#i have so many more but i had to stop somewhere

[quantum1mmortality]

Rubatosis;

The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

•Captain Curly x reader

Chat bare with me I'm trying out a new aesthetic because I'm sick and tired of my blog being UGLY and CHAOTIC so I'm using dividers and sticking to a color scheme for the first time don't judge me pls

Summary; Winter storm, blackout, no heater; the worst things that could've happened on your only weekend off. Luckily, your boyfriend Curly knows how to keep you warm.

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, pre established relationships (you guys are dating), cursing, the word 'radiate" is used like 20 times don't mind that chat, no use of y/n just curly calling you various pet names, no prep like at all(slight fingering????), curly whimpers, the smut is actually really unnecessary but ignore that too, piv, pwp??, unsafe sex, cumming INSIDE!!!, praise kink, curly talks you through it (I think)

Not proofread

You curl up with as many blankets as you can, shivering and watching your breath become visible from the cold. You can feel your body go numb as all you can do is wait for your power to come back on. It's been out for the past hour, and with the awful snow storm that just rolled through your town, you can tell it isn't coming back on anyime soon.

Sounds come from outside your window, sounds that you can barely hear over the cold chattering of your teeth. A car parking in your driveway, a car door opening and closing, and heavy feet making their way to your front door, shaking the doorknob while trying to open it.

The door creeks open, followed by the sound of heavy winds. You can hear footsteps walk into your house, closing the door, and walking towards the bedroom you now reside in.

"Sorry about the wait, love. I tried to leave work as soon as I heard about the power outage, but thought it would be best to stop somewhere to get some things to warm you up." It was your boyfriend, Curly, who you had no idea was coming over. Yet here you are, shaking in a cold bed as he roots through the bags he brought with him.

As he digs through the bags, seemingly looking for something specific, he throws miscellaneous items on your bed. Chocolates, a candle, a box of matches, more chocolates, and a bottle of wine. "Since we're basically trapped in here till the storm is over, I thought we could make the most of it. Have a romantic weekend or something.. I tried getting things I knew you'd like."

Just then, he finds what he was looking for; hand warmers. Ripping open the packaging, he walks to your side of the bed, handing you all that was in the box. The heat radiating from them was almost hurting you, but burning doesn't feel so bad when you're freezing.

Curly leaves the room for a moment, coming back with two wine glasses in hand; placing them on your bedside table. He takes off his work uniform, leaving him in only an undershirt and pants. You hold out your arms to him, signalling that you want him to be in bed with you. He smiles, lifting up the blankets and laying next to you.

You shiver, feeling his warm hands touch your cold body. "Poor thing.. I wish I could've been here sooner, maybe prevent you from getting to this state." He says softly, kissing your forehead as he raps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"I'm glad you're here.." you say, dozing off. The warmth Curly radiates was more than enough to make your body become less tense. Your hands make their way to his chest, pressing gently as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

"I know you are, love, and I'm glad to be here, too." He whispered softly, hands traveling from your waist to your hips. He lifts your shirt up slightly, moving his fingertips to your now exposed skin. "Fuck, you're freezing." You could hear the concern in his voice, switching from just his fingertips to his whole hand. "Does that feel better? Are you warmer now?"

You nod. Everything about him was warm, a stark contrast from how cold you currently are. Any part of him that was directly touching you was doing wonders for your current state. "Use your words, love." Even when you're freezing, Curly will still find a way to tease you. This world is so cruel.

You sigh, "yeah, that feels better. Thank you." He smiles, happy with your answer. He pulls your body closer to his, your chest flush against his own. His fingertips move in a circular motion, trying to keep you calm. Which, to his credit, is working.

With the warmth of your beloved boyfriend mixed with the light musk scent of the cologne he always wore, you were falling asleep quickly. He could feel your eyelashes flutter shut against his neck, followed by your soft breathing hitting his skin. He presses a small kiss on your forehead, pulling you just the slightest bit closer to himself before dozing off.

Your eyes slowly open, groaning out as you realize it's still cold in your room. You try to back away, but Curlys grip on you tightens. He shifts slightly as he begins to wake up, hands moving from your waist, to his eyes, to your waist again. "Good morning, beautiful.. lovely seeing you here." He says in a raspy tone, indicating he just woke up.

