#tight fillet

[journeytothewestresearch]

More on the Origins of Sun Wukong's Golden Headband

I've previously suggested that the Monkey King's golden headband (jingu, 金箍; a.k.a. jingu, 緊箍, lit: “tight fillet”) can be traced to a ritual circlet mentioned in the Hevajra Tantra (Ch: Dabei kongzhi jingang dajiao wang yigui jing, 大悲空智金剛大教王儀軌經, 8th-century). This is one of the "Five Symbolic Ornaments" or "Five Seals" (Sk: Pancamudra, पञ्चमुद्रा; Ch: Wuyin, 五印; a.k.a. "Five Buddha Seals," Wufo yin, 五佛印), each of which is associated with a particular Wisdom Buddha:

Aksobhya is symbolised by the circlet, Amitabha by the ear-rings, Ratnesa by the necklace, Vairocana by the hand ornaments, [and] Amogha by the girdle (Farrow, 1992, p. 65). [1] 輪者，表阿閦如來；鐶者，無量壽如來；頸上鬘者，寶生如來；手寶釧者，大毘盧遮那如來；腰寶帶者，不空成就如來。

Akshobya is known to have attained Buddhahood through moralistic practices (Buswell & Lopez, 2014, p. 27). Therefore, this explains why a headband would be used to rein in the unruly nature of a murderous monkey god.

The original Sanskrit Hevajra Tantra calls the circlet a cakri (चक्रि) or a cakrika (चक्रिका) (Farrow, 1992, pp. 61-62 and 263-264, for example), both of which refer to a "wheel" or "disc." The Chinese version uses the terms baolun/zhe (寶輪/者, "treasure wheel or ring") and just lunzhe (輪者, "wheel" or "ring").

One of the more interesting things I've learned is that these ornaments were made from human bone. One source even refers to them as "bone ornaments" (Sk: asthimudra, अस्थिमुद्रा) (Jamgon Kontrul Lodro Taye, 2005, p. 493, n. 13). [1]

Can you imagine Sun Wukong wearing a headband made from human bone?! How metal would that be? Finger bones would probably do the trick.

Note:

1) Another section of the Hevajra Tantra provides additional associations:

The Circlet worn on the head symbolises the salutation to one's guru, master and chosen deity; the ear-rings symbolise the yogi turning a deaf ear to derogatory words spoken about the guru and Vajradhara; the necklace symbolises the recitation of mantra; the bracelets symbolises the renunciation of killing living beings and the girdle symbolises the enjoyment of the consort (Farrow, 1992, p. 263-264). 謂頂相寶輪者，唯常敬禮教授阿闍梨及自師尊；耳寶鐶者，不樂聞說持金剛者及自師尊一切過失、麁惡語故；頸寶鬘者，唯常誦持大明呪故；手寶釧者，乃至不殺蠕動諸眾生故；腰寶帶者，遠離一切欲邪行故。

2) For more info on the association between Hindo-Buddhist practices and human remains, see "charnel grounds".

Sources:

Farrow, G. W. (1992). The Concealed Essence of the Hevajra Tantra: With the Commentary Yogaratnamālā. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.

Jamgon Kontrul Lodro Taye (2005). The Treasury of Knowledge, Book Six, Part Four: Systems of Buddhist Tantra (The Kalu Rinpoche Translation Group, Trans.). Ithaca, NY: Snow Lion.

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Oh, the agony of a monk living in a murderous world trying to explain to a murder monkey who got a lot of what he wanted through murder why he shouldn't murder :(

[theorist-fox]

Humvee

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

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Word count: 6.8k (damn)

Summary: You do your best to heal, while Simon follows his own path—until life, in its strange way, brings you back together, with Simon stepping right back in.

18+

CW: fluff, banter, smut (fingering, p in v, car sex). you go on a bad date and simon saves you from it. he's a bit of a cunt but like in a good way.

I said I'd update on Sunday but you're getting it on Saturday!!! Though it's Sunday on this part of the globe, so...

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"If they ever give ya any grief, you know who to call."

Simon's words have never echoed so fiercely in your head as they do now.

The dress is uncomfortable. The shoes are uncomfortable. The air… is uncomfortable.

The dinner isn’t even that great. Or—well, it is. The restaurant has its perks: the wine is a deep red Shiraz, dry and with that slight bitter aftertaste that just enough balances the salt of your fillet mignon. Rare. Side baked potatoes with a crisp crust that still sizzles with warm olive oil.

It looks great.

Would taste great too, you reckon. Thing is, you’ve been playing with your food ever since the waiter brought it to the table.

You don’t think you’ve spoken a single word, if not your name, ever since you sat down. Mouth latched onto that crystal wine glass that could never be too full.

Fuck dating.

He looked oh, so nice leaning against the bar counter last week.

Leather jacket and a tight-fitting black t-shirt underneath, a softer tummy of a man who likes to train and eat. Big arms, broad shoulders. Thighs looked awfully soft in those blue jeans.

Mediterranean features. A strong nose, high cheekbones. Perhaps Italian origins, you thought, or maybe Spain? Greece?

Olive skin and thick brown curls, messy in that calculated way that only pretends to be tousled. You call it the sex hair. But it’s fake, so it would be like—the fake sex hair.

You love the fake sex hair. Or maybe you don’t. But on him, it looks unbelievably nice.

His eyes have this hazelnut hue, mottled with gold and green speckles. Long, thick lashes, dark like his hair.

Fuck, he looks like a Greek god.

And when he winked at you from the other side of the pub, lifting his glass of whatever he was drinking your way, you thought yourself so very fortunate.

Small blessings.

If only you’d known where those plump lips and feline brown eyes would lead you.

The entrée was accompanied by his favourite way to clean the leather of his sofa. Then he switched the topic to hair gel, because somehow the same company that makes the polish for his stupid couch also makes his stupid hair gel.

And now he’s telling you how much he benches. You should’ve known, to be honest, that somehow the chat would’ve swerved to his herculean strength and raw masculinity.

He oozes testosterone from every pore, reeks of pheromones, and—judging by his character—you wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he’s splurged on one of those dodgy "scientific" perfumes supposedly designed to make women swoon at his feet.

He’s saying how you’d never have to fear a thing if he was in the house, since you’d have him by your side. The urge to roll your eyes is incommensurable: you hide behind your wine glass, taking a generous gulp of Shiraz that’s drying out your tongue.

He’s eating with his mouth open. Chewing loudly. Loud enough to give you PTSD. Fucking hell, why do the handsome ones always have to act like they never set foot outside the house?

He has a pittie, he says.

Your ears perk.

Okay, pitties are nice. Lovely dogs with their big, smiling mouths always drooling for cuddles. You find their awkward stance tenderly charming—wide front legs and wagging tail. Plus, him having a dog means he can take care of fragile things, that he can be sweet and nice and reliable.

It’s a boy.

You smile.

He says he’s trained him to fight. Defend the household and whatnot.

It falters.

Says you could take him for a run if you fancy it. That he would give you (and he makes those awful hand quotations with his fingers) “scary dog privileges.”

You drink.

Scary dog privileges. You’re fighting a scoff so loud the sous chef would hear it from the kitchens.

You have SAS training privileges.

You have gun privileges.

You have scary dog privileges. You are the scary dog.

One glance at his neck, another at the table, and you've already calculated ten different ways to end his life in under a minute—one of which involves a thumbtack pinning the fake flowers to the polyester cube in the centrepiece vase.

You imperceptibly shiver. Shake your thoughts away.

He’s still rambling about his dog and his gym sessions and how he goes for runs every morning, every night, every moment of the bleeding day. Does he work? Have hobbies that don’t include a pissing contest with other men at the gym? Fuck’s sake, that thumbtack is starting to look incredibly inviting—

“So what do you do?” You blurt out.

It comes out so awkwardly that you can only fix it with a nervous laugh. One of those that make you look cute and shy, not weird and spacey.

He seems startled by it. Follows up with an awkward laugh of his own. Ugh. Okay, it’s okay. Maybe he’s nervous too. That can be cute.

“I’m military.”

You blink.

Oh.

Unexpected.

You hadn’t considered that. Granted, he has the stance, the body. He keeps his neck taut and straight, which is something you recognise you do yourself: hard to shake off habits from early training in Pirbright.

Truthfully, you had excluded partners from your same field of work. Didn’t go particularly smoothly last time you tried.

You’d like to come home to normalcy and averageness and homecooked meals and that dog he’s going on and on about, not to more military-related drama and paperwork scattered on the kitchen table.

But this can be nice, you muse.

Maybe straying from the plan you’ve laid out for your date could lead to some unexpected surprises. Maybe you could find a common ground, some shared experiences to discuss.

Anything to divert the topic from how he removes stains from his carpeted floors.

You straighten your spine, smoothing down the creases of your dress even if they’re hidden under the tablecloth.

With your elbow resting on the table, you subtly press your arms together, accentuating your neckline. You tilt your head slightly, chin nestled in your palm and lashes fluttering away.

He sports a smug smile, perhaps recognising the reaction his job must have sparked in many more women before you.

You let it slide.

“What branch?” You ask, trying to sound as naïve as you can.

Men in the military often have great success when it comes to dating. Women in the military, not so much—something about them being stronger than their male counterparts in a relationship seems to unsettle their egos, unchub their cocks.

Which is why you’re pretending you know shite about the topic—you’re just there to look pretty, for now.

“Oh, well,” his voice drops down an octave, and he leans a little closer to the table. The front of his crisp white shirt dips into the sauce covering his pasta.

You try not to stare at the oil stain too much.

He reaches out with his hand, toying with a ring on your finger. Looks around like he’s making sure no one else is listening, and then he smiles at you knowingly.

“It’s classified.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Alright, this date is botched. Tits up. Fuck him and his beautiful eyes and perfect bone structure. He could have been the love of your life. You would’ve made perfectly beautiful babies with beautiful Mediterranean genes.

You feign surprise. You feign interest.

The least you can do is have fun.

“Oh really?” You open your mouth in a shocked oval. “And—and what is it that you do?”

He leans back in his chair, self-assured. Charming smile. Know-it-all attitude.

“You know,” he shrugs, like it’s something so common and nonchalant. “Missions, deployments. All secret, though. Can’t share, unfortunately.”

He gives you a wink.

“Not even with a pretty girl like you.”

Yuck. Ew. Ugh.

You giggle, crystalline and shy, fingers to your mouth and all.

“Are you like—” You bite your lip, “—like James Bond?”

His chuckle is low, like he wants to show how much of that testosterone is actually brewing in his balls.

“Of sorts.”

“Wow.” You say breathily. “It must be dangerous.”

“It is,” he replies, cocking a confident brow. “Not a thing for girls like you.”

Dickhead.

You smile. Taut. Someone else would’ve noticed how strained it is. Not him though, no. Too self-absorbed to catch onto it. Wouldn’t see how obvious he’s being if it slapped him in the face.

“Hear me out,” he says after a while. “One minute bathroom break, and then I��ll tell you what you want to know, yeah?”

Which is nothing, but you nod anyway.

“Or, well—” he adds, standing up and setting the napkin on the table. “—What I can tell you.”

With a wink, he leaves for the loo.

You deflate. Rub your fingers on your forehead because that man just gave you a migraine.

You pluck your phone from your handbag and thumb through the screen to contact backup.

You think of Johnny, but you two bicker too much, and the possibility of him shooting back with one of your misfortunes is impossibly high. You’d like to keep your failing dates as quiet as possible.

Kyle would be the perfect choice, but he’s not nearby—a trip to somewhere warmer with his partner now that he’s on leave.

Price is not even an option. Who would call their boss to give them a lift out of a bad date?

Which leaves Simon. You know you have to call Simon, as much as you don’t want him to witness the absolute devastation that is your current love life. Granted, you know he would help without a peep—but still, there’s that bit of pride left untouched by the ruin that’s been your "relationship" that you’d like to keep intact.

But grief’s been given. Plenty of it. And, as he said, you know who to call.

With a surrendering sigh, you stuff your pride in a pocket and zip it shut.

As soon as your text goes through, you can’t even blink that three dots are already dancing at his corner of the screen.

Your eyes roll so far back you take a peek at your brain.

The sarcasm is so tangible you almost taste it on your tongue.

Hopefully your reply will manage to convey the urgency of your tone. The absolute sizzling hatred in your eyes.

And then you wait for Mr. Classified to come back from the loo while eating a baked potato or two, even if now they’re awfully cold. Still crunchy and wonderful, though. The restaurant is stellar; it's a shame to have wasted the opportunity with such a painfully obnoxious sod.

When he comes back, he sits all grand at the table. He fixed his hair, you notice. Tried to clean the oil stain on his shirt and only managed to enlarge it—you can tell even if he’s buttoned up his dress jacket.

He tells you he’s a captain.

Yeah. Sure. Go big or go home, mh?

Recounts very generic war stories, one of which really does sound like the plot of a videogame you played with Kyle.

Your back’s to the door, so when he stumbles on his words and his eyes go wide out of the blue, you have no clue what’s got him so rattled.

That is, until you turn and look over your shoulder.

The biggest bloke’s standing at the entrance, seemingly instructing one of the waiters, who looks like he’s lost a few years off his life from how pale he’s gone.

Man dressed in black, helmet with night goggles on.

Show off.

The full shebang: tac vest layered above the bulletproof one, M4 hanging low on his front with clasps, a gun holstered on his hip. The radio pokes from one of the front pockets on his chest.

He has the goddamn skull mask on, for fuck’s sake.

Your eyes widen briefly, and then you fight tooth and nail to stifle a laugh. You wonder what Mr. “I’m military but it’s classified” thinks about “people actually in the classified part of the military”.

You turn to him. Man is shell-shocked.

You snort.

Simon points at you, and the waiter nods vigorously before scurrying over to your table.

He leans down to your level, cheeks so red they look purple, sweat on his forehead, huffing and puffing like he’s run a marathon.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt, but—” A heaving breath through his stutter. “Your presence seems to be required at-at-at the Hereford SAS headquarters.”

He lowers his voice, then. “Something about the p-passing of an officer, uhm—your husband.”

You choke. Slam a hand on your chest. Mr. Classified seems concerned and has his hands hovering your way but never touching you in the slightest.

Helpful.

“The what?” You hiss, looking behind you at Simon with straight-up murder in your eyes.

The mask hides it, but you know he’s got the biggest smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re married?” Mr. Classified asks. Fuck him too.

“No.” You bark but then realise that it’s not his fault if your lieutenant is a bastard. Gingerly, you clear your throat and add more softly. “Not… anymore.”

Gotta fake it if you want to get out of here.

You sigh.

The waiter stands there awkwardly as you apologise to your date for not telling him about your non-existent dead husband. You stand up from the table, pretending heartache, while the waiter hovers around you and right in your business.

When you feel him too much into your space, you blink at him, plastering on a polite smile.

“Yes?”

He’s sweating profusely. The Ghost effect.

“The-the soldier, there—" he gives a subtle nod to where Simon stands. “—said I have to escort you b-because you’re a suspect.”

The appalled look on your face must be a sight to swear by.

You glare at Simon.

He shifts his weight on his other foot, arms crossed in front of his chest. Smug, like he’s having the time of his life.

“Yes.” You reply with a sigh, “Please, escort me.”

You don’t bother turning around to face Mr. Classified. He must be wearing the same shock the waiter is sporting. After all, in his eyes, hasn’t he just shared a dinner with a murder suspect?

What a tale to share.

“Thank you, sir.” Simon tells the waiter when you both reach him, deep baritone heavy yet gentle.

He grabs you by the crook of your elbow.

“Gonna bring this one to justice.” He adds theatrically.

