#but it is so much more grounded than a lot of western fics. it is so atmospheric and at least to me it captured the vibe

[made-nondescript]

sometimes i go a little bit insane thinking about the towns of early western america and how many just aren’t there anymore people’s whole lives washed away by sand and sun with nothing but dry, old wood and stone foundations and mines, now empty, to prove they’d ever been there.

sometimes i go a bit nuts thinking about all the cemeteries no one has visited in decades because they are miles from any development, now. wooden headstones reduced to kindling and the stone ones worn down so far that you’re lucky to make out a single letter. fences that have long since stopped serving their purpose.

places built to be temporary but even still were at one point were full of people’s friends and family and hope. i don’t know. a little crazy about it rn

[hoejosatoru]

Good Men Die Too

Pairing: fem!reader x hanma

Summary: Fic is based on Crush and Western Nights by Ethel Cain because hanma gives Ethel Cain lover vibes. Which is not a compliment but here we are. If you’re unfamiliar with Ethel Cain, basically just a super toxic and slutty relationship lol trust me

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: drinking/smoking, oral fem and male receiving, somewhat public sex, rough sex, gun play, hair pulling, hitting, bruising, blood, mentions getting you pregnant, cream pie, jealousy, possessiveness, violence, pet names (baby/angel/good girl), use of daddy, hanma is v toxic but so so is reader (support women’s wrongs!)

He’s never looked more beautiful, on his Harley in the parking lot

The night you met Hanma lives vividly in your mind. The flashpoint of who you were and who you would be. Call it fate, divine intervention, right (or wrong depending on how you looked at it) place at the right time, you ended up in the same bar as him on that fateful night. His sharp features cut through the monotonous crowd of faces, instantly intriguing you. His eyes connected with yours, a match into gasoline, sparking something inside you. He smiled and you knew he felt it too. 

You both watched each other for a while, recognizing that this was a game. Eventually, he slipped out the back door and you followed him like a moth drawn to a flame. You found him in the parking lot haloed by a pale streetlight, sitting on a motorcycle and smoking a cigarette. His hands, you noticed, were tattooed. Sin and punishment. You wondered how they’d feel on you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a bar like this?” he asked, blowing smoke into the cool, dark summer night. You could feel him sizing you up.

“Looking for trouble, I guess,” you replied with a sly smile you’ve learned men love so much. You were close enough to smell him now - whiskey, smoke, and expensive cologne. It was intoxicating.

He chuckled darkly, “You may have found it.” Oh, had you. You always had a thing for bad boys; they were your vice. You wanted to say you didn’t know what Hanma was and, maybe in that moment you didn’t really. Maybe you assumed he was no worse than your other leather-clad nicotine addict boyfriends. But when you looked at him a small dark corner of your mind screamed, “Run”. You never had a great survival instinct, though, like a mouse entering a viper pit. Stupid fucking mouse.”You ever ridden on a motorcycle?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Mmm,” he smirked, flicking his cigarette to the ground and grounding it into the pavement with his rather expensive looking boot. “I’m going to pop your cherry.”

And that is how you ended up on the back of Hanma Shuji’s motorcycle, gripping his strong torso. Breathing in the ashy-sweet scent of cigarette smoke. No helmet, of course, men like Hanma don’t use them. His black and blonde hair whipped behind him as he sped through the dark, narrow streets. He looked so fucking cool. You felt yourself get slick between your thighs. 

Hanma pulled into a dark, quiet alleyway. You swung your legs over, sitting on the bike like a chair as Hanma stood, towering over you. He looked at you like he wanted to eat you. You looked up with faux innocence, “Gonna kiss me now, or what?” 

Sin cupped your face, as Hanma leaned close enough to feel his breath on your face, but not enough for your lips to touch. “I’m gonna kiss you, just not on the lips.” He dropped to his knees, looking up at you with a devilish grin. Your desire for him was a visceral ache. He slid your underwear down your legs, stuffing them in his back pocket. “Those are mine now.” He flipped up your skirt, licking his lips at the sight of your wet pussy.

