Is what I can give you. Everything else....-“, you nodded over to the suitcase full of credits, “-You gotta pay." You winked as you handed the captain a slate with all the troopers under hemlocks experiments seeing not only the survivors but the ones who succumbed to the villainous torture. 

He closed his eyes and sighed, sad he couldn't free them from suffering before they passed making his mission much more critical. Even you could see that. He continued swiping through the data realizing that this only contained information about the troopers with non disclosed locations and nothing else. "Where were these troopers stationed..?" He asked you, raising an eyebrow. Though it was trivial to continue the conversation... a part of you genuinely wanted to help but you remained silent. "Ghost...-" he took a step forward, his troopers looking to each other as they watch the situation unfold with you perched up on your desk. Your hands bolstering you forward, presenting the strongest qualities of yourself. You tilted your head watching him inch closer to you, "Yes...?"

“Tell me…”

You saw a man solidified in his ideals, desperate for answers as anything beyond what he had would suffice at this point- and you knew that. As devious at it sounds, the real question was… payment. You opened your legs, scooting to the edge of the desk to get a closer look as you slide your hands up his chest piece to test his morals, wondering how you could slither past those values and take them apart...piece by piece. He watched your every move, wary but oddly turned on by the interaction waiting for you to make your next move as the troopers behind stood ready to shoot inching closer in fear for their leader- begging for a fight with one of their biggest enemies-

You. 

Bitting your lips, you gaze up to his eyes seeing them low and curious which was the perfect time to incite the siren in you. You slid your leg up the captains watching his walls break one by one as you felt his heart beat through the chest piece, “and… what will you give me?” 

“Anything”

He responded instantly bringing that same grin to your face recognizing that he was falling into your spell and like the vixen you are… it was very much obliged. “Anything?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching for the clip to his chest piece to pull yourself forward, whispering in his ear as you felt his hands creep up your thighs sending waves of electricity throughout your body with the hidden slit in your skimpy now revealing your soft skin below, his thoughts began to capsize making him get that much closer to falling into your trap. 

“Anything…” He uttered low and slow as he panned back to his troopers nodding towards the door to indicate that they leave with you ordering the twileks in their language to treat the clones with 'upmost hospitality'.... and a room for the night. The girls mischievous grin matched their leaders as they delivered the clones out of the room, flirting and offering drinks downstairs at the bar with the rest of the women fully igniting the sirens nest as it became fully active with new toys to play with. 

As the blaster door closed behind the captain redirected his attention to you as you patiently analyzed the man gripping your thighs. It had been long since youve been with someone and the moment you first laid eyes on him he had already been caught in your web of desires. There was something about him that seemed dominating.... like- every other man you came across who failed to live up to your expectations left you blue and disappointed but, this one? Seemed much different. 

"Take off your gear"

You ordered watching him finish unclipping his chest piece you so graciously started followed by his shoulder pads and gauntlets pausing before he set his twin blasters on the table next to you. Him purposefully reaching past you at close proximity to give you a good look of who you were messing with, making you smile with determination- admiring his tenacity to front you as if it were childs play. The man was experienced. Things just kept getting better and better, keeping you much incited watching him take the rest of his gear off down to his blacks. You crossed your legs bringing your hand to your jaw as you inspect the man before you. 

You pointed to him twirling your fingers in circles to indicate he take off the rest but was only met with half a response. He never left your eyes throwing his shit to the ground revealing his worked muscles and battle scars. This wasnt the body of just any man. It was a warriors. Chiseled down to the smallest fiber of muscle, he was extremely built for his size and you could tell from the scars and healing wounds that it wasnt for show. Compared to your body, each scar you carried had a story... making you wondering more and more what his were. 'Hes intriguing...-'

You scoffed

Amazed you could be so into someone within hours of meeting. Most men was out of lust, or a result of the drunk in you and never really meant anything nor have you ever cared. But this man...clone- he was the type of different you didnt know you liked and now? It was time to test how just how strong he is. You hopped off the desk, this time pacing to him as both your eyes locked in a dance, treading carefully around him. You first look at his chest, seeing 2 or 3 scars and a couple wounds, but the one that intrigued you the most was the one over his heart, raising your hand to touch the withered scar. "A near death experience I see?", You raised an eyebrow smiling but was not returned in kind. "It was a long time ago.." He stated averting his eyes forward as he delved into his memory of the blast that left him incapacitated for a few weeks. Not something he enjoyed reflecting on as you continued patrolling around him bringing yourself back to where you started. You had counted 10 scars in total, most of them new but the one that intrigued you the most was the one on his chest. Though, getting that story out of him would be complicated given his state. 

So to spice things up; Since Tattoine's suns were now at the horizon... leaving the planet in its evening golden state, it was the perfect time to return the favor. You faced towards the balcony, your back against him, feeling the warm breeze swoop in as you inhaled the gentle smell of fruits and fragrances that inundated the room. You slid the straps of your summer dress down making it drop to the floor with ease. Beneath revealed your secrets. Dark blue lingerie built into a harness carrying various versions of knives on your thighs, upper arms, and waist band. The rest? Open skin and to his shock? A multitude of deep, penetrating scars across your body some that looked extremely deadly and others... The burn on your thigh covered by a krayt dragon tattoo, revealed your finite curves and breasts. Though you were wearing a bra and panties that are see through (if you close enough) wondering which area he would choose to look, noticing his eyes carrying to the burn on your thigh and the tattoo that shields it. 