You smile, curling back into his grasp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." You say in an almost hushed voice. He chuckles, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

"No worries, love. Just more time I get to spend with you." He chuckles, burying his head in the crook of your neck; kissing every bit of exposed skin he could in the process. You laugh, squirming in his arms, but his grip on you only tightens.

"Curly- stop-" you get out between giggles.

He lays one final kiss just below your ear, letting out a heavy sigh; now out of breath. He places one of his hands on your chest, just below your collar bone. His fingertips trace up the skin of your neck, stopping to grab your chin, lifting it up slightly.

Your eyes meet with his and he leans in for a kiss. It was soft, gentle, everything he was condensed into a simple act of affection. It was perfect. His hands fully cupping your face, pulling you in so he can deepen the kiss further.

Your hands their way to his scalp, his hair curling between your fingers as you gently pull. His mouth opens for a split second, letting out a small whimper at the new sensation. His kisses become slightly sloppy as he begins to sit up, flipping you so your back is now pressed against the bed. He places himself between your legs, breaking the kiss so he can trail small kisses and nibble down your neck.

As his hands wander down your chest, to your waist, and eventually to your hips, he sings small praises to you in-between each mark he lays on your neck. His fingers go under the seam of your panties, slipping them off of you with ease. With one hand keeping your legs open, the other traces up your inner thigh, slowly inserting one of his digits into your aching heat.

"Curly~" you gasp, your hands locking behind his neck as a way to ground yourself. Just then, he slips another in. The feeling of his cold fingers curling inside of you sent shockwaves through your body.

Curly takes his fingers out of your cunt, lifting his head from your neck to lick off the slick that remains. You whine at the empty feeling, small tears forming already. "Crying already, love?" He says with a smile. He lines his cock to your entrance, the tip prodding at your hole. He lowers his body back down to yours, "forgive me, dear. Sorry if this hurts." He whispers in your ear.

Your hands go back to his neck, going up to grab his hair again. You cry out as you can feel him stretch your insides, pulling at his hair even more in the process. Curly grips the sheets beneath him, his hand quickly moving to your waist to hold both you, and himself down.

As he can feel you reach your limit, he stops, holding still for a moment. "Are you alright? You're not too hurt, are you?" He says, raising his head to look at you.

"Y-yeah.. it just hurts a bit.." you trail off. He sighs in relief.

"I know, love. It's going to. I wish there was more I could do, but I promise it'll be worth it. Alright?" He smiles, kissing away the small tear lines on your cheeks. You smile back, coming your fingers through his hair gently before moving your hands to rest on his back instead.

He takes a deep breath, slowly moving his hips backwards before meeting with yours again. His steady thrusts help you adjust to his size better, but it only leaves you wanting more.

"I'm gonna go faster, alright?" He says, nearly out of breath. You nod. He increases his speed, going faster than you had anticipated. You cry out his name, digging your nails into the skin on his back. "I know, love, I know." He whispered.

More tears stream down your face as the pain quickly turns into pleasure. You moan with each thrust, nails still digging into his back. Curly whimpers at the feeling, "fuck- just like that, you're doing amazing, love~" he says in a soft, out of breath tone.

You can feel yourself getting closer as your legs instinctively close around his hips, inadvertently pushing him deeper inside you. You try to speak, but the words just won't come out. "Curly- I-" you stutter, not being able to think straight because of the pleasure.

His pace doesn't falter, though. His hands move to your thighs, holding onto them with force in an attempt to not go any rougher than he already is. Your cries and moans become louder, chanting his name as if it were a prayer. You feel the knot in your stomach come undone, your back arching and head thrown back. With one final moan, you can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, followed by your slick soiling the sheets beneath you.

"Just a little longer, love. You've done so well for me this far, I'm sure you can hold out a bit more." Curly praised, continuing his pace. His hands grip your thighs tighter, leaving crescent shaped marks on your flesh. With one more deep, rough thrust, he moans out your name, releasing inside of you. He collapses on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.

"Are you.. still cold?" He whispered softly.

You smile, "no. Not at all."

A/N; this would've been out two days ago but the new stardew valley update came to console and I've been GRINDING that shit. Also, the title was supposed to make an appearance in the fic. Right before the smut starts, when curly puts his hand on YOUR 🫵 chest, I was gonna add some dialogue like, "your heart is beating fast.. do I make you nervous?" But I thought that was cringe and cut it out.

