#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

[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!

[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

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.

[bucknastysbabe]

So. I saw this picture. He looks so soft and huggable. Therefore my brain spat this out. Obvi I love chubby grump Bucky who can F U C K

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2, 623 words

Synopsis: Bucky is having a mid-life crisis at 100 something years. His girlfriend is an aggravating little angel shit who doesn’t understand why. Cue pool time and ripped blonde superheroes making poor Bucky extra grumpy.

Tags: Chubby!bucky, avenger!reader, size difference, age gap (twenties and technically late thirties), pnv!sex, daddy kink, Bucky’s hating ass internal dialogue, the reader is a slut for the extra Fluff, pwp, fluff and smut, him Jealous, and Big, I tried to make it humorous heehee

Poolside blues

It was hot. Bucky sucked on his popsicle angrily, sulking under an umbrella. He wore his t-shirt even in the blazing heat. Bucky grimaced at the cloth sticking to his skin, pulling at the fabric with a huff. He didn’t want to run around shirtless when the likes of Steve and Thor were basking in the sun— the golden gods they were.

So Bucky sucked on his popsicle, his fourth one already. He flexed his metal fist, cursing it for being such an eye sore. The assassin was convinced his body had it out for him. Mess of a shoulder, ropey bullet scars, and way too much extra weight he didn’t ask for. Bucky stared down at the soft flesh adorning his midsection, lips twisting into a frown.

Hydra had royally fucked his metabolism up, serum or not. Add a plethora of mood stabilizers and Bucky looked like a damn chipmunk hoarding up for the winter. His girlfriend thought it was cute, cooing and pinching his fleshy hip. Bucky did not think it was ‘cute’. He’d never been like this in his over-extended life. Soft.

He’d held thick muscle since the serum and kept that up at the least. The brunette worked out religiously to rid himself of that extra pudge. Now he was jacked with the stupid layer over it— making him feel like a bulky lummox. Therefore if he was going to sweat to death by the pool, so be it.

Bucky’s icy eyes flickered to his best girl playing around with Thor in the water. She giggled and batted at the blonde god while he picked her tiny frame up. The brunette’s eye twitched while gripping his popsicle stick until it crushed. His girlfriend was too cute for her own good, often drawing attention from the other sex.

“Are you just going to drill holes in them with your mind or get in the pool?”

Bucky glared at his oldest friend. Steve smiled down softly, big hands on his waspy waist. He grumbled, “I’m fine. Punk.” The blonde teased, “That’s why your shirt is soaked then huh? Go get in the water you’re making me miserable looking at ya.”

“Nope,” Bucky shot back, popping the ‘p’.

Steve sighed and dove into the huge pool. Bucky pouted efficiently from the side-lines. Thor had his stupid blonde hair and stupid white teeth and stupid washboard abs. His girlfriend appeared in his line of sight, her brows knitted in concern. Bucky attempted to not stare at her perky tits— nipples peaked under her blue strappy bikini.

She hummed, “I can feel you drowning in self-pity over here. Why don’t you get in babe?”

He was staring at her tits now, he didn’t care, not really. Bucky shrugged, “You have fun I’m fine over here. Thor is waiting.” She narrowed her eyes up at him, pushing back damp hair. Bucky licked his lips, holding the woman’s glare.

In a swift motion she launched onto the concrete.

Clambering up she swayed toward the grumpy man, droplets running down her tight body. Bucky took in the view, getting lost in it really. He could watch her all day and sometimes would. The assassin grunted as she plopped onto his lazily spread thighs, soaking him. Bucky hissed, “What was that for?”

The coolness of her skin felt amazing. He willed himself to not pop wood in front of the few teammates milling around. His girl leaned over, breasts about to spill, and pressed against his padded chest. She simpered, “Buck, c’mon, you know no one around here cares. You’re perfect.”

Bucky snorted, “To you, maybe.”

She frowned and lightly slapped at his shoulder, lips pouting. Bucky hated when the pretty thing pouted— he somehow would up doing what she wanted in the first place.

Every. Single. Time.

She ran a finger down his chest, big eyes begging, “Get in the pool, please? You look so upset over here and that makes me sad.”

Once again Bucky lost to her feminine wiles, groaning out a strained ‘fine’. Her mouth split into a toothy smile, cheering, “Yay!” He rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm. Sometimes Bucky forgot she was a little over ten years his junior. If one took off the cryogenically frozen periods. She hopped back into the water, eyes eagerly flickering to the side.

Bucky hauled himself up and reluctantly peeled off his dark shirt, revealing his pale skin and soft parts. He willed himself to not curl into a ball or run away screeching. Steve wolf-whistled, sending an embarrassed flush across the brunette’s full cheeks. He barked, “Knock it off Rogers!”

Sam, as always, had ESP for people flustering Bucky. He shouted from the grill, “Looking thick my man! Whole slice of beef!” The assassin was convinced he was going to self combust, sliding into the water to cover himself up. His girlfriend snickered when Bucky resurfaced from his shame dive, splashing his face.

He frowned down at her, the spitfire raising a brow in challenge. Bucky slung her over a thick shoulder, hand across the backs of her thighs. She laughed and kicked, playfully squirming. Bucky had half a mind to leave a mark on her ass, show the Asgardian who she really belonged to. She stopped thrashing and murmured, “If you do not stop being jeal-“

The assassin cut her off when he dunked under the water. She spluttered and cursed at him, Bucky laughing, “Sorry sweets, what were you saying?”

“Put me down or I’m ripping your hair out!,” she howled. He chuckled and slowly let the angry avenger down. She shook her head, flicking the sensitive skin below his belly button. Bucky winced and gaped petulantly— horribly trying to block of the feeling of jiggle. The woman latched back onto him, pressing a feathery kiss to his bearded jaw. With a dirty smirk, spirits lifted, Bucky led them to the shelf in the deep end.

Sitting back he groped at her ass under the water, earning a squawk and another slap in return. She whispered angrily, “Stop that! Not in public!” Bucky grinned dumbly, eyes flickering to her perky chest. He apologized, saccharine sweet, “Sorry baby, you’re just so pretty I couldn’t help myself.”

Tony Stark and Natasha approached the pool, him lowering his sunglasses at the pair. Stark sipped his drink and loudly observed, “Horndogs at it again. Barnes you’re a nasty old man, you know that?”

Sam sniped, “They call him Bucknasty for a reason!”

Bucky’s temples throbbed with annoyance. He shouted at Sam, “No one calls me that but you! Bird brain!” He needed to scoop the girl up and take off— now. Steve was howling with laughter, hand slapping his chest, Thor smiling in confusion. She turned and grinned at Tony, “He’s my nasty old man.” The woman laid an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Stark pretended to gag and situated himself in a lounge chair. Natasha’s lips quirked up, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Bucky rumbled quietly, “I’ll show you nasty if you keep it up acting like that in my lap.”

Her tits bounced when she inhaled sharply, shit-eating grin falling from her face. Bucky lecherously grabbed another handful of ass for example. Her voice quavered when she weakly replied, “Very funny Buck. Not in front of everyone!”

“I’m not being funny. Seeing you getting flipped around by the blondes has me feeling…some type of way.”

Bucky was proud of his updated lingo, courtesy of the sexy trembling thing in front of him. She huffed quietly, squirming minutely on his thick thighs. “Jesus Christ, they’re all going to know when we both leave.”

“I think Clint complaining about us being loud all the time lets the team know what the deal is,” he smoothly pointed out.

With another harsh look Bucky regretfully watched her get out of the pool. Now he had to walk in front of everyone without a safety blanket again. He briskly climbed out after her, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Tony complimented, “Looking yoked there Barnes, trying to bulk right now?”

Bucky wanted to hiss at the billionaire like a feral cat. He felt like he’d been bulking for months. Just not allowed to cut— so sayeth the metabolism. He grabbed a towel and threw it around broad shoulders, aggravated with how his belly was on display. She was toweling her hair off.

“C’mon then you beast,” she snickered.

“Beast?,” he echoed.

Bucky hauled her up again, the smaller one yelping. He snatched his sweaty shirt up and carried her to the elevator. She sarcastically questioned, “Do you always have to carry me around like a caveman when you get jealous?” Bucky grunted in agreement, thumbing at the soft skin of her thighs.

She said, “You do know I only think about you, like, all the time.” Bucky couldn’t help but let his heart skip a beat. Still he whinged, “I don’t know why when there’s all these… ripped guys hanging around.” His girlfriend scoffed and rolled her doe eyes. She remained quiet on the walk, ensuing quiet ride up the elevator, and the remainder of the trip to his rooms.

Deposited on the bed she informed Bucky, “No matter how many times you shrug it off, I think you’re really hot. I like a little fluff on my men.” The brunette shook his head, crawling onto the covers. He muttered, “I don’t. I follow you around like some goddamn oaf.”

She pinched his cheek, grinding out, “You’re a little soft and I happen to enjoy you fucking me into the bed. Stubborn mule.” Bucky’s dick twitched at her words, grabbing an ankle to pull her closer. She continued matter-of-factly, “It’s also nice to have my big scary boyfriend behind me. It turns me on.”

Bucky peered at her, face set in suspicion. She ran a hand down his side, finishing it’s path at the laces of his swim trunks. Her face was cutely set in determination, deft hands untying the shorts. The assassin groaned low in his throat as the cloth fell down, exposing his aching cock. He climbed out of them and threw the shorts across the room.

Bucky eyed her up, watching her cheeks heat at his gaze. He gently positioned himself between her legs, pointedly keeping his weight off to her chagrin. Bucky sealed his watering mouth over a covered nipple, sucking eagerly. She whined and flexed under him, thighs wrapping around his hips.

“Ah! Buck!”

Her long lashes fluttered when his other hand untied the strings on the top. Bucky eased off the flimsy fabric, whistling lowly at her full tits. He nipped and flicked his tongue on a peaked bud, tweaking the other. She cried out, rutting up against his heavy cock.

Bucky’s lips split into a grin when he realized she was also untying her bottoms with shaky hands. He pulled off a nipple and teased, “That needy for it, huh?” She yanked off the offending fabric with a nibble at his jaw. Bucky would purr in contentment if he could. Until the nip at the flesh under his chin— which granted he has always had but still didn’t appreciate it.

He grumbled and lightly swatted her ass with a grimace. She mused, “You’re so hot. Honestly. I wish you would believe me Buck.” The assassin ignored her comment, instead sucking marks on her collarbone. She writhed underneath him, the wetness of her pussy sliding against him. The woman whimpered, hands holding his cheeks insistently, “C’mon and fuck me, please daddy.”

Bucky almost exploded, came back, just to explode again into a puddle of goo. She wanted to play like that today. He gripped her hips with low moan, eyes traveling up the expanse of skin. His girlfriend’s chest heaved, eyes darkly glazed. Bucky growled, “Y’want me to fuck you? Shouldn’t daddy finger you first?”