The waiter nods like his head might crack in half if he doesn’t.

“Thank you, sir.” He parrots, “Thank you for your service.”

At the statement, used and abused without any regard for its meaning, you scoff in his face.

Simon tugs you by your arm, and your heels scrape against the floor.

Finally, you find your footing and follow him out.

Simon came to pick you up in a fucking Humvee. 

He said it was in case the restaurant had those big windows that look out on the streets, so he could make an even bigger scene. All because you interrupted him while he watched the man u match even if they were painfully losing, he said.

When you asked him where the fuck did he get it since he should’ve been home on R&R and not at base, he told you that he had an IOU to cash in with one of the higher-ranking officers. 

Baffling, to say the least, that he’s used it to embarrass you. 

Yet not something you would put past him.

Still, though, as soon as you enter the car and he starts shedding layers of tac gear, mask included, the first thing he asks isif you’re alright.

You nod with a soft smile.

“McDonald’s?” He asks, then.

You cock a brow.

“I just had dinner.” 

The engine rumbles as he turns the key in the ignition.

“No ya haven’t.”

He drags the shift stick back and puts the car in reverse. His hand comes to grasp the back of your seat as he looks to the rear window.

It takes a whole lot of resolve to not gawk at the way the tendons in his forearm tighten and bulge. You manage. 

Thank fuck he can’t check if you’re salivating, because you are.

Because this car smells of him. It shouldn’t, because it isn’t his car. It’s a military vehicle, a big fat Hummer with enough space to host a task force, and from what you know someone else might have been using it all day before he got the keys. 

And still, his scent invades it, dominates it, and you realize how much you’ve missed it. Missed waking up to it, missed having it stain your clothes, sometimes your uniform too. Memories flood, and something in your chest clenches.

Control yourself, for fuck's sake.

You turn your eyes away from him. 

“How d’you know?”

He shifts into first as he finally leaves the car park. He shoots you a brief side glance, before returning his eyes on the road.

“Clocked your plate full even from afar,” he says plainly. “Bloke talked that much, uh?”

“You got no idea.” You sigh, exhausted. “Told me he’s military and then pulled the classified card.”

His lips twitch, and then his chest rumbles in a low, low chuckle you haven’t heard in a while. 

You laugh with him.

Simon takes you to a drive-through. He orders what he knows you like, because this definitely isn’t the first time you two sneak out in the middle of the night only to eat something that isn’t the slob from the mess hall.

He drives a little further to find that nice parking spot next to the motorway. Once again, not the first time you’ve been here.

Sometimes with Johnny in the back and Kyle smoking a ciggie by the car window—couldn’t have the Humvee smell of nicotine and stale cigarettes when you’d return it (not so) surreptitiously later on.

Sometimes just the two of you, when new soldiers moved in the neighbouring barracks and Simon wanted you to scream without the pressure of being found out.

You punch the straw in your Coke and bring it to your lips. The carton box of chips is precariously balanced on your bare thighs.

Simon’s already munching on his burger.

“Thank you, by the way,” you break the comfortable silence first.

He shrugs.

“He was a right pain,” you go on. “Kept going on about—”

“—His dog, how much he benches, his hair care routine.”

You choke on your coke and then your head swivels to him.

“Okay—were you spying on me?”

He levels you with a deadpan look. 

“Bloke like that’s only got one type o’ chat,” he explains, “And it’s all ‘bout him. You should’ve known, eh?”

He flicks your temple. You splutter.

“What?” He nods in your direction, swallowing a mouthful. “Went on leave an’ lost all those brains?”

You swat his hand away.

“Shut up.” You grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He mercifully lets it go and returns his attention to his meal. 

Even a burger that big looks awfully small in Simon’s hands. You used to look small in Simon’s hands, somehow—skin pliant and soft. Dimpling under his fingertips, folding easily with just the press of his big palm in his desired direction.

Same hands that used to hold you still by the waist, hands that handled you until you’d turn into putty on the mattress. Fingers long and skilled when they curled around your neck, cutting your airways just enough to make your head spin. Fingers that you’ve had all over: in your hair, on your stomach, down your throat, in your cunt.

Fuck.

Some ketchup spills out of his burger and onto his thumb. He brings it to his lips and purses them on his pad to suck it off.

Fuckfuckfuck.

You turn away and stuff your mouth with chips.

“How’d you find him anyway?” He asks after a while. “Apps?”

You balance your cup on the large center console as you shake your head in negative. Your response comes muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Pub down the road,” you tell him, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “The one close to HQ.”

“The Bell?”

You swallow. Nod your head. “Mhmh.”

“Should’ve known.” He muses, and you hear him scrunching up the paper that once held his burger. “Proper dive, that. Full o’ fucked up blokes.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re an avid frequenter,” you say, mouth full and eyes averted to your cardboard of chips.

He doesn’t snort, nor does he laugh it off. Instead, you can only hear the rapid tap of fingernails on the leather of the wheel filling the suddenly heavy silence that settled.

“No’ anymore.” He replies after a beat.

The tone doesn’t match the flippant vibe heard in the Humvee until now. He’s serious and levelled, like he’s stating some important matter he needs to unhook from his chest.

You swallow your chips like they’re cement.

“And why’s that?” You venture.

Simon shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. The leather squeaks, his jeans rustle where his thighs rub together.

“Don’t fit with the crowd is all.” He says quietly. 

“What crowd?”

“The fucked up one.”

When you turn his way, you still.

Simon’s eyes are already on you.

His gaze is tangible. Sticks to you like damp fabric. You can almost feel his fingers draw mindless circles there, where your skin is heating up under the heaviness of his eyes.

Whatever reply you had ready for him dies choked in your throat.

Your shoulders are stiff, your body’s too warm. Tongue like sandpaper stuck to your palate.

It’s been so long since Simon looked at you like he truly wanted you—like nothing else in the world mattered more. 

For months, his eyes have wandered everywhere but to you, and until now, you thought that was a blessing. Because if he didn’t look at you this way, maybe letting him go would’ve been easier.

But now, as his eyes hold yours, you can’t fathom how you’ve managed to go so long without it.

You match his intensity, as the air in the Humvee grows heavy and thick. Cement is poured into your chest until you’re not sure how to breathe right anymore.

“Not fucked anymore, you think?” Your voice is raspy and feeble, like there’s something tying your vocal cords in a perfect knot.

You know he can’t affirm anything in that regard. Lord knows he’s fucked, and you can’t even add your two cents about it because you’d act like the pot calling the kettle black.

And yet, he replies softly. “Not as fucked, I reckon, no.”

Your brows pinch. Eyes big and languid, searching his—rich, hooded, sincere.

“And you?” He rumbles, hesitant for the first time.

You blink.

“Me?” You mouth with your lips, voice stuck somewhere in your chest.

He nods your way. “Still an avid frequenter o’ the fucked-up crowd?”

You blink. A laugh breathes out of you without you even considering it first.

Almost naturally, you reply with a whispered, “No. Not as avid, I think.”

Simon’s lips twitch upward, and then his hand lifts your way, though never reaches out enough to touch you. He lets it hover in the space in between, fingers soft and curled inwards.

It trembles. Terrible characteristic for a sniper. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it happen to him. Always steady, always sure.

Your eyes fall on it. On the scars crisscrossing his knuckles, on the callouses of his pads and the raw spot on his thumb. 

When you look up again, Simon’s eyes are a pool, open wide and waiting for you to just dive in it.

He says your name. Not your rank, callsign, bullshit loves, and pets, and the pretty ensemble. He says it low, heavy, like his tongue is a cinderblock and it’s so, so hard for him to speak it. 

It’s almost a warning, you think. Your brain ponders it: the tone, the lilt, the volume. All of it, and you conclude that you are, in fact, wrong. 

It’s no warning, no threat. It’s a plea.

Your eyes fall instinctively down the curve of his nose, to his lips. Lips you’ve kissed, lips that travelled every inch of your skin. Drank every sound you’ve ever spilled. Worshipped it, made it his. Coveted it carefully, in secret, until you noticed how those same breaths, those same noises, never left your mouth again, not after him.

Lost in his features, you don’t see how his eyes are focused on your lips as well.

And when you look up, he does too.

Something’s exchanged between you. Something written in the line between his brows as he frowns in concentration, in the tremble of your lips as they struggle to form words, requests, the barrage of questions you want to ask.

The mutual, soft, and barely veiled Please, please kiss me again.

His jaw shifts. 

"Just say the word."

You gulp—fruitless. Your throat is dry, your lips unresponsive. Cursing yourself for not being ready now that you need it. Struggling to express the absolute beast that's scratching something violent in your chest.

You barely manage to break through it.

"Kiss me."

You blink and Simon’s lips are on yours.

Your stomach drops. You don’t think you can breathe.

He takes the lead when you go motionless, cupping the back of your head with both hands to pull you in. Your fingers grasp his forearms, flexing around them to make sure he’s real.

Only when your mouth opens and the kiss deepens do you unravel.

You melt in his hold, closing your eyes all the way and breathing heavily from your nose, because you’re not parting from him ever again.

Simon might think the same, because the passion with which you kiss him is thoroughly matched. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t spare a moment to turn on the passenger seat until you’re on your knees.

Chips spill everywhere on the floor. None of you care.

He helps you across the centre console until you’re straddling his thighs. Your knee knocks over the cup and coke spills everywhere.

And fuck, none of you care.

Humvees are big but never big enough for this. Granted, it’s not the purpose for which they were created. You hunch down when your head hits the padded roof, holding him by the sides of his face until he tips it back. 

You taste his breath as it puffs on your mouth while he kisses you fiercely.

Simon pulls back. Cradles your face in his hands and his fingers dig into your scalp at the back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. Low, and breathy, and with that hint of disbelief that matches the one in your eyes. He brushes your cheeks with his thumbs, and you do the same.

He lunges forward, then. Captures your mouth briefly before travelling downwards, where open kisses make goosebumps rise on your arms. Big hands envelop your hips as he pulls you down, grinding you against the hard tent of his jeans. 

And you comply, humping your sex—impossibly wet—to the seam covering the zipper. 

He grunts in your neck each time your cunt drags across his. The sound makes you vibrate, a strange sort of power in the knowledge that he’s making it because of you, and you only.

The world moves slowly around you, like it wants the night to last hours and hours more. A small favour in exchange for what you do for it, keeping it clean and all the rubbish you’re told so you can live peacefully with your actions. 

Perhaps tonight you believe them all.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this vocal with him, and it’s not even theatrics.

You just love it.

It’s overwhelming to have him hold you again, touch you, eat at your skin with the same intense desperation you’re gripping his hair with. Pressing his face into your neck as he sucks at the spot where it meets your shoulder, thundering heartbeat under his tongue. Darker spots blossom shameless in his wake, drawing a perfect mosaic of colours you’ll trace with your fingers come morning.

When Simon feels your hips do the work by themselves, he busies his hands with your dress. Rides it up your thighs until it bunches at your waist. Kneads the fat of your ass, landing a slap that makes you jolt. 

Makes you moan.

And Simon drinks it just in time, swallowing it with a kiss that takes your breath away. Then, he rapidly travels down your throat, following the line of love bites all the way to your chest. 

His teeth sink into the softer flesh there. Long fingers pull down the neckline of your dress until your tits spill out. He mouths a path to your nipple, sucking until it pebbles on his tongue. His teeth graze around it and you hiss at the perfect balance of pain and pleasure it creates.

And when his free hand comes to pinch at your other nipple, he pulls a little too hard.

You clench a fist in his hair and look down at him, hips falling still.

“Oi.” You frown.

His chest heaves. Yours matches the pants that leave your lips. 

He wrinkles his nose, in that how dare you stop me way. But this time there’s something impish in there, like he knows what he’s doing and just likes to pull your chain.��Lighthearted in a way you never dared to associate with Simon Riley.

How beautiful he looks with this new light bathing his eyes.

“What.”

You scoff. Your heart goes through several different stages of frustration, exasperation, anger, tenderness and love. Familiarity. Settling on the latter, until you recognize the glint in his eyes, the same one he had all those months back, when he was on his knees.

Lust, care, love, regret. 

“Gentle.” You tell him as your chest softens, your voice still mockingly altered. “You’re not tuning the bloody radio.”

“Ha!” His lips twitch upward. “Coulda fooled me.”

Simon pinches your nipple in retaliation, but it makes you chuckle this time. When he’s sure you’re okay, he pulls your lips down in a kiss that’s starting to taste of you, and you like how the salt of your skin seems to belong so naturally on his tongue.

You kiss him through your smile as the air turns hot again. The windows slowly grow misty and opaque, creating a space around you that’s soft and insulated and safe.

Simon splays his palm on your stomach. Turns it so his fingers face downward. He inches closer to your sex, grazing the lace of your underwear, until the pad of his middle finger presses to the wet spot formed on the gusset.

There, he stops. Waits for you.

No need for words. You don’t want his lips to leave yours and you don’t fancy taking the risk of pulling away.

In fact, there’s little hesitation when your hand journeys down his shoulder to his forearm, tracing the hair growing over it and the odd bump of a scar here and there. You travel until your palm cups his knuckles, your middle finger over his, pressing it down to the swollen knot of your clit.

Simon draws a few experimental rolls, ones you encourage with the movement of your hips, with the puffs of breath all but pushed out of you and into the kiss.

A kiss he reciprocates, open and hot.

Moving your panties aside, Simon only brushes your entrance at first, finding it sodden already. And when you more than enthusiastically respond to his touch, he plunges his finger inside. 

Your breath itches, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open against his own.

Simon drags his finger slowly, in and out, not teasingly but to let you adjust, to allow you to mould around his shape. And he does so until he feels you positively drip on his palm, softer around him yet clenching at the welcomed intrusion.

He adds a second finger. The stretch is delicious, fulfilling. Scratches an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own, nor could the scattered toys you’ve bought and abandoned.

It’s a touch you’re comfortable with, one you know and can predict but not in a way that makes it boring. You just know he’ll feed the starvation, satisfy the drought.

He buries his fingers to the knuckle, until his palm is flat to your sex, heel pressing to your clit. Simon rolls it a few times and then lets you take the lead, keeping his hand still. 

You ride his fingers by canting your hips in the way you like, stimulating both your g-spot and your clit. Simon keeps your mouth on his with a hand of steel glued to the back of your neck—unnecessary, because you have no intention of pulling away.

The first orgasm makes your head spin—you haven’t had a good one like this in quite some time. It coils around your stomach until it's knotted so tight you have no other option but to groan in his mouth to release the tension it built.

Simon’s fingers flex both at your nape and inside of you, pulling you impossibly closer, noses slotting next to each other. He breathes just as heavily as you do, as if your orgasm has somehow rattled him as well.

There are no formalities in the way he moves, in the way he leaves your still clenching cunt empty—wet fingers reaching for his belt, unbuckling in haste. 

The sound of clinking metal manages to pass through the cotton barrier in your ears. It wakes you, prickles your skin that’s already burning hot.

You help him. Yours and his fingers try to work together but somehow make it harder to achieve the same goal. You chuckle when you both reach for the zipper and he playfully swats your hand away, taking the lead instead. 

You feel him twitch a smile against your kiss.

He untucks himself from his briefs. The urge to look down is impossible to resist and so you do, catching the glint on the head of his cock as it leaks with precum, wetter than you’ve ever seen him be. 

Your stomach tightens. Now that's a mouthwatering sight that never ceases to amaze you.

Simon pats your ass as an invite to scoot forward. He languidly drags the tip along your slit to collect some of your wetness. You jolt each time he catches your swollen clit.

When he lines himself with your entrance, you start sinking on him—nails digging into the cotton of his sweatshirt on his shoulders.