"Nal Hutta..." you uttered as you start to disarm yourself. The captain put his hands behind his back still holding composure as he listened-  watched as you place your weapons on the desk lined up neatly next to his blasters and when you turned around you could feel his eyes burning on you. No doubt on the thong that revealed your toned appendages to him. Large and jelly like- it was what most men went for making you wonder if he was an ass or tits type of guy. Nevertheless... you finally drop the harness on the dress below your feet leaving you only in your underwear and panties. "I was releasing some twileks who were illegally traded, actually those two girls who were here are from that raid. Tanker blew up during rescue, barbecued my thigh-", You paused briefly, slapping your thigh to make it jiggle. The action making the captain raise a brow as he continued to listen with anticipation as the blood started rushing through his body watching you jiggle before him. You folded your arms and continued,"-Lucky for me, I had hired a bounty hunter who knew how to tattoo. The Krayt Dragon here on tattooine-?" You paused again turning around to see his regain his composure, making you grin at the sight of him losing it. "They're ferocious creatures not to be trifled with but hunted for rare pearls inside them. Kinda like all of us here..." 

The malicious grin that sprawled on your face. Officially warning him of where he is though it didnt phase him at all. He remained still, listening...waiting. Now left in your undergarments you slowly walked up to the captain tracing your fingers along his chest while looking up with lewd eyes to get him to break. "So captain...whats your story?", your traced your finger along his chest scar only to be captured by the wrist yet again, as he grew tired of the stalling. 

"And whats your game?"

He asked, as you furrowed your eyebrows and was caught by surprise when he lifted you onto him slamming you onto the desk behind making some of your knives fall to the ground. You looked up to him, your arms around his neck as he growled in your ear, "If you want me to fuck you just say it" You were stunned seeing this type of impulse come so randomly and out of the blue. It was unexpected but to your surprise you liked it and it turned you on. "Say it...", the lust now oozing from him, seeing the bulge in his blacks grow larger and larger. But you were still caught up in the moment, wanting to be absolutely dominated by this man at all costs and to be honest....you think he already caught on as rash as he has been these last couple of minutes, he started by ripping your bra off to reveal your hardened nipples, his tell sign to continue. He looked down, cupping your breast in his burley, hands squeezing hard. A moan escaped your lips, "Say it...", he utters squeezing again.

His order turned into a demand 

Now controlling the mood and the situation as you throw your head back enjoying his touch. Feeling yourself pool below, begging to be ravaged. You shot your hand up to his. stopping him in place as you brought a vicarious look to shadow his own, "If you want all the information requested... You're going to have to do a lot better than this... Captain", and though they weren't the words he needed, you had spoken. Rex pushed you down and slid your panties off, throwing your legs over his shoulders. The hand holding your breast now sliding down to meet his other at your hips as he kneeled down in front of the desk and started to devour you. Swirling his tongue over your jewel suckling at the sensitive flesh. Each circle of his tongue sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. An ecstasy you hadnt felt in so so long. He spread your thighs with his finger tips for better access as he feasted on your juices known to be every gentleman’s favorite until you unraveled.

"C-captain!"

You gasped, now gripping his head while furrowing your brows trying to maintain whatever dignity you had left, feeling the walls inside you begin to tighten and pulse. When he shoved two fingers inside of you, pressing on your special spot over and over you began to coo his name over and over, now holding your breath- closer to climax, "Don't stop..." You ordered only for him to refuse it, stopping directly in his tracks as he hovered before you. "If were going to do this, we are doing it my way...", He flipped you around aggressively. The shock forced your hands to slam against the desk for stability, enjoying how rough he was getting with you as you panned back to see him pull his bottoms down revealing his throbbing shaft pulsing for release. "Whatever you say..." you groaned, the juices dripping down your thigh as he spent not a second to waste shoving himself inside. 

"Mmmm-ssss" It was slow at first, his brows furrowed in tune with the moans escaping his lips as he threw his head back starting the thrust little by little. He felt enormous, filling all of you inside not regretting a second as he continued thrusting against your tight walls pressing against your cervix. He lifted your hips now pile driving you into the desk. Each thrust sent never ending jolts through your body making even your cheeks jiggle. The wet sounds from both your skin and juices now filled the silence as the ecstasy starting to grow uncontrollably. Between his grip, feeling all the pent up anger that had built since the clone ways ended, and the way his hips rocked against yours the devilish scene carried into carnage. He started panhandling you, whipping you around and fucking you in the air with only the slaps of your skin and moans filling in the silence. 

-Sounds that can be heard from all over the dome 

hearing you call his name over and over again, fucking you as if you were the last peerson on earth available to him. You could tell its been a while for him too but seeing that face, the anger and the lust lost in translation of each other, blending into this perfect moment you were sharing until his beautiful brown eyes met yours. Just the way he looked at you, like a lion ready to feast on its pray made your walls tightened again, the climax almost at its peak as the captain started pulsing inside you. "Where...", he asked slamming you back down on the desk throwing one of your legs around him as he continues thrusting. "Anywhere....", you managed to slip out only for him to pump into you three more times before he shot his seed all over your body. Thread after thread of warm white liquid graced your skin, sending goosebumps in contrast of the cold air between. He collapsed above you, using a arm to hold himself up as you both took a moment to capture your breaths.