Huff. She shook her head no, dragging the molten slick across his need. Softly she begged, “C’mon daddy please, want to feel the stretch, need you.” Bucky’s eyes rolled in sheer desire, nudging the blunt head of his cock against her opening. He slid in with a curse, eyes clenching shut.

She was snug as always around him, pulsing and seemingly sucking Bucky in. The woman whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. She gasped, “So big, fuck daddy, don’t stop!” Bucky was not going to stop unless he magically disappeared.

He braced an arm beside her pretty flushed face to get leverage. With a lewd smack Bucky clapped his hips into her, enjoying the wanton whine. The brunette pulled back to give another roll of his hips, moaning lowly. He got into the rhythm he knew she liked— slow but forceful. Bucky smiled down, cooing.

“You’re so pretty babygirl, taking me so well,” he emphasized with a deep thrust. She clawed at his shoulders, pressing sloppy kisses to his throat. Wide eyes met his, her breathing, “No you’re pretty.” Bucky narrowed his lids, apparently his girl wanted to be a little shit.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me- shit! Daddy!,” she cried out with a smile, “Compliment you!” Bucky picked her legs up and hiked them higher, driving his hips into that silky-soft spot. He grunted in pleasure as she arched and yanked at his hair, mouth hung open with punched out ‘ah’s’.

Bucky rumbled, “I don’t like it- fuck sweets so tight- because it’s exaggerated!” He was panting with exertion now, reveling in the tell-tale slaps of skin echoing. The petite Avenger under him whimpered when Bucky hit her g-spot dead on, tears pricking her eyes. Bucky kissed a droplet, murmuring sweet nothings.

“Keep fucking me daddy, I’m gonna hah- cum!,” she wailed. Bucky urged, “Yeah babydoll, want you to, c’mon need it.” He thumbed around her clit, breathing into her lax mouth, swallowing up those broken keens. She sobbed his name into the kiss, clawing and scrabbling when she clamped down on him. Bucky’s eyes rolled up at the pulsing and gush of slick, fucking her through the orgasm.

His baby’s loud keens turns into little whimpers as he kept thrusting into her tight body. She quavered, “Cum in me please daddy!” The woman nipped along his jaw again, rubbing at his flexing ass. Bucky felt his lower belly tighten, a swirling fog gathering in his brain purely driven by need. He growled, “I’m gonna fill that sweet pussy up, you want that from Daddy, huh?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Ask and one shall receive. Bucky felt his balls draw up and he came with an embarrassingly slutty groan. He drooled onto her neck, gasping through the brunt of his body emptying into her wet heat. She cooed, “Oh, so good, ah thank you daddy.” Bucky collapsed halfway onto his girlfriend, still firmly snug inside.

She rubbed a trembling hand across his bloodied shoulders, serumed body already working on knitting the claw marks back up. Bucky simply breathed, unable to come up with intelligent words. His brain had probably shot out of his dick. She maddeningly caressed his, ugh, love handle.

Bucky groaned, “Stop it.”

She retracted the touch and rasped, throat bruised from yelling, “One day I’m going to convince you Buck. Perfect as you are.” Bucky snorted, “We’ll see about that.” He softened at her lithe hands pushing his sweaty hair back, grinning like he’d hung the moon. He murmured, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She giggled and cuddled up like a damn koala. Bucky didn’t truly mind, albeit she may be delusional and think overweight one hundred year old former assassins are sexy. He was glad he’d been able to find the loon, all his to boot. Bucky shook his head in amusement, the feeling of her sharp teeth on his chin again, him starting to protest.

[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?...

[nellycanwrite]

A Request

Part 1 of the “The Request” Series  ||  Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, you had always felt the pressure of living up to your father’s name. But you never had to worry; Attuma was always there to quell your fears and follow your will to the ends of the earth.

Or, in which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.  

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: None. Just pure fluffy goodness. If you include a slightly overprotective Dad!Namor then yes, he’s the warning. Maybe a little bit of childhood friends to lovers. A whole lot of Princess x Warrior. 

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1  ||  Part 2 ||  Part 3

K'uk'ulkan had never felt as much loss as he had the day he had lost your mother. Yet there lay bittersweet joy; for the heir to the throne of Talokan had breathed their first breath and let out a cry so strong it beckoned the creatures of the deep sea to their bidding.

You were born a wee thing; weak and fragile as the old shells that littered the floors of the sea. Yet you held strong in the arms of your father as he witnessed his wife lifelessly lay in their shared chambers. The handmaidens and wet nurses all wept and mourned at the loss of their queen, the ocean swayed with the waves of its people's grief. You cried with your father's subjects as if you had understood the passing of Talokan's queen mother, but K'uk'ulkan never shed a tear, no. 

 He was a king to his people. He was the protector of his nation. A God was he revered by both land and sea.

 He was your father.

 And he dared not to weep in front of the children he held so dear—for even in the heartache of his loss does he remember the weight of his divine majesty and countenance to his people.

 “The queen of Talokan has passed,” K'uk'ulkan swallowed the lump that formed on his throat as he bit back bitter tears. Tears that he will never show his people in a sign of great weakness, “yet she would not have wished for us to mourn in sadness. She brought us a gift that none could ever compare. She would have wished for us to celebrate in her absence for the birth of our child—Talokan's first heir.”

 The you who had been presented with a crown and a scepter of your kingdom's rule since your birth inherited your father's features; the ears that pointed to the heavens as a sign of the divine blood that flowed through your veins, the golden skin that the sun had seemed to kiss in great exhalation to your birth, and the wings of heaven bestowed upon your ankles.

 You were undoubtedly his child. The heir to K’uk’ulkan’s great nation. 

 You were loved by both land and sea, perhaps a gift from your late grandmother's love for the surface, for when you visit the land and take gulps of air do you stay breathing and when you step into the rocks of your father's study do you remain kissed by the sun. You did not change into the color of the sea like the maids that have cared for you, instead, you remained the same color as your own father when he sits idly on dry land. 

 At the tender age of seven did you realize the weight of the name of your father. You aspired to become like him, to fly like him, to lead the people like he did in childish wonder. He showed you the land that your ancestors once owned, the burial sight of your late grandmother, Fen, and the beauty that came with your motherland.

 You yearned for the sights of the surface world, craved for the sun that illuminated the sky—not the one that your father had curated all those years ago, but the one that sits amongst the clouds of the surface—and you whispered wistful wishes to walk into the luscious green of the land that was unknown to you.

 But your father forbids you to go further than the coves of Talokan's entrance. The sole heir to the throne of your nation should be safe. Protected. You were only allowed to go up into the surface every three months, a leniency that your father had so mercifully given you, and stare at the land dwelling wildlife that would so cross your vision. 

 You were merely stuck in the watchful eyes of your guards as you gazed with great longing at the mountains so far from your reach and the forests that would call your name. 

 Despite the love that you had for the beauties of the surface world, you loved your people and your great nation of the deep sea. You loved your father and tried your best to live up to the name of K'uk'ulkan. At the age of eleven you were made aware of your duties to your people. You had made sure that those duties were fulfilled despite the protests of your elders for being so young; that the beloved princess of Talokan need not to carry on the mantle of her royal duties just yet. But you worked hard to outshine your peers to preserve the honor of your father. 

 K’uk’ulkan could not be any prouder than he is now. 

 But the pedestal that you stood on was lonely. You did not have many friends, not because your father was protective of you and had guards at your beck and call, but because you were always so nervous to converse with the other Talokanil children.

 What if they didn’t like you? What if they decided that your status as a princess would hinder their relationship with you? What if they didn’t see you as a prospect to rule them in the future when your father passes the baton of his majesty to you?

 How ironic must it be for the princess of a great nation cower before the idea of friendship to her own people.

 But that had changed when your father let you meet two Talokanil children; Namora and Attuma.

 You knew Namora as your relative—your father’s cousin, to be exact—and sometimes came and went into the palace when you studied. But you never did get the chance to talk to her. You were far too anxious to try and talk to someone whose aura was as intense as hers, even when she’s just a few years older than you.

 “They said they wanted to be your friend, in waal.” my child, he said. Both of them shifted nervously from where they stood, toy spears hidden behind their backs as they fidgeted in place. You noticed how Namora elbowed the boy Attuma on the ribs. He glared at her albeit playfully and said nothing as he behaved.

 You have always noticed the two of them from afar when you studied near your father's throne. They were always rowdy, always hitting each other with their spears clumsily. Despite this, they always laughed and took everything in a merry stride. They never ceased to amaze you.

 Even though Namora was far smaller than Attuma (or any other Talokanil child your age, really), she always won their little play-fights. Their roughhousing caused other children to stay clear of them, but you always found them fascinating. You never knew they wanted to be your friends. You have never as much as held a proper conversation with them except for a few nervous waves and panicked scrambling on your part when they caught you staring.

 “My…friends?” It was your turn to fidget nervously, your hands clasping together and your thumbs twiddling against each other whilst you looked down. You felt the water shift as your father swam towards you, his tender gaze calming you down when his figure covered you from the curious eyes of the Talokanil children.

 “That's right. They want to play with you. I'm sure you were wishing for the same, no?” He chuckled knowingly. You felt heat rise from the back of your neck and crawl up your cheeks—your father had seen you staring at them while they were playing almost everyday!

 Nervously, you nodded ever slowly. There was no lie to his claims. You truly did wish for them to become your friends.

 Attuma's patience must have run out when you were taking your time to reply to your father. You shrieked in surprise when you met the biggest grin you had seen in your life from just above you, an incisor clearly missing in the front of his mouth. K'uk'ulkan laughed and gently coaxed the boy down to your level, his hair flowing gracefully with the water as your father grabbed his ankles and lowered him in front of you. 

 “Wanna play with us?” You blinked at his straightforwardness. You glanced at your father for help, but he merely chuckled and gestured for you to answer. 

 “I—well—um…” He was too close to you that you felt like fainting from your own nerves.

 “Attuma, don't be rude,” Attuma grunted when Namora appeared by his side and delivered a firm whack to his head with a toy spear. You breathed out a centering exhale before shooting Namora a thankful look. She huffed at Attuma, “you might scare her. And you just swam over the king!”

 “I do not mind. But be more mindful next time, Attuma. You must not swim over your elders.” K'uk'ulkan chuckled endearingly at the children's antics. He already knew how rambunctious they would be whenever he passed by them play-fighting.

 Attuma nodded with a gapped-tooth grin but K'uk'ulkan doubts he would really listen to him. But that was alright—he has plenty of time to learn respect. The king of Talokan wishes for these children to be their mischievous selves a little while longer and enjoy their carefree lives as young Talokanil. 