Simon stretches you wonderfully. He would slide in easily considering the way you’re dripping—it’s you who wants to take it slow in order to catch each muted reaction with ears and eyes, lips brushing his own.

And then you envelop him fully, taking his cock to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” He croaks, and falls still. 

The hand on your hip grips it painfully tight. The one on your nape locks your forehead to his. His breath comes out in heavy puffs, eyes wrenched closed. 

Simon looks very vulnerable now. Much at your mercy. He doesn’t want you to move, clearly, and has full trust you won’t. For him. Maybe for you too, otherwise this will end much sooner than you both want it to.

But still, you brush the tip of your nose with his. He opens his eyes, iris swallowed whole.

“Alright?” You ask quietly.

He brushes his nose back with yours.

“Alrigh’,” he rumbles. “Been a while is all.”

You purse your lips in a wry smile.

“Has it now.”

He hums, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t fancy goin’ ‘round breakin’ any more hearts.”

“How considerate, lieutenant.”

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Not quite.”

He pinches the fat on your hip.

“Cheeky,” he says, watching your eyes smile. 

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head from side to side.

“Eh, you love it.”

And he takes you off guard.

“I do," he says firmly, like that's some fundamental truth.

His hand moves to your cheek, thumb right under your eye brushing softly where the skin is thinner.

You like having him like this, with his face to yours, his lips within reach. It’s a strange thing, not having to turn your head around to reach for a sliver of skin to press a kiss to. Not having to find cotton instead of warm flesh, instead of soft lips.

You feel like you can, now—take the chance without finding a door being shut in your face. 

In fact, your lips find his naturally, and he responds like it’s easy, like it’s something you do every time. 

He kisses you slowly as his hand descends down your back to grab your hip. Then, he guides you, initiating the movements, and you follow through.

It begins gently, with your breaths in sync, lips just close enough for either of you to share a kiss if the moment feels right. Your hands cradle the slopes of his neck, his own fit in the crease between your hips and thighs.

It’s very quiet, you think, unlike the grunts and groans of the previous times. Now there's only Simon’s pants, your own efforts to keep your voice low, breathy moans occasionally interrupted by the smacking of lips.

And then he fits his palms under the round fat of your rear, lifting you up and then guiding you down at once. Your voice cracks, shattered into broken moans that Simon matches with his own.

Suddenly, you both want more. You feel it in the grip he has on your ass, in the hungry shadows of his eyes. You feel it in yourself, the heat pooling lower and lower, starving hands clutching the hair at his nape.

You prop yourself on your knees, as comfortably as you can, and start riding Simon even if your hamstrings are aching, thighs clenched and hard to the touch.

You go on and on, one hand perched on the padded roof and the other flat on the car window, mist disappearing in the shape of dragged fingers and scratching nails.

Warm pleasure collects in your belly. So hot it drips all the way to your toes, curling in your black heels clasped around your ankles. Your pace starts getting frantic, almost clumsy in the desperation to reach that high again, expecting it to be much better than the previous one since now Simon is fully sheathed inside of you.

You hold his eyes as the air catches in your chest and you fall silent. Breaths clipped and choked, like moans that you can’t articulate. Throat tight, tight, and tighter. 

Simon seems to notice the signs, attentive as ever, and he dips three fingers in his mouth before bringing them to your clit. He swipes side to side with the same urgency of your hips, clit pebbled and raw soothed by the warm smoothness of his spit. 

You cum hard. It’s a wave that almost crushes you against him, so hot you feel like suffocating. Your body collapses on him, as you pant loud and shrill into the curve of his neck. Simon’s cock is buried all the way in, while your tired hips twitch helplessly to both prolong your high and escape it.

And so, Simon takes it upon himself. Lifts you up and drops you down until you’re whimpering in his shoulder, teeth sinking in the taut muscles of his traps and nails digging into his back. 

By then, Simon’s hanging on by thread and you know it even in your fucked-out state.

When the overstimulation hits and a rough string of curses leaves your lips right into his ear, Simon snaps.

With a grunt that rattles your chest, he pulls you down until he’s flush with you, and you swear you can feel him in your throat. His hips hump upwards as if that might somehow drive him deeper, and then he fills you with warmth, hot and liquid. Inevitably, it spills out, dripping thick down his thighs and onto the car seats.

Simon holds you like that, catching his breath as you catch yours.

He peppers your shoulder with kisses. Big hands clutch the back of your dress as it dampens with your sweat until his arms finally wrap you whole—so tight your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“Missed you,” he says, breathing your name reverently.

And why on earth should you not believe him, this time—with his face in your neck, his heart on his sleeve.

You lift your head to kiss his cheek. The cracks in your lips sting as they unexpectedly meet fine tracks of salt water.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Missed you too, Si."

[tateypots]

Tommy’s Turn

18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: dark!Tommy x reader, dark!Joel x reader

A/N: Follow up to Collared which was supposed to be a one shot but I’ve well and truly fallen down the rabbit hole now. Ah well never mind, hope you enjoy! Same warnings as the last one, it’s dark, please heed the warnings.

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina. Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Word Count: 811

Summary: Tommy takes his turn with you.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, drugging, somnophilia, unprotected piv, creampie, restraints.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Series Masterlist

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Joel was sitting on the porch skinning a rabbit when the sounds started leaking from within the cabin. The squeaking mattress and the slow rhythmic bang of the headboard into the wall, Tommy’s low moans of pleasure reverberating through the quiet evening. Joel smirked to himself, he knew Tommy wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. Not with your sweet little body there for the taking, calling out to him. Joel had to leave the cabin while Tommy waited for his turn, the urge to take you again was so strong but that wouldn’t be fair to Tommy. He deserved his chance to fuck you.

They’d often discussed the possibility of finding a woman to keep them warm through the winter and even prepared for that eventuality, finding the extra bed and the restraints, but they had never found anyone suitable. But today while out on a final run to stock up before winter truly set in they had come across a rural health centre. They had high hopes it had been spared the brunt of the looting that had occurred in the 3 years since the outbreak due to its isolated location. Inside they had not only found a wealth of medical supplies but you and your father, him slumped against a wall with a prominent bite to his neck next to the dead clicker who had inflicted it. You had wept as your father begged Joel and Tommy to take care of you, to kill him so you didn’t have to be the one to do it. Tommy had ushered you out of the room while Joel had put your father out of his misery, promising that they’d take good care of you.

It was like all their prayers had been answered, an angel sent to them from the heavens. They couldn’t believe their luck at how fucking perfect you were for them. And the stash of birth control they’d found at the centre was the icing on the cake. No need to worry about hastily pulling out or accidental additions to their group, they could dump their cum in you to their hearts content.

Joel finished skinning the rabbit and got up to go inside. The pace of the thuds and squeaking had increased significantly since they first started wafting out to Joel’s ears. When he entered the cabin Tommy was on top of you, your legs bent and splayed wide around Tommy’s arms which were planted firmly on the mattress by your waist. His hips pumped into yours in a quick steady rhythm and you jolted with each contact, still passed out and blissfully unaware of your violation.

“She’s fuckin’ perfect Joel, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had,” he panted out, breathless from the exertion.

“I know, she’s somethin’ else alright. Takes cock real good. It’s going to be a good winter brother,” Joel replied, starting to fillet up the rabbit for dinner.

Tommy increased his pace again, nearing the end of his stamina, your pussy so tight around him he felt like he was in heaven.

“That’s it baby, just like that, fuck yeah! Gona take my cum like a good girl, Jesus, fuck!” He slammed into you one final time, spilling inside you.

“Ahhhhh, so fuckin’ good,” he moaned in a state of bliss. He stayed inside you, rocking gently while the aftershocks ran through him. When he was finally done, he pulled out and admired the mess he’d made of you.

“Been too long since I got to cum inside a pussy, forgot how good it feels,” Tommy said as he got off the bed and wandered over to the bathroom, scratching his balls.

“You’re telling me. We hit the jackpot with that medical centre. Speaking of which, where’d you put the plan B, better get one ready for when she wakes up,” Joel replied getting up to wash his hands.

“Duffle bag in the closet, I’m gona jump in the shower.”

Joel retrieved the bag from the closet and fished out a box of plan B, leaving it on the table for later. Then he checked you were secure, the long chain padlocked to the metal bedframe at one end and the O ring of the steel collar around your neck at the other, the collar itself locked at the side, a key stashed safely in each of your captors bedrooms.

Satisfied you weren’t going anywhere Joel stripped himself down and got back on top you, dropping his head to give one of your nipples a hard suck before pulling off with a pop.

“What do you think baby, got time for one more round before you wake up hmm?”

You released a small little whimper as he swiped the head of his cock over your clit.

“Yeah I think so too baby,” he grinned as he pushed himself back inside you.

[ultravi0lence14]

ANGEL BABY

SAM WINCHESTER X FALLENANGEL!READER

SUMMARY: until you gave up heaven so we could be together. . .

WORD COUNT: 762

your feet felt like lead, anchored to the ground as five of your brothers and sisters stared back at you with glaring faces. your own was solemn, downturned with tears pricking your waterline. they weren’t falling because of the decision you made, they were falling just like you were about too; and that’s what scared you the most.

this decision was out of love, out of pure, unadulterated adoration that you held for a mortal. the other angels didn’t understand that. they went down to earth, saw humans as weaker and lesser beings, atoms and hunks of mass that they were greater than.

but you saw love and happiness. you saw connections that the angels couldn’t even bear to understand.

“why are you doing this?” the one angel in the middle asked, hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared at you glaringly. the rest weren’t any better, and the shaking in your hands started to become worse.

holding in a tight breath, you fisted the bottom of your white dress before the answer left your lips. “i realized that humans have something that we don’t. they have souls — they care, love, laugh, cry, hold each other; and i find that more devastatingly beautiful then what i am programmed to feel.”

you were slowly dying as an angel. wings drooping and the word forever started feeling like mirth in your palms. it became something you could easily give up so you could be human; be with the man who allowed you to realize all of these emotions.

sam saw you dying, saw your resolve slowly cracking, and he brought you back to life in a revival that could muster the emotion from a thousand men.

rage in the angels’ eyes were clear as your truth, and you could tell that they didn’t understand your words, didn’t understand your meanings.

the same angel with his hands in his pants pockets just glared, keeping his iced over eyes on your timid yet resolved features. “you know what this means, don’t you? you aren’t an angel, you aren’t our sibling, we don’t want to see your traitorous face ever again.”

his words were sent to cut you down, tear long gashes into your chest and make you beg for forgiveness. though you didn’t feel a thing. the only emotion swimming through your mind and body contempt as you waited to reunite with sam again.

a nod was all you could muster, your hair billowing around you like the halo you were about to lose. you should’ve been scared, should’ve been shaking at the thought of falling down to earth from the highest heavens. but you knew what was waiting for you when you landed. the soft, gentle hands that would cradle your mangled body like it meant something.

and that left you less nervous than you thought you’d be.

nothing else was said. nothing else could be said. all the head angel did was nod back, and in the snap of fingers, you were tumbling down from the heavens.

it was less scary than the stories you heard. other angels gossiped that it apparently felt like your bones were filleting themselves. yours probably were, yet all you could feel was peace.

arms outstretched beside you, dress floating around your body, the wind blowed in your eyes as you descended to earth.

it was melancholy.

ethereal.

the first breath of love.

as you landed harshly on earths soft soil, you could feel the crawl of ivy bloom on your skin — flowers igniting on your arms and sunshine beating down on your face.

sam didn’t know his touch was such a comfort to you. that his arms wrapping around your body would feel like ivy, that his fingers tracing patterns on your skin would be the bloom of a rose, or not his soft breath on your cheeks would be helios shining down on you.

it was all so romantic, and the smile that broke across your cheeks was proof of it.

luminous green eyes came into your view, hands shaking as they reached up to touch the angular face above you. “sam?” his name came out like a question, a larger smile breaking on your face when you felt the head in your palms nod.

“it’s me, angel. all me.” tears were leaking down his cheeks, soaking your hands as he bent down and kissed you on the forehead.

soft like silk, a breath of fresh sunshine and new beginnings, sam whispered in your ear.

“my angel baby. my girl. finally she is home to me.”

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @sunsbaby @littlesoulshine @figthoughts @haunteres @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @j2archives @nekkiotine @a-lil-pr1ncess @s0urw00lf @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz @sunnyteume @mostlymarvelgirl

NAT BABBLES: saw a lily calloway edit to this song, listened to it, loved it, wrote a fic about it

[see-arcane]

Jack when narrating about telling Mina about the mens' attack on Dracula in London:

she grew snowy white at times when danger had seemed to threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion to her was manifested

Mina blushing at Jonathan's acts of devotion omg...

When we came to the part where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she clung to her husband’s arm, and held it tight as though her clinging could protect him from any harm that might come.

Protective instincts aside I love Jack saying that his attack was "so recklessly". He did fear for Jonathan's life and tried to shield him with a crucifix and a wafer because he kept trying to Kill. I imagine him talking about the attack with the tone of a man who is wiping his sweating forehead going "And then, the absolute madlad-"

Jack: "We were trying to play it safe, united front and all, except someone kept trying to actively gut the ancient undead horror right then and there. And then he lizard fashioned out the window to try it again when said undead horror threw himself out of the building to escape. And then he went chasing after the undead horror to try and carve him open in the middle of a crowded street. If Dracula hadn't sprinted for it I'm pretty sure your husband would have filleted him in the Square. And this was all after he swore out loud to sell his soul to kill the Count and send him to Hell."

Jonathan: "Sorry I didn't slaughter him for you yet, darling 🥺"

Mina, simultaneously terrified and so aroused she can't see straight: "that's fine my love it's great it's cool"

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 58

In this chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest Sun Wukong faces off against his shadow self. So let's get into it shall we?

So Sandy and Monkey head off together towards Flower Fruit Mountain, with Monkey traveling much slower then his usual pace to keep pace with Sandy who is still suspicious of him. However Sandy's suspicions of Monkey are slightly allayed when they get there and find that there is indeed another Sun Wukong. Monkey takes the presence of this clone just as well as Sandy took it early- which is to say that he attacks the clone on sight.

The two are evenly matched, and even if Sandy wanted to try and get in the middle of that to try and give the real Wukong a leg up, he no longer knows which one the real one is. After watching the fight for a while, Sandy decides to make himself useful by trying to find their stuff, however he's unable to find where the false Wukong stashed them. Eventually Monkey calls out to Sandy to just go report back to Tripitaka, while he battles his way over to Guanyin's place so that she can help tell them apart. So Sandy head's back to Tripitaka, while Monkey, and fake Monkey heads for Guanyin.

The two Monkey's continue brawling in Guanyin's front yard, while one of her servants go to alert Guayin to the situation. When she comes out the two Monkey's give her a rundown of the situation, and ask her to tell them apart. So Guanyin has them separate from each other and has two of her servants grab them both while she recites the tight fillet spell. However when Guanyin starts reciting the spell they both act like they are in unbearable pain and beg her to stop, which she does. Now out of idea's, Guanyin tells them to go up to heaven so they can their problem instead of hers.

So Monkey and fake Monkey fight their way up to heaven, and once they've disturbed the peace enough to garner an audience, the two Sun Wukong's once again explain the situation and ask for an audience with the Jade Emperor, once it becomes clear that none of the gathered gods can tell the two apart either. The gods figure that they don't want to get in the middle of... whatever this is, and make way so the two of them can brawl their way to the Jade Emperor. The Jade Emperor isn't to happy about the two Sun Wukong's brawling in his palace, but since I doubt he wants beef with either of them, he just summons Prince Nezha's father, who brings with him an imp-reflecting mirror. They both stand before the mirror, however even in the reflection they can not be distinguished from each other. Since the Jade Emperor gave it his best shot and failed, it's time to pass the buck once again- this time they're going to go and bother Tirpitaka.