[misseviehyde]

PHONE CLONE

Molly was pissed off and she wasn't a woman you wanted to get on the wrong side of when she was angry.

The school her daughter Jenny attended was doing next to nothing to deal with the bullying her daughter was receiving from the head cheerleader. Chloe was a fucking bitch - a spoiled manipulative gaslighting slut - and Molly was going to take her down.

"We need evidence if we are going to act," the insipid teacher at school had told her, so Molly was going to find that evidence. She was going to find evidence that couldn't be dismissed and she was going to free her daughter from this torture.

"What are you doing Mom?" asked Jenny curiously as her Mom sat on the bed and grinned as she scrolled through her phone.

"I've found a way to get the proof we need. I downloaded a piece of software - Phone Clone, and I've used it to clone and copy Chloe's mobile. Now I have her entire life in my hand."

Molly picked up her note pad. "I'll scroll through and find the evidence we need. She's bound to have made a mistake somewhere... said something that proves she is your bully."

Jenny smiled proudly at how smart her Mom was.

"Ugh, she's such a stuck up little bitch. There are so many selfies on her phone it's incredible... even if she is... ughhh kind of pretty."

"Mom are you okay?"

Jenny had noticed something weird about her Mom's posture. Molly was sitting cross legged like a teenager would. She was sitting up straighter than usual too and she flicked her hair back with an uncharacteristically bitchy gesture as she hungrily scrolled through the phone.

"Like yeah... course I'm alright. There's like soooo much hot stuff on this phone. Haha the power Chloe must have over others... she's got the entire school at her fingertips. Mmmh its kind of sexy."

Molly groaned, the light from the phone illuminating her features and making her face look younger and meaner somehow.

"Mmmmh Tik Tok videos, hot boys numbers, shopping accounts for her spoiled little wardrobe. This is just so fucking good. I wish I had a life like this."

Jenny stared at her Mom in horror. She watched in unbelieving dismay as her Mom's nails became painted yellow... the same colour that Chloe had been wearing today.

"Mom... stop... something is wrong. Put down your phone."

But Molly wasn't listening. She grinned as she accessed more and more of Chloe's cloned phone and let the bitches selfish life was over her.

"Mmmmmh feel fucking yummy... gimmee gimmee gimmeeeeeee!"

Molly moaned as youth and vitality flooded her body. Her eyes flickered like she was being reprogrammed as the images from the phone burned into her mind.

Her flabby body began to tighten and tone. Sagging skin firmed up and she became younger and younger till she was the same age as her daughter.

Molly's boobs got even bigger and they rose higher on her chest than they had for years. Perky and firm, they were now in your face and impossible to ignore.

Her split ends cleared up as the curls fell out of her hair and it became totally straight and silky like that of a supermodel fresh from the hairdressers.

"Mmmmh fuck yesssss, change meeeee," groaned Molly as she gave into the delicious feelings and exalted in her transforming body.

Her waist crunched in and her hips pushed out. She was a toned athletic hottie now and this bitch could RIDE if she needed to.

"Fuck yeah," giggled Molly her voice becoming higher and taking on a bratty whine. "Mmmh like almost there loser. Are you ready?"

Giggling Molly deliberately lowered her head so her new silky blonde hair obscured her features.

"Mom?" whimpered Jenny.

"No... not Mommy," laughed Molly as she suddenly tossed her head back and revealed her new features... Chloe's features.

Plump pouty pink lips curved into a mean smile as sexy brown eyes sparkled with mischief and Molly's transformation into a perfect clone of Chloe completed itself.

Even Molly's clothes had changed. She was now wearing the sexy clothes that Chloe would wear and Jenny felt a pang of jealousy as she saw her Mom's long tanned legs on show and barely constrained cleavage.

"I... am.... fucking... hot," laughed Molly as she admired herself and took a selfie on her phone which had also changed to the latest model.

"Nooooo Mom, what's happened?"

"Shut up loser. Your dumb Mommy is me now and she fucking loves it. I don't feel anything for you anymore. Haha I wanted proof you were being bullied and now I AM your bully."

The new Chloe smirked as she leapt forward and pinned Jenny down. Leering into her victims face she hissed evilly.