 K'uk'ulkan notices you fidget once again when Namora turns her attention to you, just as eager to make you their new friend. You try to make out words with broken sentences, yet there was no right greeting that would come. You would deflate when Namora would hold the reins of the conversation again. You failed to introduce yourself proudly and your embarrassment made K'uk'ulkan coo—how precious could his princess be?

 He chuckles and patted Namora and Attuma on the crowns of their heads, successfully diverting their attention away from you and into his benevolent smile.

 “She's a little nervous, but she has a good heart. She also wishes to become your friend. But remember that you have to listen; it is the makings of a great warrior.”

 “A great warrior?” Namor's eyes sparkled. Attuma stared at his king with wonder similar to the spark of Namora's eyes.

 K'uk'ulkan chuckled and nodded. You chose this moment to swim to your father's side, hiding half of your body behind his own. You looked at Attuma and Namora curiously while they waited for their king's next words. 

 “A great warrior not only takes a spear and protects their people, but they listen as well. They listen to their people's cries and act upon their needs. It is also your duty to listen to your leaders—for they hold the burden of choice. Never forget that, my young warriors.”

 Your father rubbed your back soothingly and pushed you gently forward. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as soon as you were in close proximity with the two Talokanil children. 

 “Now this is your first task your king asks of you; listen to what the princess has to say, understood?”

 They were eagerly waiting for your next words, their bodies barely holding in their excitement. You would have swam away right then and there, but you steeled your resolve and took a deep breath.

 You said your name with a stutter, but that did not deter you. Your father gave you a reassuring pat to your shoulder. It filled you with more confidence to look them straight into the eye and say;

 “I—I wish to be your friend, Namora. Attuma.”

 The children gleamed happily, the water shifting as they circled you in excitement. Attuma had it in himself to wrap his arms around you and giggle with such carefree mirth that it covered you in a sense of welcome. Of belonging. 

 “You don’t know how long we wanted to become your friend, princesa!” He exclaimed, his arms still wrapped around you firmly. His toy spear now lay discarded on the ocean floor but he didn’t seem to mind.

 Overwhelmed with the attention, you stuttered and twitched in his embrace. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable; it was a pleasant feeling to finally have a friend. But you weren’t used to physical touches just yet.

 A large hand pried you off of Attuma, your hair whipping around you as you were now brought back to your father’s side. You saw him smile cordially at the boy, albeit strained, as his eyes twitched ever so slightly.

 “Now, we have to be gentle with the princess. There shall be no sudden touches in her presence, especially with you, Attuma.”

 Attuma blinked and cocked his head to the side, but he didn’t question his king’s instructions. 

Years have passed since you have befriended the rowdy young warriors that K’uk’ulkan looked upon with great fondness. You, along with Namora and Attuma, have trained under the wing of your father in the ways of the spear much to your new friends’ joy.

 As the next heir to the throne of your nation, you always did your best to meet the expectations that came with the name of the daughter of the feathered serpent god. You would go to the fields of your farmers to oversee harvest, weave baskets with the elderly to help the storage of the new batch of produce, and join the scholars that studied vibranium so you would further verse yourself to the mineral that grew in abundance in your ocean floors. 

 They were once such a tedious task for you; something that you did out of necessity. But Namora and Attuma made it a point to follow you everywhere you go, help you with the work and doubling the yields of your effort, and they made you smile when you were far too tired after your duties. 

 Attuma had made it a habit to make you cling on his back as you swam back home. There was no reason for you to get more exhausted than you already were, he told you. And despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself falling into a habit as well.

 You found your royal duties far more enjoyable with them by your side, and you absolutely awaited the time of the day where you were relieved of your duties to go and spend your time with them. 

 “Don’t you find studying boring?”  Attuma asked you one day, his meticulous hands polishing his training spear near the drop of the deep trenches. You tilted your head as soon as you seated yourself beside him, your legs dangling on the steep edge.

 “I don’t think so…the language of the surface dwellers is fascinating. I find it enjoyable to learn.”

 “You’re better off not knowing their language,” Namora huffed as she emerged from the bottom of the trench, a small lamp containing bright vibranium sustaining you with much needed light. She held her training spear proudly by her side, freshly decorated with shells that she found down below, “you know what they did to our grandmothers and grandfathers. I don’t see why you want to learn so much about them.”

 “It is my duty, Namora. Once I take the throne I might need to talk with the surface dwellers one day,” you looked down on your lap and fiddled with the jade bracelet your father had gifted you on your fifteenth birthday—one that once belonged to your grandmother, “and I’m just preparing…just in case.”

 “We’d be dead before we let any of those surface dwellers see you, princesa,” Attuma nudged his shoulders against yours and grinned, “we’ll make sure you don’t even have to talk to them as long as we’re there to protect you.”

 “Did father tell you to say that?”

 “What? No!” You gave Attuma a squinted eye stare and hummed. He averted his eyes nervously, his hands now working on his spear with more fervor than before. You and Namora snickered at his plight. 

 “He did.” Namora confirmed your suspicions. You sighed but left it be. You knew your father was just trying to protect you, so you let him do as he pleases. Although you did not fully understand the depth of the weight of his responsibilities, you could still recognize the great sorrow that came with his hate for the surface world.

 And you had kept quiet about your longing to go up into the land; for you knew how it would pain him to know that you bore as much love for the surface as you did for the love you had for your nation. 

 Attuma cleared his throat and straightened his back, the spear he had decorated with the teeth of hammerheads now lay by his side. He stared at you with such conviction that rendered you speechless in his presence, and the light from the faux sun that your father had created casted him in a glorious light that made your breath hitch in your throat and the feathers on your ankles bristle in anticipation. 

 “I’ll do my best to train hard, princesa. I’ll become strong enough to protect Talokan—to protect you—so that you won’t even have to worry about any surface dwellers by the time you will inherit the throne.”

 You felt more heat rush from your neck and now up to your eyes, his words giving you so much joy that you could possibly even imagine.

 You had a friend far more loyal than any of your own guards from your father’s command. And if there was one thing you had learned from your duties as princess, that was the honor that came with a loyal subject.

 Your flustered surprise was eventually replaced with giggles when Namora hit Attuma on the head with the brunt side of her spear, her face contorting to one of lighthearted teasing. 

 “Do you really think you’re the only one training to be by the princess’ side? You’ll have to go through me first.”

 “Then I’ll just have to train harder to beat you, Namora,” Attuma glanced at you and gave you a grin, “I’ll be the one to stand by the princess’ side.”

 “You’ve never even beaten me once.” “There’s a first time for everything.”

 She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

 You stopped their little play-fight before it got too heated by pulling them closer to your side, your arms around their necks and laughing with such elation. You were thankful that they came into your lives and became your closest friends, and you would not ever want to see them change as you slowly aged with the sea. 

 “While the both of you train to become warriors, I’ll study even harder so I could be a queen that both of you will be proud to serve under. I don’t want your efforts to go to waste and serve a leader that’s incompetent.”

 “You don’t have to do that, princesa. We shall follow you through the ends of the earth if need be. We already know that you outshine any ruler that came before and will come after you.”

 “My father would not be too pleased if he heard you say that, Attuma.”

 “He feels the same way, don’t worry.” Namora spoke in turn for the boy. You giggled when Attuma gave you a cheeky grin. 

 The three of you laughed with glee, unspoken promises now drifting with the currents of the outskirts of the capital city of your great nation.

It’s almost been a century since you have befriended them. A century since you have made your closest friends and aides. Namora and Attuma were always stuck by your side even when there were calls from their king to gather his strongest men. They gave you counsel, they gave you peace, they gave you protection in your times of need.

 Nowadays, though, Namora has frequented your father’s side more likely than not—mostly because she was his cousin and his most exemplary warrior. Attuma was only second in skill compared to Namora, but he was still powerful in his own right.

 You wondered when would your father hail them as generals; they deserve to be given the title for their service and their wit. You, as the princess of Talokan, can vouch for their competence. 

 “Where shall we go today, princesa?” Attuma asked you, his gait slowly inching closer to your own.

 The boy you once knew had grown into a fine man. He had honed his body to withstand the greatest blows, turned himself into a living shield for your purpose and disposal. You did not want him to go into such extremities, but he always insisted. He even went as far as to hunt hammerhead sharks on his own and nearly killed himself in the process. The bites of hostiles were lodged firmly into his stomach, and the scars that littered his skin became trophies of his successful exploits. 

 You cried and cried beside him as you told him how stupid he was, how foolish he was to do everything in your name. How could he throw himself into danger just to train himself for your sake? It did not make sense to you, and you reckon that you will never understand the mind of a great warrior like Attuma. 

 Despite this, he comforted you and held you close to him; told you that he would welcome any sort of pain just so he could protect you from harm's way. You cried again and punched him in his abdomen—you were sure to tell your healers that you would be the one to patch up your reckless guard as an apology. 

 You felt his warmth from the water that surrounded you as it shifted when he tucked a strand of hair behind your pointed ears. You smiled.

 “You can call me by my name, Attuma. You know that.”

 “How dare I ever utter your name so casually?” He asked you almost incredulously. You sighed.

 “We have been friends for over a century. You can be comfortable with me,” you turned to him with a pout, “please?”

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, a trace of amusement from his quirked lip. You huffed and crossed your arms.

 “You know I don't like giving orders, Attuma.”

 “Then I shall continue calling you by your title, princesa.”

 “And what if I ask you this as a request?” You swam closer to him, your pout breaking out into a knowing grin.

 Attuma stayed silent, his head turned to avoid your piercing gaze. He felt heat from the back of his neck at your proximity, but he didn't dare move away from you.  

 You huffed.

 “You're no fun.” 

 Attuma resisted the urge to chuckle. You looked at him in the corner of your eyes and smiled; you knew he couldn't resist it when you tried to make him laugh.

 “And what of your errands today?” He asked you, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. You blinked and swam towards him, pling his large bicep into the direction of your father's study.

 “We've wasted much time, Attuma. Now come, we are going to the surface.” He nodded in affirmation and led you towards the entrance of the underwater cave systems your father introduced you to as a child. It was one of your favorite places, but your duties called you to the deeper parts of the sea to tend to your people.

 As soon as you ascended, you saw the figure of your father dressed in his cloak as he painted murals upon the walls. Beside him was Namora, her mask on her face and her pallor now blue for being in land. You regarded your father with a bow, gestured him with the sign of your people’s respect, and slowly ascended into his study. 

 “Father.” you called out to him. He paused from his painting and smiled at you, his eyes filling with so much love that it was unlike the name the surface dwellers cursed him to be. 

 “In princesa,” my princess, he greeted you, reaching out to wipe the saltwater away from your eyes, “what brings you here?”

 “It is the time of the year to visit the surface, father. I was just here to let you know before I went.” His face steeled much like the other months across the century you had told him. But it was not in a place of anger—it was in a place of worry for your well-being.