Meanwhile, Sandy has caught back up with Pigsy and Tripitaka and is giving them a run down of the situation. Tripitaka feels bad about accusing Monkey of something he didn't do, but apparently he doesn't feel to badly about, since once the two Monkey's crash down to earth, he has no problem whipping out the tight fillet spell to see if that will help. Which it of course doesn't. Although in his defense I guess he doesn't know that Guanyin already tried that. Anyways, as flattering as it is that they actually thought Tripitaka might be useful in this situation, it is once again time for them to become someone else's problem. Permanently if Tripitaka has anything to say about it, since although he knows about the clone now, that doesn't change the fact that the real Sun Wukong is the one who killed those bandit earlier. So Tripitaka is still mad at him and currently has no plans on taking him back on as a disciple.

That's a problem for later however. For now the two Monkey's decide to take their fight to the underworld to see if the Ten Kings have any insight into this situation. Tripitaka meanwhile tells Sandy that he should go back to Flower Fruit Mountain and check behind the waterfall for their stuff while the two Monkey's are preoccupied. Pigsy however volunteers to go in Sandy's place since he's been behind the waterfall before and will probably have better luck finding it.

Meanwhile the two Monkey's have made their way to the underworld. Some of the spirits manage to alert the Ten Kings about this issue, and the two Monkey's explain the current plot to them. Now knowing the situation the Kings bring forth the registry to see if it can help, unfortunately it's not very useful, partly because this is the very same registry Wukong himself vandalized about four immoralities ago. However unlike the last three groups they asked for for help, these guys actually have a plan B. They call forward a beast called 'Investigative Hearing' who has the ability to perceive true from false. And this beast actually does manage to learn the name of the imposter, but he can't reveal it here. For the imposter is actually as powerful as the real Sun Wukong, and would probably wreak havoc here in retaliation if they reveal him.

So instead the beast suggests that they take this problem up with the Buddha himself, since he'll likely both be able to tell them apart and actually do something about it. Both Monkey's agree to this new course of action and continue their fight to the Western Heaven, where Buddha is currently giving a lecture on why being of one mind is important. The Monkey's arrive just in time for the Buddha to point them out as examples of what happens if you are of two minds instead. Once again the two Monkey's settle down long enough to give the Buddha the recap episode of the last few chapters. And while none of Buddha's cohort's can tell the difference between the two, the Buddha can, and just as he's about to reveal it Guanyin arrives for this surprise lecture from her teacher.

Buddha asks Guanyin if she can tell the difference between the two Monkey's, and Guanyin confesses that she can not, and has come here to ask if Buddha can enlighten them on the situation. Buddha goes on to say that despite everyone's vast power and knowledge, none of them know everything. As they know, there are five kinds of immortals; the celestial, the earthbound, the divine, the human and the ghostly. And there are also five kinds of creatures; the short-haired, the scaly, the hairy, the winged, and the crawling. This imposter however does not fall into any of those ten categories. Instead he is one of four special primates that do not belong to any of these ten species.

The first special monkey is the intelligent stone monkey, aka Sun Wukong himself. Who knows transformations, recognizes the seasons discerns the advantages of earth and is able to alter the course of planets and stars. Next we have the red-buttocked baboon, who has knowledge of yin and yang, understands human affairs, is adept in it's daily life, and is able to avoid death and lengthen it's life. Then there's the third one, the bare-armed gibbon, who can seize the sun and moon, shorten a thousand mountains, distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious and manipulate planets and stars. And finally we have the six-eared macaque who has a sensitive ear, discernment of fundamental principles, knowledge of past and future, and comprehension of all things.

Therefore the Buddha deduces that the imposter must be the six-eared macaque. Knowing that he's been made, the macaque tries to make a run for it, but Buddha's cohorts have him quickly surrounded. And when the macaque tries to shapeshift into a bee to slip past them, the Buddha traps him under and alms bowl. The macaque then reveals his true form, and Wukong immediately kills him. The Buddha isn't to happy about this, but Wukong explains that he was a criminal that assaulted and robbed his master, and would have been executed under the court of law anyways.

And I guess Buddha is willing to accept this logic, since instead of scolding him further he just tells him to go back to Tripitaka. Monkey however explains that Tripitaka doesn't want him anymore, and instead asks that the Buddha remove the fillet so he can just go home instead. Buddha however just says he'll send Guanyin with him to make sure that Tripitaka takes him back. So Guanyin and Wukong head back to where Tripitaka and Sandy are waiting. Guanyin explains about the six-eared macaque and tells Tripitaka to take Wukong back on as a disciple since he won't be able to reach the west without his protection. Tripitaka agree's and thanks Guanyin, meanwhile Pigsy arrives just in time to explain the other half of the situation. He's got their stuff back, and killed the imposter Tripitaka and Pigsy, who were just normal monkey's while he was at it. Which honestly, I'm surprised that Wukong wasn't upset about, those are his people after, and they were kind of forced to go along with all of this by the Macaque. Anyways, now that the story is completely wrapped up, Guanyin takes her leave, and together once again, the pilgrims continue on their Journey to the West.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 + 94,000 years Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes and Diamond Pupils, intimidating horses, churning large bodies of water, sleeplessness, seizing the wind, enhanced smell, discerning good and evil within a thousand miles, Spirit Summoning, lock picking, object transformation, distance reduction, vanishing in a flash of light, super healing, transforming others, and Invisibility Demon Kill Count: 10 + Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 1039 God's Defeated: 23 + Unknown number Defeats: 7 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason, attempted murder, failure to control or report a dangerous fire, desecrating a corpse, breaking and entering, trespassing, violating Tree Law, looting corpses, trading counterfeit goods, criminal threat, animal abuse, Assisting or Instigating Escape, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, and Disorderly Conduct Cry Count: 9 + 3 fake cries Mountains Trapped Under: 4

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka and the Tang Monk Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras, pretty privilege, memorization, Heart Sutra and Meditation. Cry Count: 30 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 63 Paralyzed by fear: 6 Bandit Problems: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 9 Falling Off Horses: 10

Current Bai Long Ma Stats: Names/Titles: Bai Long Ma (White Dragon Horse), Prince of the Western Ocean, and third prince jade dragon of the dragon king Aorun Abilities: Transforming into a human, a water snake, and a horse, eating a horse in one bite, flight, Magic of Water Restriction, Singing, and Sword Dancing. Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Arson, and Grave Disobedience. Contributions to the plot: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 1

Current Zhu Wuneng Stats: Names/Titles: The Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, Zhu Wuneng (Pig who is aware of ability), Zhu Ganglie, Pigsy, Idiot and Eight Rules. Weapon: Rake Abilities: 36 Transformations, parting water, fighting underwater, cloud soaring, size enhancement and CPR Demon Kill Count/Kill steals: 5 Kidnapped by Demons: 4 Human Kill Count: 1 Failed Flirtation/romances Attempts: 4 Cry Count: 2 Crime List: Sexual Harassment, Murder, Kidnapping, arson, defamation, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Theft and Forcible entry

Current Sha Wujing Stats: Names/Titles: The Curtain-Raising General, Sha Wujing (Sand Aware of Purity), Sandy and Sha Monk Weapon: Monster Taming Staff Abilities: Fighting underwater, Cloud soaring, and fetching water from a well. Demon Kill Count: 1 + Unknown number of minions. Kidnapped by Demons: 3 Human Kill Count: 1 Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Breaking a Crystal Cup, murder, desecration of a human corpse, Damage to Religious Property and contaminating a substance for human consumption

Previous - Masterpost - Next

[rylem33]

Something Wicked

“Are you sure about this, Mia?” Mark asked as the trio made their way toward the small community theater. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, trying to keep his nerves in check. “I mean, I thought you were just being silly. I didn’t think we’d actually go through with it.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” Mia grinned, nudging Mark’s shoulder. “You and Chris are a riot together. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are perfect for you two, and I’ve always wanted to play Ophelia. Just imagine all the fun we’ll have!”

Chris, who was walking slightly behind them, chimed in with a grin. “She’s right, man. It’s a local production and we’ve got some experience from high school. Plus, I already made a bet with Derek that we’d land parts. Don’t back out now.”

Mark sighed but nodded. “Alright, fine. But if I have to wear tights, I’m blaming you both.”

They arrived at the theater, where a small crowd had already gathered for auditions. The director, a quirky man with wire-rimmed glasses and a slicked-back ponytail, greeted them at the door.

“Ah, you three are here for Macbeth, right?” He flipped through his clipboard, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Ophelia, yes?”

“That’s the plan!” Mia said, beaming.

The director raised an eyebrow and tapped his clipboard. “Well, I’ve got something else in mind for you. How about… the Three Witches?”

“What?” Chris laughed nervously, looking at Mark. “You mean us? As witches?”

Mark shifted awkwardly, not sure how to react. “Uh, I don’t think we’re exactly… witch material.”

Mia frowned. “I was really hoping to audition for Ophelia.”

The director waved off their protests. “Of course! But first try this. The witches are essential—a turning point of the play. You’ll be great! Just trust me.” He added, “And trust yourselves. You’ll get into the role soon enough.”

The trio were skeptical but decided to give it a go. They were given their scripts and led away from the other actors into the empty theater. The house lights dimmed, and the director nodded encouragingly.

“Just start from the top. Double, double, toil and trouble…“

They exchanged nervous glances, shuffling their scripts.

Mia took the lead, her voice wavering slightly as she attempted to conjure the tone of the scene. “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and… uh… cauldron…” She trailed off, blinking at the page. “Crap, what was the next part?”

Chris, holding his script too low to read properly, squinted in the dim lighting. “I didn’t prepare this part.”

Mark, trying to keep it together, shook his head. “Its okay. Just read the lines and act like a witch, man.”

“I don’t know how witches act!” Chris snapped back, feeling self-conscious.

The director sighed audibly from his seat in the front row. “Alright, stop, stop.” He rubbed his temples before standing up. “You three need to commit to this. You’re witches! You’re mystical, dangerous! This is no time for hesitancy.”

Mia blushed, her confidence shaken. “Sorry, I just didn’t think I’d be trying for this role.”

The director shook his head again. “At yet, here we are. I’ll set the scene. You’re witches. You’ve got power, mystery—seduction—in your words! Now stop questioning it. Feel the part. Let it take over!”

The trio exchanged glances again, still unsure. “Alright… I guess we’ll try again?” Mia offered, biting her lip.

The director waved his hand. “Start over. From the top.”

They nodded, still skeptical but determined to give it another shot.

Mia started once more, her voice a little stronger this time. “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Chris followed, squinting at the script, “Fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil and bake.”

Mark was about to chime in when the director suddenly shouted, “Cut!” His assistant hurried over, and the director began talking to her in hushed tones, their discussion unclear.

While the director was distracted, Chris shifted awkwardly, glancing at Mia and Mark with a sheepish grin. “I still don’t know what any of this means…”

Mia giggled, but then, as if it bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, her giggle turned into a high-pitched cackle. It echoed off the theater walls, sharp and eerie.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Mia blinked, her cheeks reddening. “I don’t know. It just… came out.” She shrugged.

Chris grinned, thinking she was just messing around. “That was… weirdly witchy.”

Mia’s eyes gleamed for a second. “Weird? Or perfect?” Her voice was lower now, more seductive, and her smile lingered longer than it should have. The boys laughed it off.

The director returned to the stage. “Alright, from the top. And I want commitment this time.”

Mia jumped into the role, her voice taking on an almost unearthly quality. “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Mark opened his mouth to deliver his line, but it felt stuck in his throat. Mia’s tone had changed. She was acting so unlike herself.  So much like the role.

Chris noticed too. He was late to his next line, too focused on Mia and the intense look in her eyes. “Uh, Eye of newt, and toe of frog…” His voice wavered, but it seemed like Mia’s confidence was only growing.

Mark squeaked out. “Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting…” 

Mia straightened, her chin up high, her posture confident. “For a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth boil and bubble.” The words rolled off her tongue.

Her clothes had subtly started to shift from her casual audition outfit to something more fitted. Her shirt tightened and hardened into a black corset that wrapped around her torso.  Not that she noticed, she was too engrossed in the role.

The director watched, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good, yes… better.”

Chris stared at Mia and saw her shirt change causing him to stumble over his next line. “Uh, By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…”

Mark and Chris exchanged nervous glances. This wasn’t right. But Mia? She was falling further and further into the part.

The director stepped forward, clapping slowly. “Magnificent,” he purred.

Mia turned toward the director, her lips curling into a slow, sultry smile. “Shall we continue, then?” she purred, stepping closer to him, her voice low, almost a growl. “There’s so much more we can do.”

Mark and Chris watched her with wide eyes, still in shock at how drastically she had changed in just a few moments. 

“Are you… okay, Mia?” Mark asked cautiously.

Mia turned to him slowly, her eyes narrowing. She stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Mia?” she spoke, her voice hard with an unfamiliar rasp. “Who is Mia? We have work to do, sisters.”

Chris snorted, assuming she was still messing around. “Good one, Mia,” he said, shaking his head.

But Mia didn’t laugh or smile. She simply gazed at them both with a knowing smirk, her eyes flickering with something. Mark opened his mouth to speak again, but the director interrupted.

“Alright, let’s go again! Action!”

The scene resumed, but now there was something different in the air. The moment Mia began her lines, it was as if a switch had flipped. Her voice rolled out effortlessly, oozing power and seduction. “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Suddenly, Mark and Chris felt something shift inside them. A strange tingling sensation spread through their minds, like fog creeping into their thoughts. 

Chris started, “Eye of newt, and toe of frog…” as his voice pitched up an octave.

Mark followed, “Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting…” a seductive tilt entering his words.

The director watched them with growing satisfaction, nodding as the transformation took hold.

Mark blinked, as his body began to shift, his muscular frame softening into more delicate, feminine curves. His jeans morphed into a sleek black leather skirt, his shoes elongating into stiletto heels. His chest filled out, his shirt morphing into a tight, corset-like top. His hair, once short, lengthened into platinum blonde locks that cascaded over his shoulders.

His words flowed naturally now, without the hesitation from before. “Cool it with a baboon’s blood, then the charm is firm and good.”

Chris, too, began to feel the change. His broad shoulders shrank, his arms slimming as his black T-shirt melted into a shiny corset, complete with straps that wrapped around his now hourglass figure. His dark hair lengthened into luscious waves, his lips darkening to a deep crimson. 

His body moved more fluidly, his voice softening as he delivered his lines. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

The director stepped forward, clapping slowly. “Magnificent,” he purred, his eyes gleaming. 

Mia turned towards her sisters.  Her coven. Her lips curled into a slow, sultry smile. “Shall we continue, then?”

[journeytothewestresearch]

I'm curious, after the journey, does Wukong still have the headband on his head or it somehow removed?

It disappears upon his enlightenment, likely symbolizing his internalization of self-restraint. He doesn't even realize that it had happened:

... Pilgrim Sun said also to the Tang Monk, "Master, I've become a Buddha now, just like you. It can't be that I still must wear a golden fillet! And you wouldn't want to clamp my head still by reciting that so-called Tight-Fillet Spell, would you? Recite the Loose-Fillet Spell quickly and get it off my head. I'm going to smash it to pieces, so that that so-called Bodhisattva can't use it anymore to play tricks on other people." "Because you were difficult to control previously," said the Tang Monk, "this method had to be used to restrain you. Now that you have become a Buddha, naturally it will be gone. How could it be still on your head? Try touching your head and see." Pilgrim raised his hand and felt along his head, and indeed the fillet had vanished. 孫行者卻又對唐僧道：「師父，此時我已成佛，與你一般，莫成還戴金箍兒，你還念甚麼緊箍咒掯勒我？趁早兒念個鬆箍兒咒，脫下來，打得粉碎，切莫叫那甚麼菩薩再去捉弄他人。」唐僧道：「當時只為你難管，故以此法制之。今已成佛，自然去矣，豈有還在你頭上之理？你試摸摸看。」行者舉手去摸一摸，果然無之。

This is an old photomanipulation of mine showing the moment that the gold headband snaps open. The angry immortal's face gives way to the serene Buddha beneath.