"Don't worry though loser. I'm gonna help you. We're gonna delete all the data on the real Chloe's phone using my app and replace it with the backup data of your stupid Mom, so she turns into a nobody loser like you. Then when I replace her you're going to have a new Mommy. I'm Chloe now and I'm not going back.'

Jenny cried as she looked at the evil bitch her Mom had become and realised she was never getting her real Mom back. Molly had been over-cloned and she loved it.

[littlestarbigsky]

outsiders week - johnny

@outsidersweek

in which we explore johnny’s first time meeting the curtis family ;) he has some anxiety in the beginning but it’s all okay… mama curtis i am your BIGGEST fan <33

gang i’m really proud of this one pls be nice to her❤️‍🩹

johnny realized he had made a mistake the second he stepped off the bus. the first few days of kindergarten had gone alright, and he had gotten onto the right bus and gotten off at the right stop to get home, but it had been a long day and he was tired. it didn’t help that his father had kept him up half the night shouting at him over his coloring homework. he was only six, how was he supposed to be able to do this all by himself?

he’d zoned out for a few minutes and lost track of what stop they were at, whether they had already passed his or how many more stops there were before they weren’t in his neighborhood anymore. he got off at the very next one, realizing that he wasn’t in the right place and even though all of the houses were vaguely familiar, he couldn’t remember where to turn or how to get to somewhere he recognized.

he knew his mama wouldn’t come looking for him, she thought he was too old to be getting lost, and she didn’t have to worry about feeding him if he didn’t come home in time for dinner.

he stood, stick straight and paralyzed where he was in fear, his blunt fingernails digging into his palms. as hard as he fought them, tears welled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. he would have to get all the tears out before he got home, his parents wouldn’t be very kind about him getting lost, especially after they had explained the routine to him so many times.

“hey, is this your stop?” a voice called from behind him.

johnny didn’t answer. no, it wasn’t his stop. what if they were mean to him and tried to steal his backpack or tackled him. it wouldn’t be hard, the doctor had told his parents that he was still really small for his age. so instead of turning around and answering, johnny stayed still. he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do anything different if he wanted to.

“hello?” the voice asked again, but it hadn’t raised or gotten meaner. “did you hear?”

johnny stayed glued to the spot until another boy suddenly popped in front of him, causing him to jump back. he could feel his heart pounding in his throat and his stomach turning to lead. he was lost and now someone was gonna pound him for it, just like mama said, just like dad had threatened to if he made a fuss about it. he braced himself for a blow, would it be to his stomach, maybe his face? what if they did it the easy way out and just tackled him right off the bat?

the punch never came.

“hey,” the voice said again. “i’m not talkin’ to another deaf fella, am i?”

johnny opened his eyes. the face in front of him didn’t look mean at all. as a matter of fact, the boy in front of him was smiling, his brown eyes twinkling in the late august sunshine. he was wearing a backpack, too, and if johnny remembered correctly, they had the same teacher at school.

johnny shook his head, and the other boy sighed deeply, “thank goodness, i keep accidentally talkin’ to that old lady over on center street who can’t hear no more. mama says i really oughta be more considerate about that.”

johnny didn’t know what to say, his feet still felt rooted to the spot.

the boy tilted his head, not unlike the golden retrievers the soc families walked in the park, “you… you can talk, right?”

johnny nodded aggressively and still didn’t say a word, but with every word the boy spoke, he could feel the tension in his shoulders easing away.

“well… what’s your name?” he asked.

johnny had to open and close his mouth a few times before he could squeak out, “johnny cade.”

the boy did the same head tilt that he had done before, and johnny knew he had spoken so fast and so high-pitched that he had missed a couple of vital sounds in his name. oh, now he would have to say it again-

“wait!” the boy straightened up excitedly. “you’re in my class, right? aren’t you johnny cade?”

he nodded, and for the first time since stepping off the bus, johnny smiled.

“my name’s sodapop curtis,” the boy said proudly. “even says so on my birth certificate, but my family calls me soda.”

johnny had to stifle a giggle at the name.

“don’t laugh, sodapop isn’t any funnier than johnny cade,” soda said sadly, but when johnny went still again, soda quickly added, “but, you know, there’s nothing wrong with johnny cade. that’s just something my mama told me to say if anyone gave me a hard time about my name.”