 “I trust you to remember all that I have taught you. Return as soon as possible, understood?” You nodded and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight in assurance.

 “You do not have to worry. You have taught me well. And Attuma will be with me while I am out, so I shall be safe in his hands.” 

 K’uk’ulkan glanced behind you, now regarding Attuma with a nod of acknowledgement as he placed his mask on his face. Attuma bowed his head in respect and tightened the hold on his spear. The king’s brows furrowed.

 “If you bring Namora with you—”

 “Father,”  you cut him off, “I will be alright. I will not do anything to endanger myself nor Attuma. I will merely visit the borders of the reef, is all. I’m sure our warriors have already scouted the area before they were called back.”

 “In waal…”

 “We always go through this every three months. I do not doubt your worries, but place your trust in me and the warrior I have chosen.”

 Attuma straightened his back a tad bit, his chest rising in pride. He met eyes with Namora and grinned behind his mask. Namora simply replied with a silent roll of her eyes. 

 K’uk’ulkan swallowed a lump on his throat and sighed. He knew you were right. He trusted you enough that you would be safe, especially when someone as skilled as Attuma were to be by your side. It was the surface that he did not trust. It took so much from him and his forefathers even before Talokan came to be. He did not want to lose you to the claws of the surface world.

 He would have volunteered to come with you, to make sure you were safe, but one look from Namora was all he needed to know that he was needed in the council in just a few moments.

 He sighed. There was no stopping you when you had your mind set on a task.

 “Stay safe.” He gently held the back of your head and ducked down to meet your forehead. You hummed and closed your eyes, squeezing his hand in assurance.

 “You sound as if I am going to war,” you joked, “I shall return safe. I promise. It is not something that I have not done before.”

 “You know your strengths, my daughter. But be wary, still. Negligence is the first sign of weakness,” he separated himself from you and turned towards the wall mounted with spears. He took one of his own and gave it to you, the vibranium of the weapon shimmering under the light of the luminescent algae. It felt balanced. Powerful. He then smiled, “and never forget your weapon.”

 You chuckled and bowed your head in respect, the spear now by your side.

 “Yes, father.”

 K’uk’ulkan turns to Attuma and beckons him forth. The warrior obeyed with no hesitance and bowed before his king. You watched as your father nodded to himself and placed a hand on Attuma’s shoulder.

 “She’s a bit of a handful, so look after her, Attuma.” You gawked at him.

 “Father!” 

 “I will do as you say, in ajawo,” my king, he said. The warrior dared to look up and showed his conviction to his king, “I will keep her safe—even when she is a handful.”

 “You did not have to agree with everything my father says!”

 Namora cleared her throat and cheekily chimed in. “K'uk'ulkan is our king. Whatever he says we agree to, princesa.”

 K’uk’ulkan ignored your huffs of protest and Namora’s silent laughter as he squinted at the man, the hand that lay on his shoulder now tightening in warning. Attuma held his ground and did not yield to his king’s hold. He knew the reason for his king’s aggression; it came from a place of protectiveness. You were his only daughter after all.

 And Attuma was a man who held a century-long love for you, something that K’uk’ulkan wasn’t particularly fond of.

 But you were too stubbornly attached to him that no scheme that K’uk’uklan thought of would separate the two of you. He was far too wrapped around your fingers to fully say no to your whims. The king’s only saving grace is the fact that you were far too oblivious to notice the affections of your own guard.

 K’uk’ulkan felt a sliver of sympathy for Attuma. Just a tad bit.

 He narrowed his eyes. “And there shall be no…detours along the way, understood? Keep the princess safe, no more than that.”

 “Yes, in ajawo.” With a final nod, K'uk'ulkan released his grip from his warrior's soldiers and bid a final farewell before being led out by Namora to the depths of Talokan. She gave Attuma a knowing glance and bowed her head before you. 

 “Be careful, princesa. The world will incur K'uk'ulkan's wrath if you return scathed.” She joked. But knowing your father, you did not doubt that he would burn the world if you would come back harmed in any way; more reasons for you to stay careful for your visit.

 You smiled. “I will be careful, Namora. Do not worry. I have Attuma with me as well.”

 She nodded and followed after her king to the water, now disappearing into your view. You faced Attuma and gave him a grin.

 “Let's go visit the surface.”

 You knew the underwater caves like the back of your hand. You weaved through the dark waters, greeting the guards hidden by the rocks. They bowed their heads and regarded you with the gesture of your people, a courtesy fit only for the daughter of their god and king.

 You smiled to yourself when Attuma swam forward when sunlight peeked through the entrance of the surface, his spear drawn and ready by his side. He looked so focused and attentive, his whole body on high alert. You giggled as you reached him and held his hand, squeezing it tightly while looking into his eyes. 

 “You are too stiff. Nothing will harm us here.” You told him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. 

 “I am your aide. It is only natural for me, in princesa.”

 “I only wish for you to be at ease, Attuma,” you tugged him to the direction of the light, the sun now making itself known to the both of you. Attuma squinted at the sudden brightness; he wasn’t used to seeing something as intense as the real sun, after all. It was his first time visiting the surface world, “you will love the sights, I promise you.”

 Attuma felt wrong to be swimming beside you like you were equals. No aide of the high blood of Talokan should even dare to swim in stride beside a warrior who bore no rank. But by your side, he felt safe and welcomed.

 He did not feel fear despite it being the first time he had ever visited the surface world. Rather, he felt it to be…intimate, in a way. You trusted him wholeheartedly, put your safety in his hands as you ventured outside the safety of your own kingdom, and shared the experience that he knew to be significant to you even if you did not tell anyone your sentiments.

 But he knew. He always knew. 

 And he would protect you in great fealty as you explore the land that you so loved, even though he knew it would anger his own king to grant your taboo affection for the surface world.

 Away from the prying eyes of the other Talokanil, he allowed himself to indulge in his selfish desires and swam closer to you; your shoulders almost touching, hands tightly intertwined, and his heart finally free of the formalities that came with being your guard.

 He let himself become a man whose soul reached out to you in longing. 

 Your heads broke through the water and were hit by the rays of the golden sun. You let Attuma adjust to the light for a few moments, his hands shielding his eyes as he tried to view the sun from between his fingers. You watched his skin slowly turn blue as the air hit his skin, and you had to smile ever so slightly as you watched him marvel at the green forests just across the beach. 

 “Your mask.” You reminded him, the hand that was intertwined with his tightening in your hold. He nodded albeit meekly, seemingly embarrassed to have forgotten to equip himself in the midst of his awe, and let go of your hand to make sure his mask was secure.

 Attuma already missed the warmth as soon as he willed himself to part from you in a respectful distance, now aware how shameless he was to have succumbed to his own desires.

 You guided him to the rocks that overlooked the beach, just by the edge of the corals that your people have grown to create a border for those who visited the surface. It was a reminder on how you were never truly free to roam the surface and discover the riches beyond your own kingdom.

 The stories your father had told you plagued your mind, but beyond the violence that your forefathers have witnessed, robbed of the land that was yours by birthright, you wanted to see for yourself the motherland that your grandmother loved. You were angry at the surface dwellers, yes. You raged at the thought of the conquistadors that tainted your ancestral home. 

 But you never did loathe the surface. You just wanted to connect to the land of your ancestors that you were stripped of. 

 You were broken from your thoughts when you heard the squelch of water on rock. You looked beside you to see Attuma in full attention, his visage that of a man in full guard. You would have laughed if you saw him so serious in the midst of such a peaceful afternoon, but you knew how much his duty to you and your king meant to him.

 Attuma stood by your side whilst you leaned back and rested your feet on the water. You patted the space beside you, but he shook his head. You pouted. 

 “Join me to rest. You are not bound by the rules of my father here,” you told him, your face cracking into a mischievous smile, “be at ease, Attuma.”

 “Is that an order?” He gave you a glance, his eyes twinkling under the sun. Only now did you appreciate his dark gaze. It was as intense as it was full of life. You giggled and patted the empty space beside you once again. 

 “A request.”

 He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes locking into yours and sending shivers down your spine. You held his gaze, the water on your skin turning cold when the breeze hit your flesh. With a huff, he put down his spear and sat next to you, his hand dangerously close to your own. 

 “If you’ll allow me.”

 In silence did you bask in the beauty of the faraway beach that should have been inherited to you by your ancestors. The lands that stretched across the plains and the jungles of vivid colors would have been yours to rule by your father’s side. It pained you to know that you cannot even set foot on those beaches.

 It was the order of your father. The order of your king.

 An order to protect you from the surface dwellers that took your grandmother from him.

 It only served to remind you that—despite the feathered ankles that promised you freedom—you were caged in this lonely corner of the earth, away from the adventures that you wanted to experience in full. 

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked your guard, your eyes following the birds that idly preened themselves on the branches. Attuma stared at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips turning into a smile as you leaned forward in interest. 

 “Quite so.” His heart skipped a beat when your eyes twinkled in amazement, your gaze never wandering from the land. 

 “Would it be shameless of me to long for the surface?” You asked him suddenly. Attuma shook his head quickly. 

 “Never.”

 “Speak your mind. I did not ask you to indulge me and curry my favor,” you sighed and wrought your fingers together, your hand now leaving the proximity of your guard’s own, “I ask you for counsel, Attuma. You are one of the few people that I trust.”

 Attuma was silent as he mulled over your question. An aide to the heir of the throne must only listen and follow their whims. The will of their masters were the will of their followers; he dare not disobey such courtesy.

 But in the freedom of the duty that binded him to such rules by your order, he granted himself full autonomy. 

 “It might be so, in princesa,” you looked at him curiously. He held the urge to submit to you, to take back the words of his own opinion, and continued on, “you are the heir to Talokan, the nation built on the suffering of our ancestors who fled the land to hide in the sea. To long for the surface is a defiance to their dying will.”

 “But we were robbed of our ancestral lands. What if I long to get it back? To let our people walk in the motherland that we once came from? To let them see this; the beauty that they were deprived of when we were chased off our own inheritance?” “Then you should be prepared for war.” 

 He looked directly into your eyes, ones that held such young wisdom and hope. But he knew from the countless battles he fought that to reclaim the stolen land you wished to rule is to declare a fight that you were far too merciful to lead.

 “To reclaim the right that we once owned…you must be ready to shed blood; both the blood of the surface and the blood of your people. But to declare battle you must reveal our nation. Our king’s will shall not allow such a thing.”

 Attuma watched as you lowered your head, trapped in the swirl of your thoughts as you continued to deliberate the weight of his words. He flagrantly allowed himself to reach for your hand first, draw circles on the back of your hand tenderly, and scooted himself closer so his hulking gait would protect you from the prying eyes of the world. 