[afoggymirror]

반짝반짝 너와 함께 있을 때

‧ ₊ ˚ * ๋࣭ ⭑ ⚝ twinkle twinkle when i’m with you ༘ 𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

broke!annyeongz | smut; fluff; puppygirl!Yujin; petplay; shock collar; drunk sex; heavy foot stuff; light hypno; light overstimulation word count | 8000 ao3

Buried several pages deep into a small newspaper, back in her old home town, she’d once read a completely inane story that, God knows why, lodged itself in her brain. It was about a local woman who, due to health complications, had lost the use of her legs, and so she trained her dog – a very pretty Border Collie mix – to fetch the groceries from the local store. Why this story just so happened to pop into her head again at that very moment, Yujin could only guess.

In total, she was carrying five bags: her purse from work balanced precariously on one shoulder, a large tote bag filled to the brim with stuff from the supermarket, and three plastic bags full of whatever couldn’t fit in the second bag. Really, Yujin wouldn’t mind carrying all this junk if it weren’t so fucking cold that day. She’d walked all from the office to the store with her hands awkwardly buried into her armpits for warmth.

She shitstepped around a corner and away from the wind. Her head sunk into her scarf and all the hair she had wrapped it around. Her breath condensed in the air, painting the view of the city around her a paler shade of gray. For a moment, something changed she felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted from her. The next moment she realized one of her bags had just ripped.

“Ah, shit,” she heard a loud, glassy thoonk against the pavement below, “fuck.” Yujin craned her neck, just fast enough to see the bottle of wine bounce a few times, before rolling to a lazy stop against a concrete bench nearby.

Waddling as fast as she could between the bags and her long fuzzy trench coat – its bottom now certainly coated in gunk from brushing against the ground – she squatted awkwardly to pick up the wine. A light pink rosé, one that they’d never tried before, but which seemed like something they would enjoy, soft and smooth, tending towards a dry. The bottle had some scratches where it hit the ground, but it looked to be intact otherwise. Thank God, who knows what Wony would have her do if she knew she’d wasted nice booze.

Maybe it was her mind conjuring Wony, maybe it was the Sun hitting the bottle and projecting pastel pink swirls onto the pavement, but the city suddenly seemed a lot less gray. Yujin saw in color. It was a Friday, and she was about spend three days with the love of her life. She wanted to hold the feeling in her hand, but instead she held the bottle tight and continued to waddle home, newly oblivious to the strain on her wrists, from where all the groceries now bounced.

Yujin arrived at their apartment building – a discreet little place, not far from the heart of the city – and fumbled taking the keys from her purse, fumbling through the front door and fumbling with the elevator button. She stood in front of the metal doors for a little while before remembering that the elevator broke that week. She took the stairs.

Entering the studio apartment, Yujin took off her shoes and her coat, before dumping all the groceries on the kitchen counter and diving onto bed. The kitchen counter and the bed were, of course, a few feet apart. Their apartment was very small.

She let herself relax, but not for long. Wonyoung wouldn’t be back for a little while, but she still had a lot to prepare before then.

Before the tiredness could get to her, she got up and got to work putting away the groceries. Her mind wandered through the minutes, taking salmon fillets from their package, laying them on a pan with oil (just a little oil, Wony was sensitive about that), setting the water to boil for the pasta…

A nice smell began to drift from the fish on the stove, and she opened the large window at the end of the studio apartment, so it wouldn’t be overbearing later. Wony was also sensitive about that. Speaking of which, was she supposed to leave the wine in the fridge? They’re meant to be in room temperature but Yujin remembered hearing it might be different for rosés?

Her mind busied itself as the Sun lowered in the sky. This evening must have cost most of her paycheck that month, and preparing it was becoming exhausting very quickly, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that Wonyoung had a really bad week at work, and if Yujin could do anything to make it better, she would, regardless of price.

Often, she would catch herself fantasizing her words, once Wony got home. Hey baby! she would say, romantic, I know these weeks have been rough for you, I hope I can help get your mind off things for the weekend. Are you hungry? The dinner in her mind tasted amazing, they ate and then went out and then danced through the night, and when they came back their shitty studio had become a beautiful refuge, shielded from the world, lit by stars and candles and fairy lights- oh yeah, shit, the fairy lights!

She plugged in the lights that hung around the far window, framing the darkening sky in a homely orange glow. The dinner was ready by then: salmon and small farfalle with a light lemon and garlic cream, which she plated all fancy, just like they’d seen that guy do in Masterchef. Wony had to have gotten off work about now and Yujin was a little behind getting everything ready – one thing, she really needed a shower.

Yujin covered their shitty, repurposed garden table in a big, Lady and the Tramp-type cloth, magically converting it into the scene of a beautiful dinner, and was halfway turning to find a candle, when she caught sight of something weird, a really ugly orange stain on the floor tiles. Oh, absolutely not, what the fuck was that? She grabbed the rubbing alcohol and some towels and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but the damn thing wouldn’t come off.

And so, when Wonyoung first saw her that evening, Yujin was on her knees, messy hair and work clothes, swiping at some unknown goo on the floor.

“Oh hey, the maid is here!” Wony joked, taking off her shoes at the door.

Yujin’s heart jumped. She turned around to see her girlfriend, an apparition framed in the light of the door way, long hair and winter coat trailing behind her in the air, her beauty gleaming even through the tired face of someone who’d just left a full work week.

All Yujin’s preparation faded from her mind. Through all these years, she could never get used to seeing Wonyoung. She wanted to say she loved her. She wanted to recite all the sweet nothings she’d practiced, to tell her how glad she was to see her and how lucky she was to be with her and that she gave her life meaning.

Instead, the stunned lump in her throat won, and what she said was,

“Did you like, puke on the floor here? What the fuck is this stain?”

“Language!” Wonyoung half-laughed, leaving her purse and coat on the counter and climbing straight into bed, “it’s probably something your clumsy ass spilled.”

Yujin rolled her eyes,

“My clumsy a- hey, don’t go on the bed with outside clothes!”

“You do it too!”

She literally did earlier. Whatever. Yujin turned and kept wiping at this cum stain or whatever this was. Oh yeah wait, she didn’t even say hi to the love of her life.

“Stop cleaning,” Wonyoung said in a whine, and Yujin stopped.

She looked back up at Wonyoung, puppy eyes failing to mask the expectant adoration they always held.

Wony laid back on the comfy bunch of plushies and pillows they kept propped against the the wall and, pouting, opened her arms wide, “hug.”

The word was a higher force moving her, Yujin dropped everything and jumped onto bed, scaling the pillows to lay her head on Wony’s shoulder. Wonyoung wrapped her arms around Yujin like she would any other plushie. Half her head was covered by a forearm and it was a little hard to breathe. She was in heaven.

“Good girl…”

Yujin’s cheeks turned red under Wony’s arms. She couldn’t help but smile her wide, dimply smile, before burrowing deeper into her love’s shoulder. There it was. That weird burning pride that made her want to hide her face. “Good girl,” why did she like saying that? Yujin was literally older than her.

They were both very young when they moved in together, and it had been scary for both. They’d been dating for a few years, and friends long before that, so they knew they’d always have each other. Still, things changed fast, money was tight, and work was insufferable. Since Yujin arrived in town, they’d jumped from shitty studio apartment to shitty studio apartment, frail ships braving the blinding city lights.

When everything else was uncertain, some things had to stay constant: their kiss, their arms, their love.

Wonyoung was warm. Yujin assumed she was, too. Neither had really rested all day. Wony’s wispy, flowery perfume hung now low and scarce around her slender neck. Yujin reached her head to kiss it, kissed down to her shoulders. Her eyes focused on Wony’s delicate collar bones, gentle beneath the wide neck of her blouse. Yujin traced them lightly with her fingers,

“Oh yeah I uh… I made you dinner.”

“Yeah, I can smell it.”

“Do you want some?”

“Later.”

“…”

“…”

“…it’s gonna get cold.”

“We can eat it cold.”

“…”

“…”

C… can we? Yujin hesitated, is salmon ok cold?

Wony’s remained stoic in her poutyness, though Yujin could see her fighting her cheek from forming a smile. Clearly she picked up on Yujin’s worries, and found them cute.

I guess salmon can go on sushi…

“Is… is the smell too strong, do you want me to go open another window?”

“Stay,” she squeezed Yujin tighter.

She stayed.

Wonyoung pet her hair. She got chills. Wony was right, they didn’t need to get up to eat right now. Or get up for any reason, really.

“Actually, go get the remote.”

Yujin got up and crawled to the corner of the bed where the remote had fallen and fetched it, immediately coming back to the pillows. Wonyoung set the TV to the most vapid thing she could find, at a volume just loud enough that they could hear the voices but not distinguish the words.

Hands weaved through Yujin’s hair, scratching lightly, drawing slow paths from the top of her head, ending behind her ear. Shivers followed where the finger tips passed. Yujin felt herself sink deeper into the crook of Wony’s neck, felt a sleepy whimper push through the lump on her throat, felt her vision blur just a little. She hadn’t noticed, but she really was tired.

Her bangs were scratching her eyes a little. Yujin liked her hair short, but these days she hadn’t had the time to have it cut, it grew to her shoulders. Moving a hand up to adjust, pushing off the weight of sleep, took considerable effort. She eyed the TV, but couldn’t make out much. Muffled sounds meshed together in a lullaby, frames blended in impressions of waves, the rhythm of Wony’s breath and the beating of Wony’s heart swayed her as the tides.

With the way things had been at Wony’s work, Yujin knew better than to ask about her day. She was somebody who knew what she wanted, so if she said she just wanted to snuggle and fall asleep to the TV, that’s what Yujin would give her.

It killed her to see Wonyoung this tired. Yujin’s mind had run in circles all day, and even now it jumped from the food which was getting cold, to the bugs coming in from the open window, to how she should clean the floor later… but she knew none of these things mattered. Meaningless gestures to distract from what really troubled her: Wony’s life wasn’t perfect, she couldn’t make it perfect, and it wasn’t fair.

Wony was radiant, blinding, the light from which all else emanated. Yujin couldn’t find the words to express her adoration. It twisted her throat into knots, filled her mind with useless concerns, filled her mouth with stupid irony. When they were younger, first falling for each other, Yujin was nervous, a giddy mess of jumbled feelings, but she somehow felt more at ease expressing herself. Now that they had set into domestic life, that habit gripped them in its jaws, she often felt that her words had dried.

Not a moment passed when she didn’t have something on her chest. She wanted to tell her all she felt, give her everything she had. She wanted to change it all, make this broken world right, make it so Wonyoung never had to work another day in her life, so she’d live life as a princess in a soft, cotton-candy cloud far above it all, away from any sorrows or worries.

And in that moment, Wonyoung twitched a little. She was falling asleep, deep amid the pile of soft pink pillows. She did not seem worried in the slightest.

Before long the arms that squeezed Yujin tight relaxed, the hand waving through her hair came to a stop. She felt the sway of Wonyoung’s breath slow further, her chest rising and falling at a measured pace. Yujin blinked lazily to focus her clouded gaze, chancing a glimpse up towards Wony’s face, and saw it still, doll-like, eyes peacefully shut and lips just a little parted, lit by fairy lights and the flickering ghosts of the TV screen.

Wony was ok. And Yujin was ok, because she was in Wony’s arms.

After chasing her tail all day, Yujin felt the exhaustion truly creep in.

She settled her arms around Wony’s stomach in a way that wouldn’t trouble her love’s breathing, and allowed sleep to take her over.

A faint, compressed gun shot rang out from the low-quality speakers, just loud enough to rouse Yujin. Instantly she noticed something missing. Her body was submerged in pillows, but the comforting arms that held her were gone.

Sleep covered her eyes, her vision was a few large orange blots of light and the vague, blinding rectangle of whatever drama was on TV.

“This is really nice,” Wonyoung’s voice was inviting, accompanied by a slow harmony of metal cutlery on porcelain, somewhere off to her left.

Of course, looking there showed only an array of strange halos, scintillating stars that, really, probably didn’t amount to more than fairy lights hung onto the curtains. A slender shadow amid the dazzling glow sat looking back at her.

“It would be nicer if we’d eaten it warm,” Yujin’s irony woke up before she did.

“You feel asleep too!” she didn’t need to see Wony clearly to sense the laugh in her voice, “you were snoring, did you know that? You snored really loud just now, it’s probably what woke you up.”

“I woke up because you left the TV on too loud!”

“Well then turn it off and go back to sleep!”

Yujin stretched before palming around the pillows, finding the remote and turning off the TV, suddenly noticing she didn’t want to go back to sleep. She looked back at Wonyoung, still blinking mist from her eyes, as if to ask if she really had to.

“I was joking, come eat.”

She went.

Yujin didn’t know why Wonyoung’s words had this effect on her. It was Pavlovian. Her reflex was to please.

Wony’s glass was empty so Yujin filled it again.

“Is the wine good? I was a little worried it wouldn’t pair well with the fish.”

Wonyoung looked at her and smiled,

“You’re so cute,” she picked up the glass and swirled it absentmindedly, “the wine is wonderful.”

Heat creeped to Yujin’s cheeks. She sat, averted her eyes, still hazy from sleep, and began stuffing her mouth with food.

“So my day was awful, but how was yours?” Wonyoung asked, reaching out across the table and stroking Yujin’s wrist.

“I, uh…” frankly, she was drawing a blank. All memories from the previous hours were of worrying about Wonyoung. She knew she’d been neglecting her own things to care for Wony. She couldn’t just admit that, though, “I sure cleaned the house a lot for your ass.”

Wind passed through Wony’s nose faster than usual, in what could, generously, be called a laugh. A laugh, however, which clearly held less patience than it did even a few minutes ago. Sometimes Wonyoung seemed as frustrated with Yujin as Yujin was with herself.

Still, if they weren’t done teasing, Wonyoung would make the most of it.

“Oh yeah? What a good little girl…”

Yujin’s face was on fire.

“Stop calling me that, I am literally older than you.”

Wony leaned forward to rest her cheek on one hand, eyes locked to Yujin’s.

“You know, you’ve been such a good girl today, I’m thinking I might even indulge your weird foot thing.”

“I do not have a foot thi-!” Yujin felt a sock crawl playfully up her calf, coming to a stop between her thighs.

A giggle lost itself between Wonyoung’s lips,

“I’m not judging!” Satisfied with Yujin’s discomfort, she changed the subject, “anyway, you were saying about your day?”

Wonyoung pushed her heel slowly into her. Yujin made a fist, held her knuckles to her mouth, chanced a glimpse up at Wony through her bangs. She couldn’t meet her smiling face for long, her eyes closed before gluing themselves to her plate again.

She scrambled for words to say. Of course she could speak like normal, this wasn’t distracting. She didn’t even know where Wony got the idea she liked foot stuff. She began a story about someone from work who ate at their desk yesterday and so today they had ants inside their laptop or whatever.