It had been a while, a very long while since Rex got to feel someone so amazing. It had even been so long since he touched himself, all that cum thats been building... He wanted to leave his mark somewhere elsee too. He reeinserted himself saving the last beads of white for you as he cuppeed your lower back bringing you in for a kiss "Yeah Captain?" still feeling him pulse while his eyes were closed, riding out his high as the pace slowed putting one last pump before pulling out watching the reeaminder drain out of you. 

"Yeah...", He said, now locked into your eyes seeing he wasn't quiet done. He looked over seeing the bed in the open concept room and panned back to you. The devious look in both your eyes led to a night full of ambition and lust. You tried to get up only for him to throw you over his shoulder and drop you in the bed. "Who said we were done?"

[moobloom-mention]

To Wait for You Would Mean to Wait an Eternity (And By Then It'd Be Too Late)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: Macaque escapes his own death by refusing to interfere with Wukong's JTTW. Besides, Flower Fruit Mountain needs a king that'll nurse it back to its golden age, a role he believes he'll fit quite well.

Too bad Wukong isn't one to enjoy returning to his kingdom to find it overthrown by his own moon.

Content Warning(s): Implied Death

Word Count: 5758

----------

If Macaque was asked what his favorite thing about Flower Fruit Mountain was, he’d be the first to admit his fondness for its consistency.

Having risen amidst the calm waters of Earth’s equator, the island had never known the harsh bark of seasons demanding a change of climate, forever encapsulated in a state of spring if only to nurture its vibrant garden of flowers and trees.

The sky, too, never strayed far from the familiar status of clear, the sun’s routinely appearance a gentle glow everso eager to warm the fur of whatever little one had chosen to lounge about in its rays. Rarely was the sun ever blocked by the startling appearance of clouds and rain, their designated gods not daring to tread foot upon the island less it’d been deemed absolutely necessary.

Macaque supposes their fear of going anywhere near Flower Fruit Mountain meant that at least something good to come out of Wukong’s past claim as king. The sage may have disappeared from the mortal plane at least a few centuries ago, but not many beings were willing to take the risk encountering the ire of Wukong just to step on the island’s beach.

But whilst the implied protection very-well scared off any celestial beings or demons seeking new territory, it’d never exempted Macaque from needing to console little ones and fix whatever problems that’d frightened them.

He’d long outgrown the capability of counting on his hands just how many times he’d awoken at the first mention of sunlight to small monkeys hopping frantically atop his bed with urgent cries- ones painfully dismissive of his six ears -howling, “Macaque! Macaque! We lost [insert random number] banana trees last night-!”

Of course, Macaque- even amidst battling the thrall of sleep and his newly formed migraine -would always be mindful in comforting whomever had woken him, reminding them that he’d assist with planting more trees to replace whatever they’d lost. Sure it’d take a good year for the saplings to sprout and bear fruit, but that’d give them plenty of time to ensure other food alternatives remained bountiful.

Besides, if finding a few dead trees ended up being the annual tragedy his kingdom would need to face, Macaque couldn’t find himself bothered by the occasional rude awakening.

But to be savagely dragged from the comforting embrace of sleep by something heavy thumping hollowly against his forehead?

Yeah, no. He’ll take small hands shaking him awake anyday.

“Wha-?”

“Oh good, you’re not dead,” a familiar voice heaves somewhere to Macaque’s left, and he winces as the same hollow sound- which he now recognizes is a scroll -clatters violently against the stone flooring of his bedroom. It’s a harsh noise that harmonizes awkwardly with the distant chitters of other little ones roaming about the upper tunnels of the cave system. “I was beginning to think I’d have to handle the end of the world by myself-”

Now that puts distance between Macaque and the thick tendrils of sleep he’s still partially ensnared by, the king’s ears flattening in brief sorrow as he forces himself from the comforting warmth of his bedsheets and onto his feet.

He’s almost certain the little one that’d struck him is Èzuòjù, a blonde gibbon that’d never been the type to fear Macaque growing angry over his wild antics. Of course, Macaque’s genuine temper was a difficult thing to evoke, but it was the youthful spirit’s bravery that’d gotten him in good graces with the antisocial king in the first place.

Alas, it isn’t the familiar grin of a gibbon that greets Macaque’s brief scan of his bedroom, his eyebrows pinching as he finds an oddly short wall of bamboo scrolls seemingly floating across the floor. It takes an embarrassingly amount of time before he realizes that his library hadn’t suddenly learned the art of levitation, but that it was Èzuòjù himself dragging the heavy things across the room.

It’s an odd sight, really, the little one never having been the type to take an interest in reading. Learning to verbally translate Mandarin? Sure. But stealing Macaque’s reading material?

Maybe the world really was ending.

Wait-

Macaque hisses as the damning thud of a migraine vibrates against his skull, pressing a hand to his eyes if only to quell the pain and attempt to chase aside the fog of sleep still triumphantly seeking refuge behind his gaze.