 You squeezed his hand with yours, your breath stuttering at your next words.

 “And what if I still desire to reclaim our land back, Attuma?” You looked up and held his gaze, your eyes now steeling itself to one of conviction.

 He smiled.

 “Then I shall shed blood for your will, in princesa.”

 You searched for any sort of hesitation in his strong features, to try and coax out any sort of loose ends of his loyalty. But you saw nothing of such sort; there only lay pure faith to your very existence, one that you recognize as unyielding. 

 You stared at him right in the eye. It was piercing, cold. One that beckoned utmost honesty from your aide. It was not a simple decision to make—even the words you have uttered this very moment would be considered blasphemous. Outright treacherous.

 “Even if it means to defy the orders of your king?”

 He did not waver as he replied.

 “You are the one that I serve. My loyalty lies with you.” He took his spear and knelt before you, his one knee digging into the rock in which you lay. He pierced his weapon down into the earth, took your hand to rest upon his cheek, and presented himself to the utmost fidelity.

 “Have you not sworn your service under the name of my father?”

 “I have sworn nothing,” he practically growled, his grip on his spear tightening, “I long for nothing more than to swear my piety to you. I am indebted to K’uk’ulkan; I revere him as my god and king. Yet I cannot stand the thought of offering my loyalties to anyone else but you.”

 You felt your heart throb against your chest, your eyes stinging with wet tears. It was a feeling foreign to you. The waves usually wipe your tears away at the bottom of the sea. But here on land, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that urged you to cover your mouth to stifle your joyous sobs.

 In the face of the man you had grown up with, in the presence of such undying loyalty did you fail to mask your elation. Yet your head was muddled with confusion—why was he always so devoted to you? Why would he risk being cast out when your father still sits on the throne and swears his loyalties to you? Why was he so willing to defy the orders of his king for your selfish whims?

 You knew the weight of a warrior's oath. It was not something to be taken lightly. Warriors would swear upon the names of leaders who have fought countless battles, led the charge to warfare, and those who were considered gods like your father.

 You were none of those.

 You were not your father.

 “Why?” You asked him, your hands trembling against his cheek. “Compared to my father, I am nothing. Why would you swear your loyalty to me when I have nothing to give you in return? It will still be years—centuries, even—before I could inherit the throne and bear the title of queen mother. So why?”

 Silence fell between the two of you, the waves of the high afternoon playing the symphonies of its motherlands. You felt like you were suffocating despite the beauty that surrounded you while you waited for him to speak.

 Finally, Attuma slowly raised his head and kissed the palm of your hand. It brought a wave of heat from the back of your neck to your cheeks, and even the tips of your pointed ears warmed at the gesture. 

 “Will you allow me to speak out of turn?” He asked you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You blinked back the tears that obscured your vision and nodded.

 “Speak your mind, Attuma.”

 He breathed in a stuttering breath, the hand that held yours tightening and trembling. It made you nervous; a warrior such as he, the embodiment of a shield that protects his nation, stuttered and shook in your hold. He could overpower you at any second, purge the world of your existence, but here he was, weak and vulnerable in your presence. 

 He locked eyes with you, those gorgeous oaken eyes stared deep into your very being without reservation. You found yourself feeling faint, as if you have fallen into a pleasant trap that you weren’t too keen on getting out of. 

 And with a steady voice he said;

 “I love you, in princesa. I always have since we were children. I only breathe to serve you, only live to please you. If you so asked me to burn the world and slay your enemies, then I will show you the ashes of their bones on a jaden chest. If you asked me to become your shield, then I shall parry every blade for you and protect you with my last breath. If you asked me to become your spear, then the blood of your foes shall dye the sea in red…” 

 He paused as he drew closer, the heat of his body enveloping you in a sensation of great adoration. He gripped your hand tighter, his lips lingering on your palms as he leaned further into your touch. 

 “...and if you asked me to become your beloved, then I will become the most faithful man you would ever lay your eyes upon—for your joys are my joys, and your sorrows are mine to bear.”

 You felt your throat constrict, the heat from your face now traveling down to the tips of your fingers down to the very ends of your feathered ankles. Your wings bristled and shook, your breath hitching at every breath, and you felt the sudden urge to look away from those unwavering eyes. But the gravity of his own magnetism was enough to drive you back in; to never tear your gaze away from the man that confessed his love for you.

 Though this begs the question; did you love him back?

 Attuma must have misunderstood your silence for rejection, so he slowly removed your hands from his cheeks and bowed his head in shame.

 “I have spoken out of turn. I apologize,” he held his spear tightly, but he never removed himself from his bow—a sign of his submission to you, “whether or not you accept my feelings, I will still stay by your side. I will serve under you, make my oath in the witness of K’uk’ulkan of my loyalty to you. I will ask for nothing more.”

 Your heart broke at how easily it was for him to apologize. No person should ever apologize for the feelings that they bear. It only proved how devoted the great warrior was to you; for him to present his feelings of love to you and still offer his loyalty in the face of rejection. 

 You recounted the days of your youth down to the decades worth of memories with him. How could you have been so blind to have ignored the signs of his affections? How blinded were you with your duties that you allowed yourself to turn away from the subtle declarations of his feelings for you?

 How foolish were you to actually dismiss your own feelings for him? You love Attuma. You always have.

 “Why have you not said anything in the century we have been together?” You asked him, your voice low and meek. You did not want to lose the warmth of his skin, so you gently lifted his head with both of your hands and let him meet your eyes. 

 You saw the gaze of your warrior waver.

 “My duty is to protect you. How dare I be so impertinent as to bear feelings for the daughter of my own king?”

 You shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. You heard the clatter of his vibranium spear on the rocks and into the water below. But you simply did not care at that moment. 

 “You are never impertinent, not when I bear the same love for you as you have for me.”

 You heard his breath hitch. The hands that lay dutifully to his side now flying up to your face and hold your cheeks so delicately. In the large and dependable hands of your warrior did you feel safe and loved. It was unlike the other times that he had shown you affection when you were merely just friends.

 What were you now, you wondered, now that you and him share the same feelings.

 In that moment of solace did Attuma realize his place, but he did not dare remove his hands from you. He ghosted his fingers over your pointed ears, tangled his hands with your wet hair, and held you tight like you were the most precious thing in the sea. 

 He was but a mere warrior—a shameless peasant whose hands had brazenly touched the skin of his master. 

 “I am just a warrior without a title. You cannot possibly love me as I am.”

 “But I do. I just have never realized it sooner, in yakunaj.” My love, an endearment that made Attuma’s heart flutter and weak against your hands. 

 “And when we are in the eyes of scrutiny, what then should you do?”

“It matters not, my dear warrior.” 

 “But your majesty—!”

 “Am I not the heir to the throne of Talokan? Am I not the princess whose rule is imminent in the witness of your king? Of whom I shall love is a matter of my own choice that not even the feathered serpent god could refute.”

 You drew in closer and wrapped your arms around him. He was strong and powerful, but in your arms did he surrender himself. He was not the warrior you knew him to be. In your arms, he was just a man who held a century worth of ardor.

 “I dare not disgrace you, in princesa. I have nothing in my name but the battles that I have fought as a mere soldier.”

 He removed himself from you and held you tenderly by the cheeks. You leaned against his touch, completely surrendering to the feelings that you have long since ignored since the beginning. He inched himself closer and continued to speak with great affection.

 “But if I would be so bold to ask for you to wait; wait for me to garner titles of my own, build the foundations of my exploits, and ask you again to become mine, would you be so merciful as to grant such a plea?”

 You stared at his resolve, the gaze of the man you have realized you have loved now asking you for the mercy to wait. You cupped his strong jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb as you said;

 “I will grant you mercy, in yakunaj, only if you fulfill my wish.”

 He became alert, his body ready to grant your desires.

 “Anything, in princesa. Anything for your majesty.”

 “Then I wish for you to call me by my name, I beg you. We bear more than just pleasantries of warrior and royal.”

 He gave you a smile, one that even his mask could not hide, and leaned in to touch his forehead against yours.

 “Is that an order?”

 You smiled. 

 “A request.”

It was merely a few decades later that the great capital city of Talokan was abuzz with the whispers of a great blessing bestowed upon their royal heir. It lit the fire of pride within the citizens of the hidden nation, a pride that K’uk’ulkan wore with high regard as he descended to present himself on the forefront of his throne. 

 Their darling princess, the radiant pearl of the deep sea, was ready to assume the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s legacy. 

 As your citizens have revered your father as the god king of your people, they have revered you as the same; a deity whose hands extended to the waters to create a shield of protection, a divine being whose mercy radiates the warmth of a thousand suns, the daughter of the feathered serpent god whose wings carried you through the winds of battle through the century. Your chest bloomed with unending bliss when you realized you've lived up to the name of your father—an entity that you've molded yourself into the likeness of.

 You had held the expectations of the name of K’uk’ulkan to your very heart, and you were thrilled at the fact that your father had acknowledged your efforts in the witness of your people.

 Your kingdom cheered and praised your name as you descended into the throne room from above, the feathered headpiece similar to your father’s symbolizing your authority as heir apparent of Talokan. Your father extended his hand for you to take, and you had done so with such grace befitting of your title as radiant pearl of the sea.

 And there he had presented you with a throne of your own, just below the teeth of the monster of the deep oceans that he had slain many years ago. It was decorated with the finest of jade, vibranium, and gold with the likeness of an open shell. Compared to his throne that was decorated with the splendor of his long battles, yours was the embodiment of the abundant riches of your nation. 

 It was a symbol, perhaps, that the toil of your father’s work had borne fruit of great wealth to Talokan and passed down to the generations that would come next.

 The radiant pearl of the sea had finally assumed her reign as heir apparent after a century of her rule by the feathered serpent god’s side, and there was no one in the kingdom who would oppose to the majesty of K’uk’ulkan’s daughter—not because she had the blood of their king in her veins and the feathered ankles that proved her divine lineage—but because of her love for her people and the duties that she had so diligently carried with grace.

 K’uk’ulkan swam to your side and guided you to rest upon your new throne. It was a new feeling for you, one that could not compare to the childish wonder that you had just sitting on the lap of your father when you were still a wee babe. In the high seat of your throne did you overlook the citizens that had adored you, watched as they bowed their heads and put their hands in the likeness of a serpent’s mouth as respect to your inauguration.

 As much as you loved to see your people acknowledge you, you could not find a glimpse of your best friend and secret lover. To you, their opinions were the only ones that mattered. It would not feel as joyous as it is if they were not to witness your greatest achievements. 

 Where were they, you wondered. They promised to be here in time for your ceremony.

 “Something troubles you, in waal.” your father beside you, the feathers from his headpiece tickling the sides of your cheek. You gave him a smile, one that masked your worries, and found comfort in the hands that gripped yours reassuringly.