Wonyoung pushed firmly against her. Yujin pushed her hips back against her foot. Shit. Maybe Wony didn’t notice her sudden eagerness, maybe she still had plausible deniability. Wony noticed,

“Oh you love this,” she laughed, rocking her slender leg into Yujin at a quick rhythm, “gross baby.”

“Stop…” Yujin angled herself so Wony would be pressing at the right spot.

“Do you want me to stop?” She leaned further, chin resting on both hands, her voice affecting the tone of someone being nice, “I’ll stop if you want.”

Yujin still wore work pants, but the pressure was having its effect, even through the fabric and the shame. Maybe because of them.

“Mm… mm-mmm…” she shook her head no.

She was warm. Not just her cheeks, though those burned with the fires of Hell. All of her. She was a gradient from the heat building in her core to the shame blazing across her face. The fairy lights shone on Wonyoung’s pale skin, a spotlight beaming straight at her,

“Say it with your words, baby.”

A weak moan broke through Yujin’s lips. She wasn’t even entirely sure why. Maybe Wonyoung’s taunts, maybe the fabric rubbing against her skin, beginning to make her sensitive, beginning to hurt. Maybe the confusion itself, the sleepy, shameful heat. Wony knew how to play her, make her confused, and she loved doing it. Wony loved to cause an impression.

“You don’t have… to stop…”

“Stop what?”

Yujin looked back up, a little dumbfounded. What did she want from her now?

“‘Please don’t stop fucking me with your foot, miss Wonyoung. I love this,’” she tilted her head to the side, a cat playing with its food. “Say it.”

Her obedient reflex finally found resistance. Yujin looked mortified. She had a hard time talking about her day, let alone whatever this was.

“Ah,” Wonyoung sighed, performing great impatience, crossing her arms, “I knew you wouldn’t say it,” she pulled her foot from Yujin’s thighs. There was peace under the table.

Sometimes – and for reasons Yujin found easy to ascertain after the fact, but nearly impossible to predict – Wonyoung would simply turn a key. The playful tone that lately permeated their every conversation would feel heavy, trite compared to what they could be saying, those words they both knew were stuck in Yujin’s throat. And so, to entertain themselves, Wonyoung would stop playing, and begin toying with her. Yujin was hers for the night.

“…why are you like this?” Yujin smiled, finally allowing herself to lift her eyes, half shaded by her bangs, and meet Wonyoung’s again.

“You know, I actually bought you something too,” she crossed her legs, and pointed theatrically across the apartment to the kitchen counter, deep into the recesses where the fairy lights could barely light the orange walls. “Go get it from my purse.”

Before Yujin knew it she was in the kitchen, half engulfed by darkness, fumbling through Wony’s purse. It didn’t take long to find what she needed. She pulled out the strange object, squinting to identify it in the dim light. It resembled a thin but sturdy choker, except for a large, black, plastic cube poking from one side.

“Come,” Wony waved, struggling to hide a smile.

“You’re evil,” Yujin went.

“And you’re cute.” Wonyoung pulled Yujin’s chair with two fingers so it faced the window, “sit.”

She sat.

Her heart thumped.

Wonyoung leaned in behind her, held her neck soft with one hand, moved her hair aside with the other, breathed into her shoulder. The warmth of her engulfed Yujin, scarce, stuffy perfume from yesterday intoxicating.

She tried to adjust her posture, arch her back just a little, act like she was comfortable, fully awake and present of body and mind. Like her sleep-deprived eyes weren’t blending the little fairy lights in front of her with the city lights beyond. Like Wonyoung’s fingers didn’t feel like feather pillows, tracing their way from behind her neck around the collar of her shirt, like she didn’t feel herself sinking into them just a little.

She wasn’t fooling anyone. Wonyoung knew she couldn’t think straight. That’s how she wanted her.

“You’ve been thinking too much these days, baby girl.” Oh my God I am older than you, Yujin still considered saying. “And saying too much nonsense.” She was glad not to have said anything. “Why don’t we shut you up for the night, and help you relax a little?”

Now that threw her for a loop. Wony seemed tired these days, that was evident. But did Yujin look like she needed a break too…?

Wonyoung’s breath hitched against the back of Yujin’s neck as she reached to take the collar from her hands. Wony might have been perfect, but even her poker face could slip sometimes. For a second her breathing skipped, it lacked the regal, gracious rhythm she usually projected, for just a second she exhaled too heavy and too fast, betrayed the excitement she felt having Yujin in her hands.

She snaked the collar underneath Yujin’s hair, shoulder length and airy, it moved with Wony’s fingers, reeds on a warm breeze. It tickled, Yujin shivered. She felt the collar clasp behind her, her breathing restrict just a little in its tight hold, and in a second the apprehension hit. How strong would the shock be? She’d find out soon, she guessed. The next time she made a noise. Did Wony even test this?

For what it was worth, Wony didn’t seem concerned. Petting her hair before circling around Yujin, a satisfied “ah” left her lips. An expression like she had something to share, she half turned to one side, to the other, looking for the handle on the window. She slid it half way closed, just enough for Yujin to see herself, reflection vivid against the backdrop of the dark city, framed by the tiny orange lights. She hadn’t seen clearly in what felt like hours, from sleep, from shame, apprehension. Nothing that night felt real, Wonyoung had created a dream for her. But there in front of her, her reflection was crystal clear.

Yujin looked beautiful. She would never have guessed it, the way her work shirt still clung to her with yesterday’s effort, the way her thoughts drifted directionless through the fog of sleep. But she did, she looked beautiful. Her hair, some locks stuck under the choker, bubbled in a messy volume, made her collar bones, her half visible shoulders under the crumpled shirt, glow against the night. Framed her face to accentuate the giddy loyalty she felt with Wony next to her. That Wony brought out of her.

For a moment she couldn’t tell the gleam in her eyes from the stars beyond the window. She looked to her love, golden in the half-light, convinced that the Sun herself was beside her.

“You’re so pretty,” Wony complained, eyes burning into Yujin,

“Ah-” bzzt. Dozens of pins pricked the side of her neck.

A triumphant smile spread through Wony’s face. She had made Yujin forget about the collar entirely.

“Great, it works,” still smiling, she brushed Yujin’s hair into place, delicate, “is it too strong, baby?”

Yujin gave it some thought. The shock had been a little too strong, she did feel a lot of pain, but it made Wony smile, and so she could endure a million shocks just like it. She shook her head “no.”

Wonyoung’s eyes pierced hers,

“Say it.”

Wony’s smile spread to Yujin. She pursed her lips, then, resigned, enounced,

“It’s not-” bzzt.

Seeing Yujin jump, Wonyoung’s smile widened. She moved her legs, tossed her long hair over one shoulder, straddled Yujin’s lap, sent her arms loose over Yujin’s shoulders and the back of the chair, an angel descending upon Yujin.

Yujin held her slim frame, one hand resting on her stomach, another exploring her shoulder blades, pulling her close. She caught a scent, one more personal than the flowered perfume hanging low from Wony’s neck, one just a little savory, sneaking into her with a kiss. The soft lips she loved so much embraced her senses, pulling her deeper into a dream.

Her love was weightless over her, a warm cloud, a rising air current to make her soar. Wonyoung’s kisses moved along her jaw, her head fell further to the side, allowing passage. She felt her hair be brushed back, a soft teasing bite on her ear lobe. She shuddered into Wonyoung’s shoulder, heat building up in her again. Wony’s hair brushed her cheek as she kissed her way down her neck.

Yujin opened her eyes to see herself, pretty reflection bright against the city night, eclipsed by the flowing white blouse and the flowing black hair of the girl she loved, falling over her. Just then, Wony opened the first button of her shirt, pulling it aside to expose her shoulder, before biting down. Yujin moaned, loud.

Bzzt.

Needles traipsed around her neck. She jumped again. The sudden pain brought a spasm from her, sent her arm twitching, her hand made to wrap around Wony’s fore arm. A smile formed on Wonyoung’s face again, Yujin could feel it buried on her shoulder. Wony loved making her feel like this, confused and hazy under her, incapable of thinking straight even for self-preservation, a lucid dream Wony could turn from joyous to apprehensive to painful and back again at will.

She lifted her head, looked down at Yujin. Her smile settled into a smirk, knowing, like she had just divined a way to extend Yujin’s bliss. Tossing her hair over her shoulders, Wony stretched to reach aside, to the table next to them, and when her hand came back into Yujin’s view, it carried with it the rosé. She took a long, comfortable swig, stopping to move the wine around in her mouth a little, breathe in the after taste,

“You should try the wine, baby.”

One hand moving behind Yujin’s neck, she positioned the bottle to pour into her mouth. The wine came slow. It was nice, clearly not the most expensive, not the most complex taste or whatever, but for their standards it was nice. Yujin swallowed, a little rushed as Wony didn’t stop pouring. In fact she seemed to be pouring faster.

Wonyoung’s eyes became sharper, her smile more intent, the more uncomfortable Yujin became. Wine invaded her, she didn’t want to move her head and make a mess – really she didn’t want to deny Wony whatever she wanted with this – but it was becoming harder and harder to gulp down what she was given.

It filled her mouth, her throat already felt a little restricted from the choker, she swallowed, and swallowed, until her muscles sent a spout from the corner of her lips. She shut her eyes, shaking her head reflexively though never daring take her mouth from the bottle, and a loud whimper left her. Bzzt.

The pain contracted her throat, sent spurts of wine down her chin. Wonyoung laughed. She might have hated wasting booze, but this wasn’t wasting, she seemed very entertained. She pulled the bottle from Yujin’s mouth and took it back to her own. Yujin’s throat burned, some wine had gone down the wrong hole and she had to fight the urge to cough loudly. She felt her chin drip, liquid begin to soak her chest,

“My shir-!” Bzzt.

“That shirt was thrifted baby, it’s not the end of the world.”

I might have to buy a new one next week for work, the worry crossed her mind, before she distracted herself with an attempt to cough quietly enough that it wouldn’t trigger the collar, before her eyes lost themselves again on Wony. If she wanted Yujin to stop worrying, it was working. In her confusion, she could focus on nothing else but her.

Wony stretched to put the bottle back on the table before leaning over Yujin, half-open eyes possessive.

“My messy little girl,” Yujin’s cheeks were red for so many different reasons at this point, hearing her say that barely made a difference. She climbed off Yujin, “wait here, I’ll get something to help you clean up.”

Sounds of drawers and kitchen utensils echoed for longer than expected. Bzzt, Yujin’s neck contracted in pain despite not having said anything. She turned to look at Wony,

“Ow-!” bzzt again.

“Hey, it works!” Wonyoung beamed from behind her, pocketing a little remote. She ran a hand through Yujin’s hair, looking down in greed. She pulled slowly on Yujin’s hair, leaning her head back, pulling a handkerchief to wipe carefully at her chin. Yujin reached with one hand, grasping blind at her love’s thigh, eager to pull her closer. Wony acquiesced, grinning, coming closer to tower over Yujin, pulling her hair further back, so she’d see it fully as she reached an arm behind herself, and grabbed a chain she carried over her shoulders.

Wony leaned in to kiss her again, the side angle a little awkward, her hands wrapping soft around Yujin’s neck, a touch of the chain cold against her skin. The metal ran down her chest, crawled over her as Wony moved to attach it to her collar.

She broke the kiss a little too soon, leaned back, one hand cupping Yujin’s cheek, the other wrapping itself in other end of the chain,

“Well… this is great, but I actually want to finish my dinner.”

Um…

“Wony what the fu-” bzzt.

Wony what the fuck are you talking about, she thought, with her inside voice.

Wonyoung pulled away, walked around her toward the table, lips twisted into a smile, chain growing taut between them. She stopped, brought a finger to her lips, affecting like she was really considering what to do next, then pulled strong on the chain.

The tug on Yujin’s neck – the alcohol might have begun to set in – sent her off balance, tumbling. The little lights next to her darted fast past her vision. The floor welcomed her with open arms. Before even fully regaining her senses, her eyes followed, incredulous, the chain up to where Wonyoung stood, a satisfied smirk on her face,

“Come on, girl,” she said, tone half baby talk, “let’s eat.”

Something told Yujin she wasn’t supposed to get up again. Wony continued pulling on the leash, walking carefree to her seat at the table, it was all Yujin could do to follow on all fours.

Wony sat, legs crossed, Yujin knelt. She looked up, expectant, eyes big under her bangs, afraid of what her love had in mind. Wonyoung ate a piece of salmon, some noodles, absentminded, like she’d forgotten Yujin was there.

“Oh, why don’t you entertain yourself while we’re here?” Wony, suppressing a smirk, pushed one foot forward, as if offering it to Yujin.

Frustrated, she blinked, eyeing Wony through messy bangs, furrowed brow and pursed lips. The heat in her cheeks grew insufferable again.

“Come on,” Wonyoung mocked, pulling Yujin by the chain, bending her closer, “don’t be shy.”

Yujin sighed, thankfully too quiet to trigger the collar, laughing a little to the side so Wony wouldn’t see. The window next to them was harder to see through the lights, but the glimpse she caught was beautiful. Wonyoung, long flowing hair, pretty with her posture perfect, enjoying dinner and a nice wine, her in disheveled formal wear, bent before her in chains. This was fine.

She leaned forward, Wonyoung’s foot bobbing close to her, black sock worn with its seam a little off-center. Reaching under her sole and around her ankle for support, she leaned forward and kissed it. Wonyoung chuckled above the table, she did too. She leaned again, kissed down the bridge of her foot,

She was serious. She actually didn’t like feet – she did not! – there was just something comforting about this. Embarrassing herself in front of Wony, expressing her adoration in such a direct, if gross, way.

And adore she did, compelled, by whatever force, to pull off Wony’s sock. She heard more quiet giggling from above the table, Wony crossed her legs in the opposite direction, allowed her to pull off the other. Her feet were long, slim, her skin soft and pristine save for a vein visible when she moved, bones gentle around her slender ankles. They were pretty, she concluded – like how she would comment on a friend’s hair style, not like she would say if she was into feet, which she was not.

When Wony lowered her eyes again, Yujin was deep into a kiss, lost in the skin between two knuckles.

“Here, get the bottom, too,” she flexed her ankle, mocking, pushing her sole to Yujin, before tugging on the leash. It was all Yujin could do to keep herself from smashing face first. She wanted to pull away, take a moment to even process Wony’s words, but her neck was pulled back into place. It was alright, her soles were pretty as well.

She leaned in to kiss her heel, her arches. Her hands held up Wony’s ankle like a relic, a work of art she wouldn’t dare damage by letting go, she wouldn’t dishonor in that way. Her skin was so soft, Yujin had always wondered how Wony kept her skin, her hair, her figure, despite her hectic work hours, and, she couldn’t deny, she loved being able to enjoy it, even if it made her cheeks burn with shame sometimes.

Her kisses climbed to Wony’s toes, before her love began to pull her foot away. It rested on Yujin’s shoulder, and began to push her down. She looked up at Wonyoung, smiling down entertained as ever. Yujin had no mind to resist, wouldn’t know how to anymore, she was gone. Her body leaned forward, as if pulled by gravity, Wonyoung’s gravity. The burn in her cheeks felt nicer now. The wine must have been getting to her.

Wonyoung stepped on Yujin’s chain, pulled her down until her head was level with the ground. Yujin, fully bowed, hair falling around her and spreading on the floor, cared less about her embarrassment by the second. When it rained… Kissing one foot, the other moved to pin her head in place, her whole world was down there, the task at hand engulfed her. Wony wanted her degraded, so that’s what she would be.