The noise of discontent that’d managed to surface feels far too muted as well, his tongue heavy and uncooperative despite the verbal communication and sheer mental load this situation is bound to demand from him. “Why- my scrolls? And the world- why is the world ending?”

“The sky’s black,” Èzuòjù announces, helpful as per usual in his report. The wall of scrolls hesitates once before it clatters to the ground, Macaque’s thudding ears echoing the unapologetic “-oops-” that’s carelessly tossed his way.

“And,” the little one drawls with newfound disinterest in the pile of scrolls as he lifts his gaze toward the other. Macaque blinks expectantly when Èzuòjù suddenly pauses, the gibbon’s previous expression of quiet triumph quickly dissolving into one akin to shock. “Holy shit, you are dark.”

Ok-ay.

The world is ending.

The world is ending and it’s all because…the sky is black.

And because Macaque is dark. Whatever that could mean.

A disorientated sound claws its way up the back of his throat and he almost entertains the thought that this could all just be apart of some prank. Macaque was never the quickest to gain coherent thought after being abruptly woken, and Èzuòjù wasn’t the type to pass the opportunity to terrorize Macaque’s occasional moments of peace.

The worlding ending wouldn’t even make sense in the first place; Earth was far too early in its cycle for the Heavens to let it die, and well, the sky being black wouldn’t be anything new.

It’d only mean that the moon was still in its first phases, too weak for its light to reach the Earth and declare that Macaque should definitely be fast asleep instead of doing whatever this is.

“…and?”

The gibbon stares a beat longer before visibly shaking himself from whatever spell had possessed him. “It’s noon.”

Heavens above, no wonder Èzuòjù thought he died. He’d overslept, badly, and now it was noon.

Actually, no. He’d overslept and now the world was apparently ending, all because the sky is still dark and it’s supposedly noon-

Oh.

Oh.

“There it is.”

There’s a shrill yelp as Macaque flings himself toward his wardrobe, unguilty as he disregards the indignant expression that crosses Èzuòjù’s face.

“The world is ending, and you’re getting dressed?” the gibbon asks, incredulously.

But Macaque pays no mind toward the question, clawing desperately through his drawers in search for the familiar rough fabric of his yellow and black hanfu. It was an article of clothing that the king had practically been raised in, and he’d made dozens of copies in the past few centuries if only to keep the original hanfu safely contained within his wardrobe.

On a normal day, Macaque would’ve hissed at the idea of wearing it outside, fearful the Heavens would take his boldness as a taunt to destroy it, but today was anything but normal.

His world was soon to end, and the king could care less for his hanfu’s safety as he dressed himself in red pants and a waistplate tied to his hips by a sash only a shade lighter than his pants. His iconic scarf is the next item to wrap around his neck, Macaque certain it’d match with the pale complexion of his fur.

(“Reds and yellows, bud, reds and yellows. Lemme tell ya, they’ll change your life!”)

He almost hesitates as his hand fastens around the decoration to coincide with his outfit: a gentle crown with leaves that’d been chain-linked together by little ones. It wasn’t a sturdy headpiece by any means, and it needed to be remade as least every three months, but Macaque had never minded such a fact.

The little ones were more than happy to remake him his crown and graciously bestow it upon his head with chants of, “Our king- our king-!”

“The world isn’t ending,” he manages to murmur whilst blindly adjusting his crown, his other free hand naturally clenched at the scarf around his neck. He knows that reds and yellows will never quite fit into his albino color scheme, but Macaque would be damned if he wasn’t draped in clothes that sang of nostalgia for his own king’s return.

He dares a glance at the mirror he’d previously leaned against his wardrobe and-

…and he pauses.

Because surely, that couldn’t be him?

It resembled him undoubtedly, the reflection standing with its own expression of shock and nostalgia as a hand lies frozen against its scarf. There’s even an awkward tilt in the leaf crown it wears, the gentle vegetation having given way to stray fur still tussled from sleep.

A glance toward his arm only confirms his fears, chest squeezing with an emotion he refuses to put a name to.

Gone is the familiar shade of white fur that Macaque had grown to adore amidst his centuries of life, replaced by a pelt bearing an almost navy shade of black.

It isn’t unlike the color of the sky just beyond his window, not quite able to be called black as though whatever deity had cursed him had taken into account the sun’s weak attempts to bring light to Earth.

He looks every bit the king he’d sworn himself to become- even adorned in colors that finally compliment the red masking around his eyes.

Macaque stares and what the fuck- what the fuck-? Why- this had to be His fault- He isn’t here by my side and it feels like a brand, get it off- get it off-

Èzuòjù’s tail flicks, hesitant in the corner of Macaque’s eyes and his mouth instinctively clicks open. It’s only habit as his mind combs desperately for something to say, anything to reassure the little one so blatantly unnerved by the scene.

But it proves to be pointless, his jaw clamping shut once more as a purple vortex pools beneath his feet. The shadows hiss with discontent, a second voice to Macaque’s blinding panic whilst they lash relentlessly at his ankles.

It isn’t until his ears flatten that Èzuòjù suddenly leaps from his state of uncertainty, hand outstretched as though to stop the other.

“Wait, Macaque-!”