 “Namora and Attuma are not here,” you supplied him, your eyes scanning the crowd of your people, “I worry for them. They promised they would come.”

 K’uk’ulkan smiles and brings his hand to caress the base of your neck tenderly and rest his decorated forehead on your own. Your breath, which you didn’t realize had become labored, instantly calmed at the mere comfort of your father.

 “Quell your nerves, my daughter. They will come.” With a knowing smile, your father separated himself from you and swam up to sit in the jaws of his own throne. The people all cheered while chanting the words of praise to Talokan’s honor.

 K’uk’ulkan puts his hand up slowly and everyone falls into a hush. The air was still buzzing, the water under your command feeling the energy of everyone’s bated breaths as they awaited the words of their king.

 “We honor the place of my only child as the rightful heir of Talokan. She has proven herself worthy of such a title for a century, and the seas have blessed us with such excellence that no one could dare defy. The future of Talokan is bright.” 

 Your people cheered and hollered, yet your eyes still strain to find your best friend and lover. You tried your best not to feel upset, but you felt a painful twist on your heart.

 Where were they? It was unlike them to break their promises, especially your beloved warrior, Attuma.

 “Not only do we celebrate the coronation of my daughter’s place in my council, but we celebrate the oath of our two new generals.” your father continued, your head snapping up at the familiar silhouette of your secret lover up the grand entrance of your underwater throne room. Your heart settled and you smiled in great pride as your father presented them at last.

 “Namora and Attuma, the new grand generals of Talokan.”

 They extruded such power as they descended ever so slowly, the light of the vibranium sun creating a halo of light around their bodies. They wore new armor that suited their character; the likeness of the spines of a lionfish adorned the body of your best friend, Namora, and the skull of a hammerhead shark and the spikes of its teeth littering every crevice of Attuma’s plated armor. Both of them held their respective weapons made of vibranium, and you could only smile at how proud you were for them.

 You couldn't help but ogle at the sight of your warrior. You had kept your word and waited for him to finally gather his own accomplishments before asking for your hand. But that did not stop you from sneaking off and relishing yourselves in each other’s company. No one had ever suspected anything yet, but you gathered that your people were still under the impression that Attuma only bears one-sided love for you. 

 Oh your poor love, you didn’t mean to make him wait for so long.

 You wondered when he would finally ask for your hand, to finally make your blooming romance known to your father and your citizens. It filled you with warmth just thinking about the possibilities.

 You and Attuma locked eyes as soon as they had finished their descent, his eyes raking across your figure sat on your jeweled throne. He felt the need to kiss you right then and there, a privilege he had not yet taken across the decades of your secret romance in respect to his promise. He dared not touch you so inappropriately when you were not yet his, but he was sure to finally claim you as his own.

 You were a jewel in Attuma’s eyes. A gem fit to be heralded around in great praise to your charm. Although your beauty spoke wonders of your outward appearance, you were a strong warrior, maybe even as strong as Namora. You are wise like your father, and you cared for your kingdom in the ways that a mother would.

 You were crowned princess of Talokan, heir to the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s majesty, and the future queen mother of your nation. 

 Attuma could not even begin to describe in words such a blessing that fell into his hands so tenderly. 

 As soon as they were done taking their oath, bowed before you and K’uk’ulkan to swear their undying fidelity to your nation of Talokan, Attuma and Namora shared one look before your warrior ascended alone, careful to keep his gait below your eyes and on the feet of your throne. Your people fell into a hush, the momentary celebration ceasing to wait for Attuma’s next words.

 “In princesa,” he started, his eyes looking up to lock eyes with your father, “K’uk’ulkan. If I may speak.”

 “Attuma,” he regarded the warrior, his head held high in authority, “what do you wish to say?”

 “My fealty lies with no one but the princess,” he bowed low and presented presented his spear by the jewels that adorned your throne, “the oath I shall take is one reserved to be of service of her, and if she wills me to serve under you, K’uk’ulkan, then I shall do so with no question.”

 You waited with bated breath as your father stood from his throne and descended to stand in front of your warrior. Your heart thumped in your chest as you saw your father inch closer to him, his hand now resting on his shoulders and urging Attuma to rise. 

 “You have done a great deal for the name of my daughter, but the decision is hers to make.” K’uk’ulkan started, his voice carrying nothing but tender command. He turned towards you and beckoned you forward. You did so without question and swam beside your father.

 “Do you accept his oath, in waal?”

 There was no other answer for such a question. It was something that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your blossoming romance, the fantasy that you had always dreamed to come into fruition.

 With a smile that would outshine the stars of the night, you eagerly replied. 

 “I shall accept your oath with open arms, Attuma. My dear warrior.”

 Your people broke into joyous cheers as Attuma rose from his bow. You turned to pick the spear by the feet of your throne and presented it to him with a proud grin. He replied in kind, kissing the vibranium shaft that touched your hand as soon as he had received it. Heat traveled up your neck and into the tips of your pointed ears at the gesture, your fingers wringing together in bashful fluster.

 K’uk’ulkan smiled at the exchange, but he could not help but urge you away from the warrior and back to your throne. He could not help himself—you were far too precious to be in the presence of a man who fancied you all his life.

 The king turned to Attuma and regarded him with a nod and gesture of Talokan’s respect, the warrior replying in kind.

 “Serve her well, Attuma.”

 Before K’uk’ulkan could return to his throne, Attuma rose high and proud, brandishing his weapon only he could ever wield with such power. A show of strength, if you will, that left the people at awe at the display of his prowess.

 “My king! If I may be so bold, I have something to ask of you.” He declared, his voice loud and strong. Your brows furrowed in confusion at such a statement; what else did Attuma need when he had already pledged his service to you?

 You held the urge to giggle when your father turned with an amused chuckle of his own.

 “What is it?”

 Attuma turned towards you, the both of you locking eyes. And in that moment, he sent you an affectionate grin.

 And then realization hit you.

 He wasn’t going to—!

 “I wish for your permission to court your daughter, the princess.” Murmurs and excited gasps spread across the hall. You see Namora grinning to herself staring at Attuma, impressed. Your cheeks burned with heat, your chest pounding at how incredibly mad Attuma was for declaring something as bold as a courting during your coronation as crown heir. 

 But it was something that you absolutely loved about your warrior, no matter how insane he was to declare his desire to court you in front of the entire kingdom.

 Your father stiffened, his eyes steeled and ready to pounce at Attuma. He had to hold himself back—there was no reason for him to needlessly attack his finest warrior just because he expressed his desire to court you. He could not even dismiss such thought; the titles and the achievements of Attuma held far more worth than any man in Talokan. 

 From where it stands, and with your close relationship with the warrior, he was by far the only man worthy of your affection.

 And so, with a reluctance that held every possible threat in the world, K’uk’ulkan replied. 

 “Prove to me your worth, Attuma, for the radiant pearl of the sea does not need an incompetent suitor to court her.”

 “Father!” You hissed quietly. You felt your father’s animosity course through you in waves. You had to resist the urge to groan and sigh; he was so protective of you.

 But Attuma did not seem phased as he spoke steadily.

 “By your will, K’uk’ulkan.”

 In the eyes of your people did you swim beside your father and held his arm reassuringly. His steely gaze finally fell as he looked at you, and you allowed yourself to swim to the level of his ears and whisper, “Please be gentle with Attuma, father. I also bear feelings for him.”

 He looked at you like he was betrayed, but he was not surprised. How could you not have told him about your budding feelings for the warrior?

 Then again, he knew the throes of a woman when it came to sharing their romantic feelings, so he did not blame you for keeping it a secret from him, your own father.

 “How long have you known?”

 “A few decades,” you smiled sheepishly, “do not be so hard on the warrior that I have chosen. He means it in good faith, and he has done nothing to cross any boundaries set by your command.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “I swear it upon my name and crown, father.”

 Your father pondered on your words for a little while longer and resigned with a sigh. You pressed your forehead against your father’s and giggled.

 “Thank you for your leniency, my king.”

 You separated yourself from your father and swam forward to Attuma. He gave you a cheeky grin, one that screamed unapologetic mischief. You shook your head, amused as his antics, as you raised your hand to cup his cheek.

 “My father has given his word; prove to him that you are worthy of my hand so we will be together, my dear warrior.”

 He dared cup your hands that feathered along his strong jaw and leaned into your touch. You could feel your father’s piercing stare, but the both of you ignored it, too engrossed in your own little world in the watchful eyes of your nation.

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, his eyes boring into yours with such intensity that would have sent you immediately to your knees.

 You leaned in close until your lips met the base of his mighty headpiece, the jagged teeth of the hammerhead shark that he had slain digging firmly into the skin of his forehead. When you parted, you stared into his eyes; the eyes that held nothing but veneration to your glorious name. 

 And with a tender whisper to your beloved, you replied.

 “A request.”

Anyone up for a Part 2? >:))

Taglist: @haideehaids  @xnodamsel

[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 🧡💕

[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.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 00 Chapter 00 | Blurb⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Your body shakes uncontrollably as the voices escalate, their demands piercing through the fragile peace.

❝Please, let me tell my family that I love them!❞

❝My husband deserves to know what his sister did to me!❞

❝Help us... Help us... HELP US!!❞

❝I can't. I can't. I can't,❞ you trembled as you covered your ears in hopes of drowning them out, but it was no use.

Just as you're about to succumb to the overwhelming despair, a sudden grip on your shoulders jolts you, and you brace for the familiar mockery of a spirit's deception. Instead, a voice cuts through the chaos, clear and unmistakably real. ❝Hey, ____. Calm down. Please, calm down. I'm here.❞

Cautiously, you open your eyes, meeting two pools of green filled with worry.

Your heart wants to believe it's truly him, but your mind rebels, scarred by too many deceptions; too many times than you could count, you found yourself in a similar predicament, yet when you allowed yourself to relax, you found that instead of really being someone you cared for, it was just a spirit playing jokes.

Flinching back, you shook your head, ❝No. No. No. You aren't real. You aren't real. You aren't real,❞ you chant, body curling in on yourself as you expected a spirit's mocking laughter to follow.

Yet, the laughter never comes. Instead, you feel two hands cover the ones you held over your ears.

They were...warm...a sensation both unfamiliar and comforting.

Spirits have never possessed warmth; their touch has always been a cold reminder of their otherness.

Slowly, your breathing steadies under his touch, and you dare to lift your gaze, allowing yourself to truly see him. 

Golden-brown skin that speaks of sun-kissed days.

A wild mane of curls that defied gravity, seemingly untamable, no matter how much it was brushed.

Two gorgeous green eyes that made you feel as if you were lost in a forest of evergreen trees.

And freckles—so many freckles to count—scattered across his nose and cheeks  like stars against the dusk of his skin.