“your mama sure sounds nice,” johnny couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, and he immediately wanted to clap a hand to his mouth as if that would put them back in so he had never said them.

soda’s eyes lit up, “she sure is! you know, she’d probably love you, you’re nice and quiet. she hasn’t got one kid that ain’t a big chatterbox. you can meet her if you wanna! we live just over there.”

johnny’s eyes followed to where soda was pointing, landing on a house that seemed rather worse for wear, but in their neighborhood, that was pretty average, anyways. still, there were toys in the yard and the front door was held open by a painted rock. it seemed so welcoming, and soda’s mama had sounded so nice.

johnny still shook his head, “i have to get home.”

“oh, that’s right,” soda bent down to tie one of his shoes. “i’ve never seen you get off here, do you live around here too?”

“sort of,” johnny felt his cheeks getting hot. “i lost track of the stops and… i don’t know… it’s alright. i’ll find it.”

soda seemed to be getting even more excited, “mama can help you if you need! i can bring you over to meet her and she can help you get home!”

johnny thought he might cry, or maybe he’d be sick. he wasn’t sure which one would be worse, nor was he sure if it would be out of relief or fear. he tried not to think about it as he fell into step next to soda.

“mama! i brought someone!” soda called as he let johnny into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

a blonde, kind-faced woman stuck her head out of the kitchen to see her son walking in. before johnny could get a good look at soda’s mama, another little boy came sprinting into the room. he had fuzzy, light brown hair, which was all johnny could catch a glimpse of before the boy had jumped on soda, hugging him as tight as he could. johnny had to laugh as he took in the little boy, he was probably a couple of years younger than they were. he was wearing a pair of blue swim trunks that were obviously too big, judging by how tightly they were tied, and he had a smile that could sink a thousand ships. he opened startlingly grey eyes to blink at johnny over soda’s shoulder and tilted his head in the same way his brother had.

“this is johnny cade,” soda explained, setting the boy down. “he’s my new friend from the bus! johnny cade, this is my little brother, ponyboy.”

“hi,” ponyboy said shyly, wringing his hands together nervously.

“hi,” johnny squeaked out.

“hi,” came a new, warmer voice. johnny’s head whipped up and landed on the woman who had poked her head out of the kitchen.

up close, johnny could only describe her as a sunflower come to life. she had curly blonde hair and deep brown eyes, just like soda. everything about her radiated warmth and comfort, and johnny felt safe in a way he never had before.

“you’re johnny?” she asked, and johnny nodded. “it’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

johnny felt like he was supposed to say something, but he was saved the trouble when another boy walking into the room, taller and obviously older, and wearing his own pair of swim trunks.

“pony, i told you, we have to wait for soda before we can go!” he was calling.

“soda’s home, darry!” pony cried excitedly.

soda’s mama got down on her knees so she was level with johnny and smiled at him and soda, “ponyboy and darry were about to go play in the sprinkler outside. how would you two feel about going with them?”

soda’s eyes lit up, “of course! lemme go change!”

“i-” johnny looked down at his clothes and back up, feeling shattered.

she looked over at her eldest, “oh, right. darry, could you go grab something for johnny to wear?”

darry nodded and all of the boys disappeared into a room down the hallway, leaving him alone with their mother

johnny felt himself wanting to speak and it felt wrong, he didn’t know where the want had come from. there was a smile on his face, which maybe felt even more alien. he clearly looked excited, but the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. he had to get home. he was here because soda said his mama could help him get directions to get back home. this wasn’t his mama. it wasn’t like his would care when he got home…

“you think that’s an okay plan? gotta keep you kids busy while i make a snack,” she asked him, sitting down on the floor in front of him.

johnny couldn’t open his mouth to ask her how to get home. he knew he had to, and that his dad may beat his head in for getting home late, or maybe not even notice at all, but he wanted to stay. he wanted to have fun with soda.

he decided he had to be brave, though, “i… i got off at the wrong bus stop. i don’t know how to get home…”

“that’s alright, honey, do you want me to help you get home?” she asked him kindly. johnny realized where soda and ponyboy had gotten their head tilt from. “or would you like to stay and play here for a little while and then we can take you home? it’s up to you.”

his stomach turned over, things had never been up to him, “…don’t wanna bug you.”

“you’re not buggin’ me!” she smiled, and it was like johnny was being bathed in sunlight. “darry and soda bring their friends over here all the time! you are welcome here as long as you want to stay, sweetheart.”

johnny felt something loosen in his chest, something that felt like hope bubbling in his stomach.