But the king only falls blissfully into the familiar snare of his shadows, the temporary comfort that the portal brings short-lived as he’s spat violently somewhere amidst the cave system’s Eastern Tunnels. The spare shadows still lurking at his feet rumble with a silent fury, but for once the apathy his shadows seek appears only in the truth that their master could care less for the rebellious behavior.

He’d been long deserving of the ability to freak out, and today was the day he finally had a reason to do so.

After all, Macaque was nothing but a dead monkey desperate to breathe meaning and control into his final moments of life, certain he’s soon to become the very image of a dead king that Macaque had once proclaimed Wukong to of been.

The only difference will be a body to prove the other’s death.

“…que…!”

No, he doesn’t have the time to think about that. It was noon, and Wukong could very well burst through the waterfall at any moment, seeking any ounce of attention the island could afford.

The great sage might even demand a banquet at once and of course that’d leave no room for Macaque’s tongue to intervene, it never had before. Wukong would do anything to avoid confrontation that he’d inadvertently caused, including using the excuse of hunger like he used to amidst the Brotherhood.

“…caque…!”

His excitement may even gloss over the blatant evidence that a coup had taken place in Wukong’s absence; one orchestrated by his best friend nonetheless. The blissful peace that’d come with the sage’s oversight wouldn’t last though, especially with regard toward the fact that Macaque would refuse to let the little ones approach him.

Maybe he could…oh gods, do what?

Just turn the “Great Sage, Equal to Heaven” away the moment he attempts to step foot on the island?

The bastard would be furious.

“…slo…own…!”

…or maybe he wouldn’t. Wukong’s temper had always been something that’d needed to be fed and nurtured through mutual anger, surely that could be useful. Should Macaque at least attempt to remain calm and blunt, then the sage would have no room to be combative, right?

It wasn’t perfect, but gods was Macaque reaching desperately for straws- anything to preserve the prosperity he’d sworn to eternally gift Flower Fruit Mountain and the little ones.

Besides, Wukong wouldn’t dare do something drastic and violent against someone who’d protected his homeland for centuries, let alone his best friend. There’d be no need for him to summon his staff and-

“Macaque!”

The king freezes at an instant, terror striking behind his gaze as he searches frantically for whoever had called his name. There’s a flash of golden fur- one that looks a little too familiar -and Macaque almost shrieks amidst in his attempts to not stumble.

The suffocating blanket of panic quickly sheds to make way for guilt as he finds Èzuòjù staring, the gibbon’s eyes the size of rice bowls and his fur puffed out in clear concern.

His shadows must have teleported him not far from the confinements of his room, only forgiving enough to gift him a few seconds to breathe.

“Èzuòjù,” Macaque swallows, a hand to his chest if only to calm down its rapid beat. “You scared me.”

“I scared you?” the little one questions and Macaque can do nothing but weakly offer his arm for the gibbon to leap upon, a small olive branch that’s taken almost instantly. “What is going on? The sky’s black, you’re black, the world isn’t ending apparently, but you still disappeared on me, and are we going into lockdown or-?”

“Yes,” Macaque interrupts, lunging at the opportunity to escape the ontourage of questions bound to be sitting on the gibbon’s tongue. He could barely keep his own head straight, let alone try and answer Èzuòjù’s questions should they continue.

…but going into lockdown would be a good idea. It’d certainly keep the little ones far from whatever reaction Wukong could potentially have.

“Look,” he breathes, praying that he doesn’t sound as exasperated as he feels. “Long before you were born, the Jade Emperor foretold an event that’d occur amidst the next eclipse- today’s eclipse.”

“Eclipse-?”

“The sun and moon will merge together, and when they do, a…demon of sorts will appear on Flower Fruit Mountain.”

There’s a beat of silence and Macaque almost fears that the gibbon will claim the excuse to be as phony as his weak attempts to seem collected. Èzuòjù had always been good at that.

But the gibbon only stares a moment longer before his eyebrows knit. “What do you need from me?”

Heavens above, for all the grief he gives Èzuòjù, it’s moments like this that remind Macaque exactly why he doesn’t mind the little one’s mischievous antics.

“I need everyone in the Upper Tunnels of the Western Caves, and no matter what happens, they aren’t to leave. I’ll portal anyone I’m able to find in the Eastern Caves, but a mouth to explain the situation or at least warn others would be helpful.”

There’s only a firm nod before the gibbon scampers off, presumably to locate the desired caves and provide relief to whatever panicked brother needed it.

The crushing wave of relief at being alone once more collides oddly with the cautiously suppressed anger that’d been arising within Macaque’s stomach, a dangerous concoction of panic and frustration over the situation at hand.

Wukong was never meant to return, and it was such a fact that had gifted Macaque the boldness to ascend the throne in the first place.

Macaque might as well surrender his title of king anyway, now sharing more in common with a wife whose husband had come home early and was soon to catch her amidst her affair. For Heaven's sake, he was stumbling about the extensive cave system if only to portal away any little ones like a wife would her paramour.

It’s a measurement of safety, he tells himself if only to comfort his mind.

History was not one to take kindly to being rewritten, but two centuries had proven Macaque’s attempts to be a blinding success. He refuses to give Wukong yet another chance to ruin everything he’d done to protect both their subjects and the sage’s legacy of chaos.