Noticing your attention, Camilo offers a gentle smile. ❝There she is,❞ he whispered, his hands moving from your ears to cradle your face.

❝Y-You're real,❞ you manage, the statement half question, half revelation.

Camilo's smile widens, and he hums in affirmation, his gaze softening as he looks at you. ❝Yeah, ____,❞ he gently caressed the side of your face. ❝I'm real.❞

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

You were blessed with the gift of seeing the undead.

Though seen as evil and devilish by many, the Madrigals showed you the beauty that comes with it and that your gift doesn't define you.

Now, turning 17, you find that your gift continues to grow—from being able to just see the dead, to being able to allow them to communicate with the living through you.

You find yourself drowning under the pressure from both the living and the undead, yet before you can completely hit rock bottom, a certain curly-haired trickster vows to be the one to save you.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏. Death/Mentions of death

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

ㅡ   This book takes place 2 years after the main plot in Encanto, so just think of it as a canon-divergent, since all that happened in the movie stays true.

ㅡ   Also, no smut since Camilo is underage. IDC if he got aged up, it still wouldn't make it any better; 17 is a minor. Now, Uncle Bruno tho 👀 jkjk. Unless??

ㅡ A few headcanons will be immersed into the story, just to make it a bit towards my liking (you'll know when you see them) and I would like to just paste the link of a few of what I liked; I may or may not include them, who know?

http://hourlyencantohcs.tumblr.com

**Most of these won't be from the reader herself, but fromㅡAAHHH! I want to say it, but I don't want to give away any plots 😭. Just know it won't be the overall theme of the book, just a few scenes. So don't worry, and if it'll make anyone feel better, I'll put a warning in a chapter that has these.

[senior-sandr]

[ golden sun: the lost age crew (2/4) ]

finally a cohesive color scheme

character : jenna from the golden sun series

[thebigsl33p]

Last Words of A Shooting Star (2/?)

A/N: Hello!! It's been a while!! This took me ages to start and ages to finish, it will probably need editing but that's alright!! Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 4176 Thank you all for the sweet comments and reblogs!! unfortunately, my comments don't work!! but they're appreciated all the same!!! <3

people I thought might appreciate being tagged: (If not, sorry!!!):

@augustwithquills @myanmy @noortsshift @archangelslollipop @vaguekayla @budugu @inlovewithfictionalmen444 @weallhaveadestiny @dreamlandcreations @bookloverfilmoholic @lost-tothe-centuries @myanmy @oliviaewl @summersummoner-pat @augustwithquills @lost-tothe-centuries @wonderland2425 Part 1 - Masterlist -

The rumours around The Sanctuary start instantly. The change in the Shadow Summoner and the Star is clear to see - their little giggles which are closer than before, the casual touches - a hand on a back, a hip, an arm, the occasional kiss to the cheek or playful glance across the mess hall - it’s all noticeable to those who are watching.

And people are watching. It’s endearing in a way; it brings a warmth and a light to the halls which had previously been found in the other young couples. For a little bit, life in The Sanctuary is quiet and good and domestic.

Winter changes that.

Winter brings harsh winds and even harsher journeys. More groups of Grisha begin to arrive at The Sanctuary, with that familiar hollow gaze and blood stained nails, throats screamed raw and clothes muddied and singed at the edges. Winter brings an increase in Royal patrols and Druskelle raids. Winter brings war, and death and hunger: the sudden decline of crops means rations are implemented, and with the ever rising population it suddenly becomes very hard to feed all the Grisha.

Living becomes a team effort - it has to be, or else if one person goes, everyone goes with them.

The Sanctuary, once filled with warmth and sunlight and laughter, becomes quiet and cold, pensive and reflective, serene in a melancholy way. The world, once golden, has been bathed in grey.

They’re laying in bed together one night, an act done in intimacy, but also to preserve warmth, when Aleksander murmurs something against Y/N’s hair. When she hears the muffled noise, she pulls the lower half of her face out from under the patchwork sheets and glances up at him, “What’s that, lapushka?”

“I think we should leave The Sanctuary.” And her heart stops.

He pulls his face out of her hair to repeat, “I think we should leave The Sanctuary. For good. We could go - and make our own life. Away from all this suffering.” he says quietly, and he knows it’s selfish but suddenly he finds himself with something to lose - he refuses to lose her to this life.

Her eyes widen a fraction, her brows drawing together, “…How?” She says softly, “Everything we have is here We can’t just…”

Aleksander leans up onto his elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes almost pleading, “But it wasn’t always. We survived together when we first met, we can do it again until we find a… a home. Please, Zvezda.” And his spare hand came up to cradle her face, “Let me take you away from all this. Please.”

She swallows as she leans into his hand and lets her eyes flutter shut. The Star sighs, “Aleks… You really want to?” She asks hesitantly.

He answers instantly, “Yes. I do. Let me take you somewhere where we’ll be happy, and we’ll always be safe.” He leans his head down to press a kiss to the apple of her cheek, “I promise.”

-

They leave in the early morning, their few belongings packed into bags and placed on the back of a brown speckled horse, which they ungraciously name Madga, after the fairytale. It’s the type of morning where the sun doesn’t rise properly and instead paints the sky a pale blue, a low fog has settled on the grass and the mud has yet to thaw. The only noise for miles around is the brush of the wind and the leaves, and the crows calling down the morning.

The goodbye is hard. Consisting of furrowed brows and slight sniffs, Aleksander and Y/N hug, and shake hands, and kiss cheeks with the people whom they have lived with, survived with, for the past few months. The people who are the same as them, who they have an identity and kinship with - who know their struggles and feel their hardships.

They know they’re leaving together, neither one of them is alone, but it’s still the loss of a community. And a damn painful loss at that.

The final goodbye is said and done, and suddenly their backs are to The Sanctuary and the winding path in front of them is daunting yet manageable. One of his gloved hands is holding the reigns of the horse, the other finds hers. Likewise, one of her hands rests limply above the handle of her sword, tucked neatly into its holder, but the other’s fingers intertwine with his, an unspoken I’ve got you. And then they’re going, leaving their home and their friends and their cause, in hopes of a better life.

With each crunch of their boots the mud begins to melt, the winter morning sun doing very little to soften the blow of the winds which knife them. The horse trots happily behind them, whinnying and huffing sometimes but overall content with the gentle pace they’ve set. It’s the beginning of their journey and their not trying to exhaust themselves on the first day. The first day, which they spend walking among trees and branches which have been stripped by winter, is gentle. They talk idly and laugh occasionally, settling into their choice that they have made. Coming to terms with it.

They spend the first night in, what was once, a field, but was now mostly cold dirt and frozen mud. Aleksander and Y/N set up a small fire just big enough to cook the little meat they had decided to use with a tiny bit of bread, and they place their roll mats side by side, layering their thin blankets with their coats and jackets and curling up beside one another to preserve heat.

They exchange soft kisses and quiet murmurs, compliments and hands slipped under shirts, her fingers tracing over scars, his thumb rubbing circles over her hip. It’s comfort and sweetness in a journey that is unsure and vague, but familiar in its routine. They’ve been here before.

The first village they come upon is uninhabitable. The signs of struggle are clear - the piles of belongings abandoned on the road, the out-of-place burnt husks of homes, sandwiched between pristine cottages and buildings. Makeshift memorials and graves. The entire village buzzes with paranoia and anger, people’s heads whip around too fast and the entire market is full of yelled accusations - so they make a point to avoid it.

It’s clear what’s happened here: any and all Grisha families, travellers, people even so much as suspected of being Grisha, have had their homes and livelihoods stolen from them, their belongings, their toys, photos, trinkets and memories, tossed onto the street like rubbish. As they pass both Y/N and Aleksander keep their heads down with the quiet knowledge that, hopefully, those people had a peaceful end.

The Star and the Shadow Summoner pass through the village quickly, hiding any and all marks of being, or being associated with, Grisha - both their Kefta’s hidden by large coats and layers for warmth. They get a few odd looks but nothing that’s out of the ordinary for travellers. They pass through with pits in their stomachs and tightly clutched hands.

Their journey is long and never easy. Winter only gets harsher, only seems to punish them. There are moments where leaving the Sanctuary feels like a mistake - cold nights with only one another for comfort where they miss the food and the beds, and the warmth of a proper fire or the food-hall.

And it’s hard with both the Druskelle and the King’s Men suddenly being so much more vigilant. They’re everywhere, around ever village, town, city. Which means their journey is limited to lesser travelled paths and darkness - which isn’t too much of a bother. Aleksander is a Shadow Summoner, and Y/N’s a literal star. So, darkness is something they’re rather familiar with and is hardly a daunting or unwelcomed propsect.

However, an odd tension rises when they pass by another city - this one, ransacked by the King’s Men. And the flyers which litter the town: she manages to catch one under her shoe, and she bends down to pick it up, Aleksander’s brow furrowing, “What do they say?” He asked softly.

Y/N turns it around, her eyes scanning over the paper to read the words. A demand from the King, calling for the arrest of the Shadow Summoner. Her eyes flickered to him, wide and alarmed, “Sasha…”

“…damn.” He muttered, running a hand through his dark hair, “…Y/N, zvezda.” He sighed, taking the pamphlet off her, “…We’ll have to take extra care to avoid towns. C’mon.” And he took her hand, guiding her out of the town and to the path which went around the settlement, a good distance away.

During the journey he’d taken on that brooding look she was so accustomed to, which she recognised as him either being deep in thought, annoyed, or angry. And it seemed to be an odd combination of all three. She let him simmer in it for a bit, until she tapped his hand with her fingers, “Love?”

He glanced towards her, acknowledging her questioning. He simply squeezed her hand softly.

“We should talk about it,” she said gently, “This is a big threat, and we can’t just pretend-”

“I promised you safety.” he muttered, his eyes dark and focused on the path ahead, “I promised you safety and happiness, and just you being with me jeopardises that. Jeopardises you, and I refuse to be the reason that…”

Her brow furrowed softly, her eyes pinned on him as he continued, “I refuse to be the reason that something happens to you, all because you… and…” He swallowed, “You are… so, precious to me. And the idea that you just being around me may put you into danger - if anything happened to you-”

“I know.” She said softly, “Sasha, I know. We’re both hazards to one another.” She acknowledged, “I mean, Saints,” she playfully untucked a strand of her silvery hair from her hood, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m a glaring obstacle,” she weakly joked, “And- not to mention our Keftas. So, yeah, we’re risks to one another. A risk I’m willing to take.”

Aleksander sighed, finally glancing at her, still burdened but slightly relieved. He nodded firmly, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

-

The end of winter brings the husk of a tiny cottage, on the edge of a glade. The trees are sparse and the ground is mulch but there’s a stone structure, half falling apart, the walls slightly toppled and with little proof of previous inhabitants save for an old wooden table and the shell of a bed: just a wooden structure.