“so,” she asked him again. “how would you like or stay here and play with the boys?”

johnny nodded excitedly, and she ruffled his hair gently. for the first time that day, he didn’t care what his parents would say when he got home or that he had messed up so terribly getting off at the wrong stop.

soda came back into the room with darry, who handed johnny a swimsuit and ushered him to the bathroom to change. it didn’t fit him perfectly, he actually got the distinct impression that it might have been ponyboy’s, but it would do just fine. he folded his clothes up and held them to his chest as he quietly left the bathroom.

“here, you give me those and i’ll run them through the wash, i’ve already got a load going,” mrs. curtis took the bundle from him.

soda sprinted over, grabbed his hand, and hauled him out of the house at a run. darry had already gotten the sprinkler going outside in the yard and ponyboy was running around, trying to avoid the spray as it tilted back and forth.

“come on, johnny!” soda pulled him forward and they both jumped directly over the sprinkler.

they lost track of how long they had been playing, making up games and running through the water to their heart’s content until all of them looked like they had just climbed out of a swimming pool. johnny’s cheeks were aching from smiling so big for so long, his stomach tight from laughing so hard.

it was at least an hour before mrs. curtis came outside with an armful of towels to collect them, shouting that she had a snack ready for them. all of her sons ran towards her, grabbing a towel and sitting down on the porch to munch on the sandwich tray she had left out. johnny lingered, his arms wrapping around his middle.

she caught his eye and waved him over, “you, too, johnny! c’mere.”

he walked over to her nervously, and she knelt down in front of him and used the last towel in her hands to dry some of the water from his face and hair and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders.

“don’t want a sweet little thing like you to get cold. now, go eat something, i’ll send the leftovers home with you,” she smiled, pushing his dripping hair back and out of his face. johnny didn’t normally like it when people called him little, but he didn’t seem to mind when she said it.

“thank you!” johnny beamed, waddling over to the rest of the boys munching on their snack and laughing together, their eyes dancing as they let the sun dry them.

[h50europe]

BUCK / TOMMY - HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A FANDOM SCORNED!

I did some thinking. Never good, but my brain can't wrap around the breakup that came out of the left field.

Recently, it was announced that a spin-off of "9-1-1" is in the works. While no locations have been finalized, Hawaii and Las Vegas have been suggested as potential settings. The showrunner is already working on the project, with filming set to begin in March 2025.

However, one of my biggest fears has come true: the focus of the showrunners is being diverted from the current show to concentrate on this new spin-off. All the energy runs in the new project. Also, at this point, we don't know if the mothership will be renewed. Without an early renewal, we must wait until May for the announcement. That is another reason why they are focusing on the new show. I wonder if this is why the plots feel rushed and repetitive. It's nice to revisit the past, but not ad nauseam. 9-1-1 does it too often lately. What's the point in bringing back Gerard and turning him into the butt end of a joke? What's the point in digging out Abby's Tommy and hanging it around Tommy Kinard's neck when nothing was ever mentioned in the past. The focus is clearly not on the current show. It feels like Tim abandoned the ship to board a new one. It's fresh, it's crisp, it leaves room for a lot of things. Even if the breakup was meant as a shocker. If your focus is somewhere else, you don't see it. Right now, the mothership is leaking and starting to sink. If Tim keeps his focus on the new project and isn't invested in the current show, the lights will go out sooner rather than later.

Bringing in an established character was probably the biggest mistake Tim could have made if he wasn't meant to stick around. Bring in Mary Sue or Marty Stu to be a LI but not a character with a history that connects to so many people on the show. You can't sideline them forever. Especially as Buck's bi-arc was announced as something big. And it was big. A bit too big to be treated the way it was. The fanbase that had built around TEVAN, or BUCKTOMMY, within weeks, was massive. It drew so many members of the queer community into the show. Suddenly, many of them felt seen. Tommy and Buck were different from the other queer characters out there. Different from what was represented on any other show. People were willing to watch to get the slightest glimpse of them. Because they felt real. Their chemistry shot into the stratosphere.