It’d only take one stray slip of tongue for his life’s work to be uprooted. The little ones would learn that Wukong was in fact not deceased, and that Macaque had sworn the sage’s allegiance where it didn’t belong.

After all, Wukong had never proclaimed himself to be allied with the subjects of his mountain; it was only the pride that came with claiming ownership to a kingdom that he had entertained.

You are not ruining this, Macaque swears, and the mantra continues in his attempts to seek out any stray little ones.

It’s only once the panicked chatter of ape-speak settles toward the western side of the cave system that Macaque finds himself content pacing the Central Cave. It was a gracious clearing, full of vegetation and still bearing the same hut that Wukong had built nearly a millennium ago. If there was anywhere the sage would seek company first, it would be here, only a short journey from the cave’s initial entrance.

Macaque isn’t sure how long it takes for his theory to reign true, his ears flicking as the soft hiss of a cloud dissipates somewhere beyond the cave’s waterfall. Clumsiness writes itself in the heavy thrum of each step, the familiar sound not unlike if Macaque attempted to recognize someone’s handwriting.

The note of recklessness continues as the steps grow closer, and Macaque is certain that even if he lacked six ears, he’d still be able to hear the sheer weight behind the sage’s feet.

“Mihou!” that damned voice sings, not unlike a demon outstretching their hand in faux kindness. “Little ones! I’ve returned home!”

Home.

Macaque tries his hardest to chase the anxiety and bittersweet sorrow that laces his tongue, bidding his lips to remain firm in an expression of displeasure.

Perhaps in another life “Mihou” would’ve been all Wukong needed to say before Macaque would spring into chirps of glee, smiling fondly as little ones tackled their righteous king to the ground. Apologies would cascade from the sage’s mouth like a waterfall, and tearful laughter would consume his six ears as they attempted to make up for the time they’d regrettably lost in the other’s absence.

Faintly his mind traces another life, in which Wukong calls only out to the little ones, far too acquainted with the concept that Macaque would never again be able to step foot on Flower Fruit Mountain.

But such fantasies would never be the life Macaque could live within; they’d died the day that the ex-moon had been gifted a choice:

Mourn and daydream over the useless taunts of “what-if”, or focus on protecting the little ones and ensure the prosperity of their lives.

The decision was obvious, so both he and Flower Fruit Mountain had been forced to cut the strings of codependency that’d once kept them enthralled with their past king.

Wukong’s voice yells throughout the cave once more and Macaque hates how heavy the crown sitting atop his head has grown.

Wukong had never needed a crown to proclaim his status of king. His very essence exuded that of power, an ambitious conquest that Macaque had never found himself caring enough to venture toward. He wasn’t king through acts of bravery, nor because he’d inherited it righteously in the death of his best friend.

Macaque was only king because he’d been left to his own devices, and because the crown atop his head exclaimed that such a statement must be true.

A flash of gold finally peaks into the cave’s clearing, and Macaque swallows the desperate whine that’d made its home within his throat, forced into silence out of fear he’d call out for someone he’d sworn he’d buried nearly two centuries ago.

Wukong was meant to be dead and yet here he stood, uncharacteristically shy as he sought refuge behind a grand fern.

“Wukong.”

Said monkey’s head snaps to meet Macaque’s wide gaze, those familiar golden eyes crinkling into something akin to joy before they flee back toward the vibrant greenery in a nostalgic display of guilt and panic.

If not for the sombersome scene, Macaque is certain he would’ve smiled at how familiar the expression is, not unlike the reaction Wukong would have whenever Macaque smacked him upside the head for doing something stupid. It’d all been in good fun, amidst a fun when they’d all been so young and naive, too focused on lounging about and cracking jokes to worry themselves with immortality and power.

The clearing stills, and for a moment, he fears that they’ll both continue the awkward stalemate.

But the anxiety on Wukong’s face quickly falls apart, giving way to a quizzical expression as their eyes meet once more. The sage isn’t unlike a rabbit as he bounds forward, Macaque’s rule of personal space forgotten in Wukong’s eagerness to get a closer look at the newly-turned-black monkey.

“Something's…different about you,” the great sage begins, ever-so-observant as Macaque tries not to squirm beneath his gaze. He doesn’t care to denote the uncomfortable stance of the celestial monkey, springing up dramatically as he chitters with excitement. “Oh, I know! C’mon, bud, even I’d be able to tell you’ve dyed your fur. Kinda miss the grey, though.”

“White,” Macaque corrects, far from amused.

“Pfft, same thing.”

Well, Macaque supposes there is one thing he could always trust Wukong to do; disappoint him time and time again.

“Fun crown, too. The little ones manage to strangle you into it?”

And how could he forget Wukong’s habit of releasing tension through attempts to embarrass those around him?

“No, actually,” Macaque grits, trying his hardest to maintain poise. The crown had been a thoughtful gift bestowed upon him, and as much as the thought made his six ears turn red, Macaque felt much more at-ease wearing it in the face of his past king.

(“You deserve to be king,” the crown sang, sitting content atop his fur. “You wouldn’t of been given it otherwise.”)

“It was a gift. They missed having a king, so…”

So they’d wrapped Macaque in the finest jewelry and armor of Wukong’s treasury, completing his coronation with a carefully weaved crown and Macaque’s now infamous red scarf, whose unique red hue was the result of a dye from the flowers of Flower Fruit Mountain and a few feathers that’d been “borrowed” from a Phoenix.