They spend the first night there, make a mattress out of their clothes and bags and coats, light a meagre fire in the unused hearth but it’s enough to provide heat. The first night, turns to two nights, then to three, and then a week, and all of a sudden things are… comfortable. Suddenly their belongings find homes - their little trinkets kept on mantles and sides.

By the second week, it’s decided they will stay. And they settle into domesticity. The first action is to fix the bed, and they quickly discover there’s a nearby village, tiny, but enough to purchase produce and other resources. She goes, having teasingly banned him from entering any villages or towns due to the declaration. The declaration which they keep as a slightly playful memento above the fireplace, pinned to the wall and the stones.

Gradually, the seasons change.

It gets warmer, sunnier, days become longer. They fix the walls, make a mattress, they take it in turns to chop firewood and cook, days are filled with joy and ease and love.

It’s a quiet evening, the two of them sat side by side at their dining table as the share intimate memories and stories, Aleksander’s voice low as he recounts the stories she knows on surface level, “…I travelled around a lot as a kid. My mother - well, we’re both Shadow Summoners - She works at The Sanctuary. She meant well when she raised me, I think. Now, she’s just bitter.” he murmured, “We stayed at a Grisha camp…” And the story goes on, as he finally tells her the truth of his childhood.

And his first incident with The Cut.

In return she tells him of her experience as a Star. The years spent above, witnessing human life, longing for that. Of having an unimaginable understanding of human civilisation and development and being entirely unable to partake in it. And the stories which the mortals make of her and her kind, this need to understand and name, to see figures and shapes in the constellations.

They listen to one another’s stories respectively, offering soft smiles and gentle encouragements. They listen to one another’s stories with love.

-

It’s been months since they’ve settled at the homestead, and it’s late summer. The air is thick and warm and comfortable, and they’re working in the field together. She’s hanging up their laundry, while he folds what’s been taken off the line and places it onto a chair they’ve brought outside. The line which they put up together, connecting from the side of the building to the treeline. He’s sitting in the grass as she rinses off and wrings the clothes, shaking them out and putting them out in the sun.

And then suddenly water hits her cheek. And she makes a show of gaping at him, “Oh, you did not.”

He’s got his hand in the bucket, sitting cross legged in the field with a mischievous grin on his handsome face, “And if I did?”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, and then makes a show of dipping clothes in the bucket, wringing it out, and then shaking it out in his face so the water flicked all over him, “Milaya!” He cried out, as she chuckled at his reaction, “Fine, I suppose I deserve it…” And then suddenly, he pauses.

She’s standing above him, the setting sunlight just behind her head, lighting up her hair like… well, starlight. Spun silver. And she’s laughing, and his heart stops in his chest.

“What?” She laughs, noticing his expression, “What is it?”

Finally, Aleksander shakes his head and returns to folding, an amused quirk at his lips, “Oh, nothing, zvezda.”

She mutters something in return, making another show of huffing as she returned to hanging up the laundry.

“You’re so pretty when you’re annoyed,” he teased, resting his head in his hand.

“Aleks…” She warns, a playful glare in his direction.

“What?” He laughs, leaning back on his hands, “I’m simply stating the truth.”

“You are insufferable.” She huffs.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

And he softens like ice cream on a hot day at her words, his smile shifting from teasing to adoring, dopey and warm, “I love you too, zvezda. Even if you think I’m insufferable.” In return she gives him a smile over her shoulder, finishing up the laundry, “C’mon. We’ll cook together tonight, love.”

“If you insist,” he muses, standing with a soft groan. As they go into the house together, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, “I’m getting old, lapushka.”

“Oh, please,” she playfully scoffed, “You’re barely…” She falters then, her brow furrowing, “…I don’t actually know how human age works.” She admits.

His brow raises a fraction, before he begins to explain to her how human’s - mortals - classify age. Which leads to their evening being full of age-based jabs and him explaining to her the concept of birthdays over stew. It’s easy, and they tumble into bed together that night in fits of giggles and quiet kisses.

It’s home.

They sleep peacefully through the nights beside one another and gradually the searching and persecution begins to die down. Just enough for them to toy with the idea of going out together for the first time in months. Typically, only one of them goes out a time, keeps their head down and focuses on getting whatever they left to get and returning as soon as possible. But things are changing, and Spring always has a certain… ability, to put a haze on life. Especially when you’re in love.

And so, on an early Saturday morning, they set out for the nearest town with the hope that the market will be busy and they can slip right in with all the other travellers and unfamiliars.

When Aleksander and Y/N arrive the market is busy. Thriving. Wonderfully convenient for the two of them to walk hand in hand and to browse things they’ll never buy: various fabrics and jewellery, cheeses and jams and expensive cuts of meat. It’s easy to get swept up in the current of the constantly moving bodies.

“Hey, look at that,” he lets out a soft huff of amusement through his nose as he points out a little stall of baked goods, already taking her hand and dragging her there, “Shall we?”

“Aleks-”

Before she can stop him he’s reaching into his pocket, handing over a number of coins to the vendor and receiving two slices of cake. He nods his thanks before turning to her with a cheeky grin, holding out the slice, “For you, milaya.”

Y/N sighs but takes the cake with a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

Simultaneously both the Star and the Shadow Summoner raise the cake to their lips and nod in agreement that it’s good. And they keep walking, arm in arm and eating their cake.

For a little bit they’re just… normal. He doesn’t have shadows at his fingertips, and she’s not a celestial body. For a moment, as they buy carrots and onions, garlic and cuts of meat, they’re just an average couple without an arrest warrant on their heads. They relish in it, the lack of stares in the busy market, their anxiety doesn’t spike, her hand doesn’t clutch his any harder. It’s sunny, and they’re browsing, and somewhere church bells are ringing, announcing mid-day.

They return home, arms full of produce to ensure good-tasting meals for the next few days. And they don’t suspect a thing.

-

“Milaya,” he says, entering with a panic and already gathering their bare necessities, “We need to go. Now.”

It’s a mild summer evening, she’s sitting at the table when he enters, her brow furrowing. Aleksander’s panicked and tense manner is clear. He had only gone into town for an hour or two, she doesn’t understand what’s changed.

“Sasha,” She stands, discarding whatever she was doing at the table, “Calm down - what’s wrong?” And then a noise from outside, the huff of a horse. “Sasha, why is Madga?- What- What’s happening?” As she watches her lover hurry around their small home, swiping things into two bags.

He doesn’t look up as he hurriedly answers, “We were too careless, Y/N.” She can hear his anger in his tone, “God- I don’t know what we were thinking,” He huffs. And finally pauses and looks up at her, “They’ve found us.”

“Who have?” she urged, rounding the table to stop him, taking him by the arms, “Aleksander, who have?”

His dark eyes, as dark as his shadows, meet hers and he swallows, his hands shaking slightly as he urges them to still, “…The King’s Men.”

“…The King’s Men.” She echoes, her eyes widening before she turns and hisses, “Shit. Shit. Alright, let’s go.” And begins to help him in gathering their belongings, “How? I don’t- we-”

“We were careless.” He says, his voice low as he begins to gather any food they can take with them, “Careless and presumptuous. We got too comfortable.” And it all clicks into place - busy markets and bustling stalls hide more than just Grisha.

“The market,” She mutters, “And then we just- kept going back.”

He glances up and nods, “Yeah,” he sighs, a shaky exhale, “The market. I noticed them there today and… well, they noticed me, Lapushka… we don’t have long, before-”

The sound of hooves on the dry soil outside still both their hearts and their eyes widen. There’s yelling - goading and jesting - laughter echoing through the summer air and causing nausea to well up in the guts of the two lovers.

They both know it’s too late but still Aleksander’s shadows swarm the room in a mass of black and extinguish the candles, she barely has time to see his hands move before they’re plunged into darkness.

The only thing she can hear is their breathing and, guided only by moonlight, her hand slips into his, their mutual fear palpable. She want to whisper to him, to tell him no matter what happens she loves him. She doesn’t. Instead she attempts to swallow her nerves and blocks out the sound of footsteps around the house.

And then a voice, low and teasing and menacing, “We know you’re in there, Grisha scum. And that whore you keep with you.” It earns a round of laughs, “Come out. Or we’ll have to come in.”

Aleksander can feel his heart in his throat. And Y/N’s hand in his. The decision isn’t hard, and he’s quick about it, too quick for her to stop him as his hand slips from hers, and he steps out of the house, moon and firelight flooding in through the door.

She watches him go with words of protest dying on her tongue as he steps out, his hands raised at his side, still and displayed, “I approach peacefully,” His voice low and calm as he steps into view of the King’s Men, “With a message for the king: if he or his men slaughter any more of my Grisha-”

She takes the chance to gather final belongings, her back turned to the door as she listens to the exchange, desperate for any kind of final escape.

Y/N can hear another man’s voice, a low chuckle, “The King wants you back alive…” there’s footsteps, she can see Aleksander’s expression in her mind’s eye: disdain and anger, “…but maybe you resisted, so…” it’s taunting and it turns her stomach.

There’s a sound of piercing clothes and flesh, a low grunt and her heart seizes as her head whips around to the doorway. But it’s too late, and she makes eye contact with a man in a royal uniform, twice her size. She lurches forward for her sword but he grabs her hair and yanks it back. Y/N falls against him, right up to his chest, whereupon the soldier wraps his arms around her neck and torso, keeping her pinned to his body and unable to struggle, his grip tight as he marches her out the house and into Aleksander’s line of sight.

She watches his face pale and fall, “Zvezda…”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can murmur, “I’m sorry…” And there’s an overwhelming fear running through her. This sudden realisation that this is it, her short-lived life as a human brought to an end by their own carelessness and comfort.

Aleksander turns to the man who is obviously the soldier’s leader, “Not her.” He says, “Please, not her, she isn’t apart of this- you don’t need her! I’m begging you-!”

And the soldier laughs, “Our orders were to bring you in. And you alone.”

“If you want our co-operation-”

“Not our orders.” The soldier repeats, and he glances at the other man, the one with his arm tightly around her throat.

It all happens so quickly. His knife is drawn, panic filling her eyes as she mouths the words I love you, a pit settling in both their guts. The blade shines in the twilight of the evening. The moment is slow, the drag of the knife across her throat, her eyes widening as she gargles, and the spilling of blood down her throat. Silvery blood, shiny and metallic, viscous and hot, which shimmers like the ocean in sunlight.

Aleksander can barely feel his hands, his legs, his face, for the pounding of his heart against his ribs, the lump bubbling in his throat. He is silently distraught.

The soldier sneers, “Still have a message for the king?” He taunts, holding his lover’s limp body, still twitching.

It isn’t long before the surrounding world is plunged into an irredeemable darkness.