And then you go and end it on such a horrible note? I don't care if the haters call Tommy a plot device. Everyone on the show is one at some point—even Christopher, Eddie, or anyone else from the main or recurrent cast, Karen, for instance, the Wilson kids. You name it. Tommy Kinard came, saw and conquered. So why not give him more room? They did it with Taylor (yes, I know JLH was pregnant then, but that's reason enough? I doubt it). As I said in my other long post, you could cut in a sequence of 5 minutes and show a summary of Tommy's and Buck's life.

Tim makes the same mistake as many showrunners do. Cramming a shitload of plots into 42 minutes of airtime. Is it really necessary to tell that many stories in such a short amount of time? That feels like speed dating. You blink, and you miss an important scene. Every episode, you jump from plot A to B to A to C to B. We didn't have this fast pacing in season 1 or 2. Stop it. Make Quality plots over quantity stuff.

In Tommy's voice: And for God's sake, clean up that mess you created with that shitty breakup, or the audience will wither away.

I'm sorry. I could write a book about what is happening in my head. You'd get Super Brownie points if you made it here.

[mylo-space]

Stitched and Stone

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sh.”

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

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

“I mean, I can see a little.”

“Not good enough,” Macaque said.

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Macaque blinked. “What-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have my ways,” the clone said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” Macaque breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bretonalchemist]

i NEED to expand on this 10 years later/the farmer never moved to sdv dream so here it is :

- Sebastian left and became a very successful programmer who lives in a high rise building in Zuzu City and wears suits, but he's very jaded about the world. He sneers at the optimism of his little brother, but somewhere deep inside, he misses the person he used to be.

- Alex has made it pro and he's good but he's also empty inside and he turns to alcohol to fill it up. He calls his grandparents every evening and visits them every weekend religiously. He cries into the dark once Evelyn hangs up.

- Shane has a made a few suicide attempts but Jas had a breakdown at about 13 yo and slapped the shit out of him so he's trying to get better, he stopped drinking and is going to therapy but he is living life through gritted teeth

- Sam is a semi-famous rockstar. He thinks he loves it. He doesn't. He actually doesn't really know what to do with his life now that he has reached his goal, and desperately tries to fill the hole in his heart by buying extravagant gifts for each member of his family. He's always smiling but his eyes are so, so tired

- Elliott has written several books and published none, because he lacks the confidence. He feels like his masterpiece is just at his fingertips and often spends entire nights feverishly writing. He's work drunk. His clothes and fingers are stained with ink. Willy hired him as a clerk to run the shop when he's on the sea, and that's the only money he makes, and he mostly spends it on supplies and alcohol at the saloon. He's become too thin with haunted, crazy eyes half the time.

- Harvey became the new mayor of Pelican Town when Lewis resignes for health reasons. The whole town is growing older and he feels his workload getting bigger. He feels guilty that he cannot keep al of them healthy, even if it's not a logical thought. He doesn't have the time for any hobbies anymore. He doesn't even have the time to realize that his own health is deteriorating. The man is in burnout.

- Haley also left for Zuzu City because she got noticed on social media and became a model. She's finally living the life she dreamed of, full of fancy clothes and sparkles and so so many people taking care of her without her asking. And she hates it. All of it. And she doesn't know why and it drives her crazy. She becomes hateful and angry, the cliché of an ungrateful celebrity. She doesn't dare contact her sister because she doesn't want to admit that she was right about everything, so she's alone

- Leah has moved to the farm and become a farmer. Her ex was stalking her and buying every art piece she made, so she stopped completely. She slowly started making art again, but now, every piece she finishes gives her panick attacks and she destroys them in a frenzy, crying and hyperventilating the whole time. She adopted a big german shepherd that serves as a guard dog, a farm dog and a support animal, named Minnie

- Penny created a montessori school and Pam takes kids from Zuzu City to Pelican Town so they can go to the school. She has a small classroom of 12 kids, all ages up to 10. Her mother is SO proud of her and she is happy to do wake up to go to work everyday. She still reads books in her spare time and is much more confident. But she kinda feels like she's going to become a crazy cat lady, because none of the bachelors left in Pelican Town seem interested in her. She doesn't want to seems desperate but she kinda is, the kids she takes care of make her heart twinge with pain everytime they slip up and call her "mom"

- Abigail has become a tattoo artist, she set up her shop in the community center and people come from far away to get her art on their skin. None of her friends are still in town, so she became buddies with Shane, who frowns at her everytime she downs a can of beer. Her parents divorced and her mother went back to her grandparents'. She still lives with Pierre, but she's old enough to realise that he is not her biological father, and that's the reason why her parents separates. She is angry about everything. She used to play the drums to release some frustration but it started not being enough, so she finally bought a sword from Marlon and went into the mines. She fights monsters when she's so angry she can't speak and her eyes seem to throw curses at people. Her body is full of callouses and scars from all her ventures into the mines. The wizard tries to approach her once but she punched him square in the nose. She is fairly sure he sometimes casts protective spells on her, she can feel her skin prickling weirdly, but it just angers her and makes her take even more risks.