“That’s adorable,” Wukong grins, an almost knowing expression on his face. “Ya’ think they’ll make me one if I ask them?”

“I didn’t have to ask for mine.”

“Is that a no, or?”

“It’s a no.”

“…it’s my turn, then.”

And Wukong bows, his chest low to the ground as though he were expecting for the crown to be transferred onto his head.

Oh, Macaque realizes, dumbly. Wukong does expect the crown.

His heart makes an ugly snarl, but the sound that comes from his throat is nothing but unkempt laughter. Quickly he swipes a claw at the tears forming at his eyes, if only to keep the salty water from dampening his fur. “You expect me to give you my crown?”

“I mean, every king does need a crown, doesn’t he? C’mon, Mac, just share this once-”

Wukong lunges and adrenaline collides violently with the blood cells running through Macaque’s veins. His brain feels as though it’d been dowsed by the ice-cold bucket of panic, falling into a state of defense even despite the fact the Wukong had clearly aimed only for the crown.

A furious shriek beats Macaque to the punch, fangs entering the scene before being followed closely by the harsh sound of Wukong screeching.

Macaque blinks once, vision clearing to reveal the “Great Sage” himself flailing his arm like a helpless infant and Èzuòjù’s fangs sunken deep into scarred flesh.

“Let go!” Wukong shrieks in Mandarin, and Macaque knows damn well that Èzuòjù understands the command.

After all, the gibbon had been the one to demand that Macaque teach him Mandarin in the first place, now well-educated in translating the language despite the fact that Èzuòjù’s vocal cords would never enable the gibbon to speak it.

Wukong is pleading on deaf ears, as the king of Flower Fruit Mountain has yet to demand the gibbon to release his prey.

It isn’t until Macaque extends his own arm that the gibbon returns to his righteous king’s side, snarling once toward Wukong before settling down at Macaque’s shoulders.

“Little one,” Wukong whines, exasperated as he cradles his wounded arm, and the noise feels…odd as it bounces against Macaque’s thrumming eardrums. It’s a form of ape-speak that the king hadn’t heard in over seven centuries, old but blatantly familiar dripping from the sage’s tongue.

Heavens above, Wukong hadn’t even attempted to keep up with the rapidly changing dialect of his mother tongue.

It’d been at least a handful of centuries since “little one” had turned into the gentle chirp of “little one”.

“I thought I told you to stay with the others,” Macaque begins, forcing himself to ignore Wukong’s noise of confusion. Perhaps if the “Great Sage” had put effort into his own mother tongue, then he’d have the right to tune into the conversation. “What if they come searching for you?”

“They won’t,” Èzuòjù huffs, teeth still bared but certainly not toward Macaque. “And who-? Is that the demon? He could’ve done something if I hadn’t appeared!”

“He woulda just stolen my crown for a moment,” Macaque murmurs in a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation. “He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

Still, Macaque finds himself doubtful of his own words. After all, Wukong had still yet to understand the reason behind Èzuòjù’s aggression.

“Mihou,” the sage complains. “You better be reprimanding him for biting me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Macaque rolls his eyes before gently petting at the fur surrounding Èzuòjù’s face. “But I’m glad you bit him, I was seconds away from doing it myself.”

“That does not look like reprimanding.”

“You deserved it,” Macaque shrugs. “Don’t try and swipe what isn’t yours.”

“But I’m the king! I’m in need of a crown.”

“The King of Flower Fruit Mountain already wears one,” Macaque hums, bowing his head slightly if only to allow Èzuòjù to try and straighten the tussled crown. “I don’t think I see any other kings in need of one.”

Wukong freezes, and for a heartbeat Macaque almost expects to be punched, even with a little one crouched on his shoulders.

But the Great Sage only stares with wide, uncertain eyes. “You wouldn’t-”

“Èzuòjù,” Macaque interrupts, his voice uncharacteristically harsh as his ape-speak blends into Mandarin. “This is not a conversation for you to hear.”

Èzuòjù’s eyes almost match that of Wukong’s, though a deeper shade of concern versus betrayal runs rampid. “But, Macaque-”

The gibbon is given no further chance to speak, quickly whisked into a vortex that’d put the little one with his siblings in the Western Tunnels. This fight would not be Èzuòjù’s to hear nor attempt to interfere with.

“You’ve been gone for several centuries,” Macaque continues, quickly dismissing the bitterness that’d threatened to lace his words. “Y’know, when you told me to do anything to protect Flower Fruit Mountain, I took it to heart.”

“I didn’t think that meant ‘take the throne’!” Wukong gapes, throat raspy with what Macaque can only hope is disbelief and not strain from attempting ape-speak.

“Oh, of course,” he agrees and now he allows sarcasm to drip from his tongue. “‘Suppose I was just meant to, y’know, keep it warm and then lay down like a good dog, yeah? ‘Heel, Mihou, your king has returned’!”

The words taste as bitter as Macaque recalls them to be, still clear in his mind despite them having been uttered nine centuries ago when they were still on good terms with the brotherhood. He only has Wukong to blame, who’d never let his companion live down the embarrassment he’d caused during one of their many meetings.