Her kissing grew louder, more focused. A moan left her, met promptly by a bzzt. From above, Wony sat back, the melody of her cutlery changed tempo, slowing as if satisfied with Yujin’s eagerness. She took her time to enjoy the humiliation she’d brought out of Yujin, before moving to bring out the next,

“Hey puppy, you must be hungry,” she disentangled Yujin from her legs, leaned over holding her plate, dumped some noodles and some salmon on the ground, scraps thrown under the table.

Yujin looked up, looked at the food. She was well past shame at this point, the desire to please was the first thing on her mind. She lowered her head to the food, took it in, getting sauce on her nose, fish grease on her chin, surely draping her hair on something horrible down there. Whatever. Wony would probably find it funnier if she was messy anyway. The salmon was nice, they really should’ve eaten it warm though.

Bzzt, Yujin jumped, a bit of fish still left on the floor. Wony had the little remote in her hand, and a mocking smile on her face.

“You’re so gross,” Wony laughed lovingly. She patted her own lap, “sit, let’s wash that down.”

She began pouring another glass as Yujin got up, knees sore from being on the ground too long. Standing again felt wrong, like she’d lost the right to be a biped after the previous minutes. Thankfully, Wonyoung, sitting wide and relaxed, offered a leg for her to straddle, a safe haven to keep herself degraded.

One leg on either side of Wonyoung’s thigh, she lowered herself, her movements nearly escaping her, all just a little too long, eyes just a little too heavy. She let her head fall on Wony’s shoulder, one hand holding the other shoulder, a quiet, tired moan running through her.

“You good, baby?”

“Yeah-” bzzt. Wonyoung laughed.

Feeling Yujin’s shirt, still wet from wine, cling onto her, Wony stopped pouring the second glass, pushed her back just a little and began undoing her buttons. Her moves were utilitarian, like it had to be done and Yujin was incapable of doing it herself. Be it some leftover claim to human dignity still in her, feeling patronized by Wony’s tone, be it simple dumb desire from a dumb baby who couldn’t think straight, Yujin just had to interject.

A dimply smirk forming, she reached out her hands to cup Wonyoung’s face – so small, so pretty – and fell, dazzled, into a kiss. Her movements were, by then, noticeably sloppy. Their faces slammed together, Wony smiled, Yujin giggled, a bzzt made her jump, they smiled more.

Wonyoung allowed herself to be pulled closer. Her fingers changed pace on Yujin’s buttons, dancing with revived hunger. When Yujin’s shirt fell open, she tugged on its collar, grasping her in their kiss. Even despite the sorry state of Yujin’s mind, it was clear that behind Wony’s formality, she too wanted more with every moment. She wanted Yujin deeper and deeper under her spell.

Led by bewitched strings, Yujin’s muscles flowed heavy. Her head fell back, hair tickling shoulders as Wonyoung slipped the shirt from her arms. She felt herself move back, her whole body pushing down against the thigh she sat on. As Wony pulled her in, her hips rolled closer, then rolled away, closer, away again. Her weight drove her into a lazy rhythm.

Hands wandered her shoulders, her waist, the small of her back. Cold flowed from the half-open window and harassed her skin, a refreshing contrast to the all-encompassing warmth she’d been feeling all night. She huddled closer to Wony, riding her core higher against her thigh, lost her hands amid the folds of her clothes, hid kisses into her neck and her hair and scent.

Wonyoung held Yujin’s waist with one hand, reached past her with the other to finish pouring those glasses. She brought Yujin’s body back, brought a glass to her lips, before Yujin’s fingers wrapped around it and chugged down the wine, no mind to savor what she tasted. She wanted more of what Wony gave her, more of Wony, more of her magic.

She half-flopped backwards to leave the glass on the table, movements as careful as she could muster, before falling back into Wonyoung. Kissing her cheek, her jaw, her pretty pouty lips, waves crashing faster upon her with drunken euphoria, humping her leg like a bitch in heat.

“I lov-” bzzt. She jumped, but the pain didn’t feel bad anymore. The jolt was a discordant tone complementing the harmony Wonyoung crafted. “-e you,” bzzt.

Wony chuckled, drank a little of her own wine, pulled her back into a kiss,

“Get up,” she did, slow and awkward, hands still resting on Wony’s shoulders. Her love’s eyes burned, keeping her warm through the cold breeze. Wony reached behind her, unclasped her bra, kissed her stomach, her ribs, her chest. Yujin felt herself shake, maybe from cold, maybe from giddiness. She couldn’t stay still, she missed the thigh between her legs, she felt her hands move down by themselves. Wony caught the movement and pulled on Yujin’s pants, “off.”

Yujin moved with the finesse of a dying fish, fingers fumbling around the button until it opened, tugging it down blindly. Hands held hers, Wony looked up into her eyes, amused with her state,

“Slow.”

She did what she could, sluggish movements charged with all the energy of the Sun, hands vibrating in nervous joy, a phantom tail wagging wildly.

With much difficulty, she shrugged off the rest of her clothes. Standing there, in Wonyoung’s hands, lips pulling light on her nipples, barely able to muster a coherent thought, night breeze cutting through her, she felt exposed, she could almost feel embarrassed again. She did not. It didn’t matter, she was not herself anymore, she was simply Wonyoung’s.

She was guided back down. Before she saw them, she felt Wony’s fingers, held up from her thigh,

“Fuck yourself on me,” Wonyoung whispered as Yujin eased down, shaking, over her. She didn’t have to ask twice – not that she ever did. Yujin gasped as Wonyoung entered her, body welcoming her, rhythm building again.

Wony leaned back, reached with her other hand to take another sip of wine, let her lips twist slightly with that perfectly crafted, immaculate arrogance, at the girl falling apart on her.

Grabbing at her blouse, Yujin let her head fall again. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted more. More of Wonyoung’s long fingers in her, more of her scent, more of the exposure, more of the state she left her in, she wanted to throw herself to Wonyoung, live and breathe for her,

“More-” bzzt. She wanted more of the pain, too, “more-” bzzt. “Pleas-” bzzt.

Another chuckle bringing out a fruity after taste in Wony’s mouth, she finished her wine. She reached behind the back of Yujin’s neck, fingers intertwining with the base of her hair. Leaning in, she worked a third finger into her.

Yujin whimpered into her mouth. She was pulled closer by the hair. The taste of wine swallowed her whole. When she couldn’t pull away anymore – when she didn’t have it in her to break their kiss – Wonyoung released her hair. Her hand crawled slow down Yujin’s skin, tracing her neck, her ribs, her waist, her thigh, leading Yujin’s pace while she clutched disoriented at Wony’s blouse.

She held on for dear life. Her mouth was lost in Wony’s. At times her tongue poked shyly inside, but her attention was elsewhere. It flowed blurry, drunk on the scent, always slurring back down her body. Wony used one hand to lead her, grinding, into the other’s fingers. Yujin’s pace was desperate now. She felt her leg twitch, her sides. She arched her back into Wony just a little, the twitch climbed all the way to her shoulders. Their kiss was interrupted by a whimper. It was all so much… Another whimper, then another, then more. Wonyoung smiled against her, curled her fingers in her,

“My good girl…” her face was so close, so pretty, her tone so encouraging, “let go for me.”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzt… Yujin jumped, grasped at Wonyoung’s shoulders, shook her head like that would shake the pins and needles from her neck. Wony pulled her back down, fist wrapped around the little remote. Her fingers pushed deep in her. Wony wanted her to cum in pain, and so the pain felt sweet.

Yujin lost herself. She hugged Wony close, felt her shoulders, her delicate skin, bones, hair, clawed at them for a second, before she stopped herself, she didn’t want to hurt her. She just held her while enjoying her own pain buzzing down her back, her own pleasure crashing from her core.

For a second, her mind was completely empty. No words, no worries, just the feeling of pain and relief and the smell of Wony. The feeling of a job well done – Wony wanted her to be a good girl, and she was. The feeling of being well taken care of.

When Wony let go of the remote, Yujin was light headed, barely able to keep her rhythm. She slowed, grinding still, she wanted to keep this forever. Wonyoung ran a hand through her hair, petting her slowly, scratching behind the ear.

Wony left the remote on the counter, jumping onto bed where Yujin lay exhausted. She went to unlock the clasp on Yujin’s collar, before stopping herself,

“Hmm… one last thing…” a final flash of malice crossed her face, “thank me.”

Yujin looked up, big smiling puppy dog eyes meeting hers, dimples forming deep,

“Tha-” bzzt. “-ank-” bzzt. “-yo-” bzzt. “-u,” bzzt. She could’ve said it in maybe two shocks, but she really had started to like them by now. Her head fell back on the stack of pillows, her brain really was fried.

Wony pursed her lips into a smile,

“Cutie,” she unclasped the collar, and threw it overboard off the bed. Their ship now held just Wony, her pet and their plushies.

“You don’t… want me to…?” Yujin brushed a hand on Wony’s hips.

“Later baby, after you brush your teeth.”

“Ah shit, I must have ruined your pants…” she noticed the spot where she’d sat on Wony’s thigh, still humid.

“Language!” Wony bonked her light on the head, before slipping off her pants and throwing them toward the stars. She jumped into the plush pile, “so anyway, how was your day?”

Wony, long legs bare, pulling the covers to nuzzle against her, threatened to freeze the words in her throat all over again, but she pushed past it. They were past it.

“Honestly, Wony, I don’t know what to say. All I’ve thought about these days was whether you were alright… sometimes you seem so beaten down…” she brushed her bangs from her face, before reaching under the covers to join her hands. “You’re too good to be having these problems, to be this stressed.”

“We’re too good,” she hit Yujin on the shoulder, “but we can handle it.”

It was true. With Wony, she could handle anything.

“If I could tell you how much I love you…”

“You don’t need to,” Wony touched Yujin’s head with hers, “I see it everyday.”

They lay there, enjoying soft pillows and soft covers and their soft love.

“My good girl.”

“No, really, why do you like saying that? I am literally older than you.”

“Because you like to hear it…” Wony opened her eyes quick to plant a kiss on Yujin’s forehead, “dumb ass.”

They fell asleep, aboard their soft ship, cruising through the fairies and the city and the stars.

[starsfic]

Prompt, Tang Sanzang coming down from Western Heaven to warn Sun Wukong that his student needs to get his act together or The Buddha will do something about it

"I'm sorry." The hand, once so gently holding his, was suddenly squeezing tight. Tang Sanzang felt a yelp rise up, but just as soon as his voice rose it died, staring up into his former student's furious eyes. "I must've misheard you."

"You...you didn't- ah!" He could audibly hear his bones creak. "Disciple, disciple, let me go-"

"You see, I've just spoken with Guanyin." The words made Sanzang's blood freeze. Sun Wukong had...what? "You know, because my student was so worried about being just like me, he wanted assurance. Apparently, people have been talking about him."

"I know. I heard the whispers. I want to help you help him, just like I-" A shot of pain sent him to his knees, but Wukong didn't let go. Those ruby eyes stared down at him, lacking no warmth despite their color. "He's chaos, he's a-"

The pain grew to a dagger. "Shut up and let me finish." Wukong's voice evened out. "According to the Buddha, Xiaotian's been trying his best. He's doing the best he can. He can't ask for more, he knows that. Xiaotian doesn't need a fucking fillet."

But..."It worked for you. It worked-"

"As a matter of fact, it didn't. It just made me terrified of stepping out of line." Wukong's voice grew cold again. "You tried your best, but you were a shitty teacher. I'm trying to not be like you, I'm trying not to hurt the best person I've ever met-" And that hurt worse than Wukong's fingers, digging into his wrists hard enough that he was surprised that they weren't broken yet. "And you have the gall to make the call on your own?"

Sanzang wanted to protest, wanted to...

Wukong let him go.

The monk gasped, gripping onto himself, feeling his wrists throb. There was the crunch of sand as the monkey stepped back. "Get the fuck off my mountain, Sanzang. I better not see your face until you apologize to Qi Xiaotian." He turned, leaving him there. And that just added to the pain. "Although, knowing you, I don't think sorry is in your vocab."

And then he was gone.

[midnight-fables]

Entry 2: Souvenirs

Bearblr Promptober Day 1: Scary Movie

Summary: In which Carmen vents about the demon (memories of Chef Winger (aka Chef David for the uninitiated)) haunting him.

Warnings: Thoughts of self harm, trauma, Chef Winger mentions, nightmares, swearing.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Author DOES NOT want feedback on how accurate of a characterization this is; author is an original works writer and is new to fanfiction, so please be nice. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

01 October 2024

My life is a fucking horror movie.

Fuck the anxiety, the dread, the self-loathing—child’s play. I’ve had that ball and chain since I was an infant. Such is the curse of being a fucking Berzatto; you think you’re born with nothing, so the world takes its taxes in sanity and peace instead.

No, fuck Chef Asshole’s voice emanating from whatever empty, dark corner happened to be on my right in some sick fucking divine prank cooked up by whatever cosmic being that spent eternity laughing at us. Fucking pissants scurrying around on planet Earth like cockroaches with misguided senses of purpose. Fuck Chef David. I didn’t know a kind of asshole could exist that could haunt you while still being alive, but that’s what he was. I would collapse on the couch after closing up the restaurant, hunt for shapes in the shadows cast by peeling paint on the ceiling of my shitty apartment, scour the footage of the day replaying in my mind’s eye for mistakes, for things to get better tomorrow, and then out of nowhere, I’d be back in Empire. Scalp tight because my hair had to be slicked back. Back aching like I had a paring knife stuck between my vertebrae. Aligning a serving of caviar, calling for hands, placing a fillet of salmon, calling for hands, no, chef, the sauce is broken again, calling for hands—and the Devil’s voice would always appear. I’d had the nightmare enough times to know it was a nightmare now, yet I watched my own hands go through machinations without my input, I willed against all odds that this time, I’d wake up before the Devil told me I should be dead, but that would be mercy on the part of the world, wouldn’t it?

I’m fucking stunned.

I made you great.

He made me great, did he? You made me great, huh?

I’m fucking stunned.

Sometimes I caught the voice when I was wide awake, and it would tilt my world. Sometimes I heard the Devil coming, only to spin around and see Claire or Sydney or Marcus or Tina instead. He was everywhere. He walked in my shadow, ate at my table, slept in my bed at night. What kind of exorcism do I need to rid this fuck? Do I put salt in a circle around me? Sometimes I wish the Devil would put that paring knife in my spine already so I could stop waiting for it to appear. Fucking slice me open, tear back the bones and sinew, look at the damage you did to me, look at what you left of me, take some more to add to your souvenirs, why don’t you? Can you rip out the parts of my brain that won’t forget you exist while you’re at it?

[mistressandry]

🔪 WIP Wednesday 🎣

@aldisobey very fairly tagged me after I made her make DELIGHTFUL art but now I must share.... creations I am not exactly confident in. But this is good!! This is a good push!!

I've been working on this for about a month! Hiding from it for about 2 weeks!

Honestly I just figured if fanfic is by it's very nature self-indulgent, why not go all in and just use it for introspection and therapy? 🙈 So I've writteeeeeenn 5k words on Ellie and Emmrich's relationships with death. + dwarf shit, because you know I can not resist!!

The ever lovely @bharv got first dibs on my mess of a WIP and gave such good notes!! Which I will act on!!!!!!! ... Eventually!!!! Here is an exert of 456 words that had limited "needs fixing things":

He watched her gutting a fish. Provisions were tight at the Veil Jumper camp and “every little bit of sustenance helped”, he was told. Compelling as the argument had been, Emmrich had still chosen not to partake and instead opted to work on his notes at a safe distance.

Rook had been excited reeling her fish in, but was clearly upset as she gripped it against the cold, hard rock. He watched its beautiful red scales glitter in the sunlight as it flailed against her hold. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!” she told the fish, while she fetched her knife. Emmrich was well practiced and looked away just in time.