- Emily has started a Youtube channel and uploads meditation, ASMR and hypnosis videos. She's built a loving community and feels like she's making a difference. But she's also losing grasp with reality. She's making enough money not to work at Gus' anymore, but she is so focused on her community that she is going out less and less

i had a dream that Fields of Mistria had an update and the map was a bit bigger, but also npcs came to visit from out of Mistria and it was the Stardew bachelors/bachelorettes !! except they were all like 10 years older, also Maru and Sebastian had a new baby brother who was like... 7 maybe ? and he followed Maru around like a duckling because he admired her so much. but Maru was so much colder, she had lost a leg and had a robotic prosthetic instead, and i was trying to uncover the story of WHAT HAPPENED ???

[wish-i-were-heather]

me when aaron warner kenji kishimoto grayson hawthorne jameson hawthorne xander hawthorne nash hawthorne cardan greenbriar percy jackson rowan damsich leo valdez ravi singh

[lorebird]

In which Ford struggles so badly to relate to other people that he wonders if he’s really human at all. The more isolated he becomes, the harder it is to reconcile with his own humanity.

[trashcreatyre]

I think the main thing that pisses me off about like 90% of mephiles ships is that people will be like "how old is he??" Look that fanwiki says that he's ten and they RUN with it. Like they don't read further. I'm so convinced that most people don't even know the plot of 06 bc the shit I've seen people draw and write with the characters is just mind boggling.

[lia404]

"Ai, living has no answer."

"When we're in pain, we search for an answer to feel better. A concise, absolute answer. But if you really want an answer… it's that there is no answer. There are no absolute in this world. Even if we think there is, in the end, it'll only make us feel better for a moment.

If there are no absolute, then what's left?

Bonds. Bonds between individuals. Bonds between one another. That's all there is.

That also changes with time. A huge trigger can cause a huge change. Bonds may be severed. But new bonds can also be formed. So living is a series of bonds.

That's what life is.

I have to do that forever?

Yes.

That's a lot of work.

Yeah.

I'd need to be so strong.

That's why people become stronger. That occasionally leads to conflicts. But even if that happens, we have to keep fighting. Keep searching for bonds, even if there's no answer.

You can't rush living."

So I saw on MyFigureCollection that October 13 was maybe possibly Yusaku's birthday, although I couldn't find any reliable source for this. I'd have loved to do something nice and light-hearted for the occasion, but I'm still feeling too strongly about it all. So here you are instead: Happy (maybe) Birthday, Yusaku! Please have some trauma to go with your trauma. Here's to another year of fending off expectations and looking for your own life and its non-answers with eyes wide open and always filled with hope.

[bratprivilege]

I am like literally begging the Internet to write image descriptions at this point

[antisocialgaycat]

.

[mwagneto]

main thing that scares me about moving to the west is that i'm so used to the comforts here that i won't be able to adapt. like what if i move to a city that doesn't have door to door public transport that literally costs like 3 pennies and this gum i found

[quietwingsinthesky]

🌹:O

:3c

Lucifer doesn't care how the labcoats say it works; he knows there's no such thing as a clean break from a drift the minute the plug is pulled. Instead, Michael goes from a second consciousness beside his own to being dragged out of Lucifer the further Lucifer gets from him, both of them gripping tight to the connection until it slips, until it snaps, with a violent recoil that knocks Lucifer's brain out of alignment and reminds his legs that they don't work. His next step falls too fast, too heavily, and refuses to take his weight. It's only Michael, now only a voice outside of Lucifer's head yelling his name, catching him from behind that allows Lucifer to collapse to the floor with his dignity intact.

[walkinginsunflowers]

-

[cosmojjong]

.