Amidst his own exhaustion, Macaque had accidentally stolen Wukong’s seat at the end of the table, a mistake that the table had at first brushed aside. After all, the closeness of the two monkeys could easily explain this odd occurence to of been planned.

Macaque would sit in Wukong’s seat, and Wukong in Macaque’s.

Alas, there’d been a soft croon of “Aww, Mihou, keeping it warm just for little ol’ me? No worries, your king has returned-” before the table realized that the white monkey had indeed made a genuine mistake, bursting into laughter whilst shades of red painted Macaque’s face and ears.

His expression hardens.

“I refuse to kneel before you again.”

“But I am still your king,” Wukong deflects, bold. “And this is still our home.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Macaque shrugs, nearly shocking himself with how nonchalant his taunts sound. It’s a stark contrast to the consistent stutter his heart bears and he’s almost grateful that Wukong doesn’t share his enhanced hearing. “It took centuries, but Flower Fruit Mountain doesn’t remember you anymore. At least, not as anything but their island’s first king, who’s long gone in history. You can’t remain here and call it home.”

Wukong’s smirk is nothing but teeth, lips curled into an ugly expression of gloat. “So, you’re, what? Banishing me from my own kingdom?”

“Yeah.”

Heavens above, Macaque almost swoons over the way the sage’s smug expression drops into something more masked and deadly.

“Don’t be cruel,” Wukong growls. “You’re being cruel.”

I’m terrified, he instinctively corrects. Not cruel.

Wukong merely could not stay on Flower Fruit Mountain. Macaque had built a life that the island’s prior king could not be apart of.

Macaque’s ears flatten. Perhaps he was being cruel.

But who would cruelty’s mother be if not terror?

“Your stupidity and absence killed this island- killed me before I ascended the throne,” Macaque reports, his tail rigid as he stares at the ape he’d sworn he’d buried. No, he thinks, he’d only buried the memory of Wukong amidst his begging to the Heavens that the bastard would never return.

But an eclipse rages on just beyond the curtained waterfall.

And Macaque’s fur will never be white again, forever branded by Wukong’s misdeeds.

“For centuries I called for you, begging the stars to let you return to Flower Fruit Mountain once again, but never once did you heed my call,” he tsks, “You stood tall, strong as ever in the face of freedom, even as I mourned the very thought of you.”

And Macaque hates how his own conscious yearns to protect Wukong’s mistakes, with screams that selflessness and vulnerability had never been the melted rivers of iron that Wukong’s strength was forged within. Neither was it true that kindness was the native tongue the “Great Sage” could conjugate the words of with ease.

Only the familiar sensation of anger could appease Wukong in the face of confrontation, like a heron poised but still ever-so irritated in its wait for prey to arrive.

But unlike the common tale between a heron and fish, Macaque does not quiver nor dart beneath the venomous stare of death itself, standing tall and arrogant as Wukong does before him.

He cared not for the sage’s opinion on that fact that Flower Fruit Mountain was now Macaque’s to protect, and whether such protection was against outside demands or the island’s own previous king would never matter; Macaque would rather face death itself than forfeit his centuries of work.

“I haven’t killed you,” Wukong breathes, voice an inch from being a hiss as his shoulders sit strained with what Macaque can assume is the thin lacing of desperation. “If I had, you’d already be haunting me. In death you would have followed me, taking any form- moon or shadow -just to argue and speak with me.”

And like a newborn fawn, Wukong lurches forward, a hand clenching tightly over his chest as though he were soon to burst into laughter. “It’s in life that you refuse to follow me. You’ve agreed to abandon me and try to banish me from our home.”

Ironic, for Wukong to claim he’d been the one thrown aside.

Macaque stands firm, gaze unwavering. “The ‘Great Sage’ doesn’t need me to find some other island to conquer. Your lust for power has already settled any domain of this realm yours to take.”

There’s a beat of silence, and a vicious snarl hovers atop Wukong’s lips.

Perhaps in another life, amidst the gentle mantras of tranquility and suffrage, Wukong would have paused to acknowledge his misdeeds and agreed it to be best that he found a new kingdom to proclaim as his own. Or perhaps in another life this situation would have never existed, as Wukong chose to live his days peacefully on Flower Fruit Mountain instead of daring to wreak havoc on the Heavens.

But Macaque can only mourn for what could have been, for in this life Wukong was still a creature birthed with the knowledge he’d need to fight his way through life, a mantra that’d grown him obsessed with sneaking past the title of “distrustful and cunning” and proclaiming the words to be sisters of “ambition”.

Macaque knows well that Wukong is an unstoppable force that now stands firmly before an immovable rock, one not unlike the one Wukong had destroyed the moment he was born.

Today will be the day legends will speak of, the Heavens concede, safe from the sage’s wrath amidst the clouds. They’ll pass stories of the rivalry that’d caused the obsessive relation between shadow and host.

For if the Great Sage, an Equal of the Heavens, could not have his moon by his side, then he would have him forever in his shadow, lying in wait for his righteous king to order him about.

Today, Macaque would learn the true sensation of dying, if only to return and haunt Wukong at every turn.

[senior-sandr]

[ golden sun: the lost age crew (2/4) ]

finally a cohesive color scheme

character : jenna from the golden sun series