A calm seemed to wash over Rook after the killing. She removed the hook from the fish’s mouth and picked it up to examine her prize.

“Now that… is a big fish!” Rook celebrated, beaming with pride. Emmrich noted a train of scales where Rook must have swiped her brow. The fish continued to twitch, muscles still unaware they had expired.

Brutality out of the way, now came the part he actually liked. Filleting was just another type of autopsy with purpose. A clean cut was a show of reverence, and only possible by a devoted understanding of the recipient's anatomy. He watched as Rook cut along the fish’s spine towards its tail, biting her lip as she focused, only snagging on a bone once.

It reminded Emmrich of when he used to watch his father as a boy. Butchery was not a respected line of work in Nevarra, though the demand for it persisted. It was many years later that he truly came to appreciate his father’s choice of profession. It was work that others wouldn’t do, but it was work. It was a means to provide for their family, and his father was a great man for that. Though he was often spared from helping with exsanguination, everything that followed after the loss of life had fascinated him. His father would point out the arteries, bones and various muscle groups, and Emmrich would wonder at the miracle of life.

For some reason, Rook had taken out the fish’s heart and held it daintily in her palm., it was still beating. It was quite.. Curious. After a moment of examination, she tossed it into the water and sectioned the rest of the fish’s leftovers into small pouches.

Rook must have noticed his confusion as she was overcome with a need to explain herself. “It’s not weird! It's for crab traps.”

“How very utilitarian.” Mildly impressed and curiosity somewhat sated, he returned to his notes while Rook flung another cast with her rod. He supposed this was one way to help support their comrades while killing time.

------------------------

AAAAND SCENE!

... It's winter and I miss fishing and I don't like killing fish, but it is... amazing seeing how they work. Always gotta be grateful though!! Whisper thank you to their still beating hearts Be super normal and just use everything you can + help their habitats!

I think I'm writing Emmrich too closed off. IDK does his perspective of this feel out of character? Grand scheme of things, it's not the worst thing I could do... but happy for insights!!

I'M NOT SURE WHAT THE WRITING STATUS IS FOR PEOPLE RIGHT NOW BUT UHM, UH,

@bharv bb girl if you've got anything to share, and the pressure does not make you overheat, please do!!!!

@black-rose4 Do you have anything cooking??

@hot-elf hbu??

I hope these tags are welcome 🥹

[digitaldoeslmk]

I find it interesting that MK basically has to learn the opposite lesson his mentor did when it comes to violence. from what I understand swk slowly learned that not all conflicts had to be solved with bloodshed. and MK has to find peace with the fact that not all conflicts can be solved peacefully. People minds can't always be changed, not every villain is broken/misunderstood/misguided, and sometimes people are just pure evil. its no wonder his mental health is unstable, and i'm sure swk isn't thrilled seeing this sweet kid have to struggle so much with it.

yes!!!! yes you got it!!!!! :D

on a deep level too, JTTW has a running theme that the more violent one's response to a crime, the more violent is the reprisal for that response if it fails. the whole arc of the Havoc in Heaven is about a monkey and yaoguai warlord being thrown into an environment he wasn't equipped or prepared to handle the expectations of, and that punishing him instead of properly preparing him for his role has consequences. also you can interpret it in a symbolic way: as Wukong is the Mind Monkey, the restless and unrestrained human mind, you can't punish yourself into becoming better, you must stop, learn, and understand your situation before moving forward. otherwise what you get is just, a mess spiritually and mentally.

meanwhile, MK was brought up in a very loving and understanding environment. yes, the show portrays his friends and family (Pigsy and Tang are his dads, you cannot change my mind) as far from perfect, but they are altogether a circle that loves and supports each other even through their mistakes, and it's their flaws that makes them stronger. however, in esoteric Buddhism there's the concept of a ruthless compassion, in that sometimes you need a heavy hand to stir people towards the right path; in this article my friend JTTWR shares how even Wukong's golden fillet is a display of that concept.

and yes, an understanding and kind approach can take you very far; in my au, MK manages to befriend and help turn around most of the enemies he encounters, not unlike the show! but sometimes, that's not enough, and sometimes, it only makes things worse and drags you down with them. sometimes, violence is a valid and even necessary answer for the good of the majority.

as for Wukong... as a bodhisattva, he knows that suffering is necessary for learning and that he can't shield MK from everything. one must face adversity to learn to overcome it. but as a grandpa himself, he's not keen on the suffering of beings, much less those close to him. he can offer an ear to MK's vents, a shoulder to cry on, a hug, a joke, a few matches of games to take his mind off things. MK needs to learn these harsh lessons, but Wukong's not letting him do it by himself.

[the-monkey-ruler]

Can you explain the four treasures Guanyin gave to Tang Seng, please?

I'm afraid that I only know three, with one of those being practically just the same thing. But there is an honorable mention that I shall put in case that is what you are referring too! I put links to each one if you wanna read more about their backgrounds.

The Nine Ringed Staff (九环锡杖) - When Sanzang holds this staff it keeps him from poison or harm.

Cassock (锦襕袈裟) - It's inlaid with seven treasures, is impervious to water and fire, and can protect the body from insects. Wearing the cassock will protect one from falling into hell, suffering from evil and hardship, or encountering disasters from tigers and wolves.

Tightening Fillet (緊箍) - when recited the tight hoop mantra, he can make the tight hoop shrink and give Sun Wukong a splitting headache. Prohibitive Fillet (禁箍) -given to Black Wind Demon Golden Hoops (金箍) - given to Red Boy

Honorable mention:

Golden Purple Bowl (紫金钵盂)- gift from the Tang Emproer

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 57

In this chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest we get to see how Tripitaka and Sun Wukong's second break up is going. So let's get into it shall we?

Last we left off, Monkey had made himself scarce after his fight with Tripitaka. However he doesn't really know where to go, or what to do now. If he returns to Flower Fruit mountain now, it will be in disgrace. And the same goes for hanging out with other immortals or in the celestial realm. Finally he decides that his only real option is to try once again to beg Tripitaka to take him back.

So Monkey returns to Tripitaka and begs him to take him back as a disciple, and promises to not do violence in the future. However Tripitaka's only response is to once again start reciting the tight fillet spell again, another twenty times. After he's done, Monkey tries to reason with him that he won't be able to reach the West by himself, because, let's face it, Sandy, Pigsy and the Horse really are just 'chopped liver' here... Tripitaka however says that whether or not he reaches the west is no longer Monkey's concern, and insists that he does not want him anymore. Once Tripitaka threatens to use the fillet again, Monkey is left with no other choice but to once again take his leave.

This time however, Monkey does have an idea on where he can go- the same place he goes every time he runs into problems, Guanyin's place. Once he gets there he is greeted by Moksa and Red Son, who ask what business he has with Guanyin. Monkey says he's here to tattle on someone to Guanyin, and when Red Son tries to joke around a little with Monkey, Monkey snaps and goes off on him, since he's really not in the mood right now.

Anyways Monkey is finally able to meet with Guanyin, and breaks down into tears, while he explains everything to her. Guanyin listens patiently to his explanation and tells him that he was indeed in the wrong for beating those bandits to death, especially since he easily could have just scared them off instead. Monkey agrees but still thinks he should have been given another chance to atone rather then be banished outright like this.

After that Monkey asks Guanyin if she can recite the loose fillet spell, so he can give the fillet back to her so he can go back home to Flower Fruit Mountain. After she explains that the fillet was given to her by the Buddha and that she doesn't know of any way to remove it, Monkey gets up to leave. He tells Guanyin that he'll go directly to the Buddha instead and ask him to remove it. Guanyin however asks him to wait for a moment while she scans Tripitaka's fortune. His fortune reveals that since it's a day of the week ending in a 'Y', Tripitaka will soon face another calamity, and will need his help with it. At which time Guanyin will make sure that Tripitaka takes him back as a disciple. And with that we leave Guanyin and Wukong for the moment while we check back in on Tripitaka.

Tripitaka is traveling along with his other disciples until he gets hungry and thirsty. And since he apparently hasn't learned his lesson from the last time he had Pigsy fetch him water, he sends Pigsy out to fetch him some. After waiting for such a long time that Tripitaka even takes the time to compose a poem about how thirsty he is, Sandy finally decides to go after Pigsy to see what's taking him so long. Tripitaka tearfully allows him to go, leaving him with only the horse for protection.

He's not alone for long however, for who does he see but 'Sun Wukong' kneeling on the side of the road offering him a bowl of refreshing water. 'Sun Wukong' asks him to take it, and then he'll go and fetch some food for him as well. Tripitaka however refuses, saying he'd rather die of thirst on the spot then take it from him. When 'Sun Wukong' once again insists that he can't make it to the West without his help, Tripitaka once again says that's none of his business and tells him to leave. This enrages 'Sun Wukong' who throws out the water and strikes Tripitaka with his rod knocking him unconscious. After that, 'Sun Wukong' takes their belongings and takes his leave. On that cliffhanger it's time to see what's taking Pigsy so long.

Pigsy has managed to find a human residence, and has even transformed himself into a passable human monk to make begging easier. He's able to get some food by passing himself off as a sickly human, and just as he acquires the food, Sandy arrives to find out what's taking him so long. Pigsy shows off the food, but Sandy says that water is the bigger priority at the moment and they only have the one bowl. Eventually they settle on Sandy carrying the food in his robes while Pigsy uses the bowl for water, that settled the two return to Tripitaka. Only to find him seemingly dead. Pigsy and Sandy panic, and while Pigsy curses out the bandits that probably caught up to them to kill him, Sandy just wails and cradles Tripitaka's body while Pigsy plans the funeral.

Luckily before they can bury him alive or something, Sandy is finally clued in on the fact that Tripitaka isn't dead, just unconscious. Once Tripitaka wakes up, cursing Monkey as he does so, he explains what happened to Sandy and Pigsy. The enraged Pigsy is all for going after Monkey in order to get their stuff back, but Sandy reasons that they should probably make sure Tripitaka is taken care of first. Since leaving him alone on the side of the road didn't turn out so well last time.

So after they settle Tripitaka into the house they found earlier, they decide on which one of them should go after Monkey. Pigsy still wants to be the one to go, since he's already been to Flower Fruit Mountain before and knows the way. Tripitaka however worries that since Pigsy and Monkey have trouble getting alone even during the best of times, that if Pigsy mouths off to Monkey, Monkey might attack him to. So they settle on sending Sandy who has better manners. Tripitaka tells him that if Monkey is willing to give their stuff back then great, if he refuses however, Sandy shouldn't try and fight him, and instead should go straight to Guanyin.

With that said, Sandy takes off for Flower Fruit Mountain. As Sandy begins to approach the cave he begins to hear 'Monkey' reading what sounds like their travel script aloud. Eventually Sandy interrupts asking him what he's doing, however 'Monkey' just immediately orders his minions to seize him, and has Sandy brought before him. Sandy tries to negotiate with 'Monkey', asking him to return their belongings so they can all go West together or at the very least return their stuff while he stays here. 'Monkey' however says that he didn't strike Tripitaka and take their stuff because he didn't want to go to the West. He did it because he'll need the supplies for his own Journey to the West. Once he retrieves the scriptures from the Buddha and delivers them to the East, he'll be the hero, and get all the credit.

Sandy tries to explain that his plan could never work. This whole journey isn't even about getting the scriptures, not really. It's a way for Tripitaka, the Golden Cicada, to go through trials to redeem himself. So Buddha would never hand the scriptures over to just 'Sun Wukong' by himself. 'Monkey' however isn't an idiot, of course he knows that he can't do it without a scripture pilgrim, luckily he already has one of his own. After saying that, Monkey shows Sandy, perfect clones of Tripitaka, Sandy, Pigsy and the horse.

Sandy isn't to happy to see his apparent replacement and attacks it, managing to kill it in one blow. Only to find that the clone was apparently one of the monkey's of Flower Fruit Mountain in disguise. 'Monkey' is also enraged by this and orders the other monkeys to attack, leaving Sandy to fight his way out. Luckily Monkey can't be bothered to actually give chase to Sandy once he escapes, instead, he orders to have the dead monkey skinned and fried so they can eat it later, and just has another monkey transform into Sandy.

Sandy meanwhile has resolved to go to Guanyin about this. So Sandy arrives at Guanyin's place and is greeted by Moksa who asks why he's here, despite already knowing he's probably here about the whole Monkey situation. So Moksa announces to Guanyin, and coincidentally Sun Wukong since he is also here, that Sandy wants an audience. Monkey chuckles at this figuring that the calamity that Guanyin mentioned earlier must have finally arrived. So Guanyin calls Sandy in, however as soon as Sandy see's Monkey he tries to attack him with his weapon. Which Monkey takes surprisingly well, by just dodging the attacks and not fighting back while Sandy yells insults to his face.

Guayin breaks up the fight and asks Sandy to explain himself. So Sandy explains the whole story to Guanyin, who says that it can't be possible for Monkey to have done all of that. He's been here with her for the whole time, and she's been keeping a close eye on him. Sandy however insists that he's telling the truth. So Guanyin suggests that he take Wukong with him back to Flower Fruit Mountain to see what's really going on. So with that Sandy and Monkey leave together to see what the situation is back in Flower Fruit Mountain.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 + 94,000 years Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes and Diamond Pupils, intimidating horses, churning large bodies of water, sleeplessness, seizing the wind, enhanced smell, discerning good and evil within a thousand miles, Spirit Summoning, lock picking, object transformation, distance reduction, vanishing in a flash of light, super healing, transforming others, and Invisibility Demon Kill Count: 9+ Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 1039 God's Defeated: 23 + Unknown number Defeats: 7 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason, attempted murder, failure to control or report a dangerous fire, desecrating a corpse, breaking and entering, trespassing, violating Tree Law, looting corpses, trading counterfeit goods, criminal threat, animal abuse, Assisting or Instigating Escape, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption and Identity Fraud. Cry Count: 9 + 3 fake cries Mountains Trapped Under: 4

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka and the Tang Monk Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras, pretty privilege, memorization, Heart Sutra and Meditation. Cry Count: 30 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 62 Paralyzed by fear: 6 Bandit Problems: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 9 Falling Off Horses: 10

Current Bai Long Ma Stats: Names/Titles: Bai Long Ma (White Dragon Horse), Prince of the Western Ocean, and third prince jade dragon of the dragon king Aorun Abilities: Transforming into a human, a water snake, and a horse, eating a horse in one bite, flight, Magic of Water Restriction, Singing, and Sword Dancing. Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Arson, and Grave Disobedience. Contributions to the plot: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 1

Current Zhu Wuneng Stats: Names/Titles: The Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, Zhu Wuneng (Pig who is aware of ability), Zhu Ganglie, Pigsy, Idiot and Eight Rules. Weapon: Rake Abilities: 36 Transformations, parting water, fighting underwater, cloud soaring, size enhancement and CPR Demon Kill Count/Kill steals: 3 Kidnapped by Demons: 4 Human Kill Count: 1 Failed Flirtation/romances Attempts: 4 Cry Count: 2 Crime List: Sexual Harassment, Murder, Kidnapping, arson, defamation, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Theft and Forcible entry

Current Sha Wujing Stats: Names/Titles: The Curtain-Raising General, Sha Wujing (Sand Aware of Purity), Sandy and Sha Monk Weapon: Monster Taming Staff Abilities: Fighting underwater, Cloud soaring, and fetching water from a well. Demon Kill Count: 1 + Unknown number of minions. Kidnapped by Demons: 3 Human Kill Count: 1 Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Breaking a Crystal Cup, murder, desecration of a human corpse, Damage to Religious Property and contaminating a substance for human consumption

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