His hands spread your legs wider, before he buried his face between them. His tongue slid up and down your hole, collecting your arousal. He loved feeling it clench around nothing, desperate for pleasure. He sucked at your clit, earning a moan from you. “Such a slut letting a guy you just met eat your pussy,” he teased.

“Hmm, and what does that make you?” you asked, your voice saccharine.

“A lucky man,” Hanma replied, punctuating his statement by nipping at your clit. You gasped, your hands flying to his hair. Hanma smiled against you, getting back to work. He was sloppy and sinful, eating you with such enthusiasm it made you blush. Your head fell back against the cool brick wall behind the parked bike, as you tried to keep your breath steady. It was all for naught, as you were cumming on his tongue seconds later. You moaned his name unabashed, completely forgetting you were outside.

He stood back up, finally kissing you on the mouth. He gripped you tight and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on him. Hanma was like a drug. You were hooked.

Camo jacket robbing corner stores

You found out soon after that Hanma was in a gang, a rather infamous one at that. He wasn’t exactly hiding that fact, rather he boasted about it. He was proud. You loved the way his eyes shone wickedly when he talked about it. He oozed power and confidence. 

Hanma didn’t need to engage in petty crimes. Evidently, this gang was lucrative and being an executive got him all the money he could need. However, petty crimes were like a drug to Hanma: once you get a taste for it, you’re always going to crave it. Hanma loved to show off, which meant you got a taste of them too.

“Yell if someone’s coming,” Hanma instructed you. He kissed you through the bandanas that covered your faces. It was your job to sit on his bike and stand watch. You didn’t get nervous anymore, Hanma was a robbery savant. You bit your lip as you watched him enter the corner store, pulling his shiny black glock from the back of his waistband.  

You heard the sound of alarmed voices and smiled to yourself. Within minutes, Hanma was walking back out to you - as casually as if he just bought a pack of smokes - with a sack full of cash. He was glowing, eyes shining with deviance and success. If you could have fucked him right then and there, you would have.

Hanma hopped on the bike and sped away. You gripped him tightly, loving the way his gun pressed hard against you. It got you excited for a certain hard part of him. 

When you got back to Hanma’s place he was on you the second the door closed. He kissed and touched you, boasting of his latest success. “God that was almost too fucking easy.” He pushed you back on the bed, opening the sack of cash and letting the money flutter all over you. “Fuck you look sexy like this.” He leaned in and licked up your neck. “Almost as sexy as you sitting on my bike.”

“But not as sexy as you coming out to me,” you mused, playing it over in your head, “One day I wanna watch you do it. I wanna see them submit to you.” 

Hanma grinned, incisors catching the light. Even kneeling above you on the bed he towered over you. “You’d love how they beg,” he said, “Never seen a man go soft that fucking quick. Nearly pissed himself he was so scared.” He narrowed his eyes, calculating something. Then, he pulled his gun back out from his waistband and pointed it directly at your forehead. “You’re not scared of me, are you baby?”

You knew Hanma would never shoot you, yet your heart still raced. Looking death in the face will scare anyone. You’re only human. Yet, as your heart raced you felt your pussy thump with desire. What no one tells you is looking death in the face is also one hell of an aphrodisiac. You kept your eyes locked on Hanma’s, not showing an ounce of fear. You sat up slowly, pressing your forehead directly against the muzzle. When you spoke, your voice was strong. “Never.” 

Hanma gave you an approving smile. You passed the test, you knew. You had never been more safe; he was not going to hurt you now. He slid the gun down to your lips. You kissed it, licked it. He continued down your body, pressing the cool metal of the barrel against your clothed pussy. You let out a soft gasp, egging him on.

“Fuck my gun,” he commanded, “Go on, angel, I know you want to.” He pressed it hard against you, sliding it up and down to stimulate your clit. You rolled your hips, grinding against it. Hanma watched you, mesmerized. It was surprisingly easy to get off; you’d been ready to cum the second you saw Hanma pull his gun out at the corner store. “Fucking slut,” he said with all the love in the world, “Look at you cumming on my gun.”

He tossed the gun to the side the second you finished, yanking his own pants down. You bit your lip at the sight of the heavy bulge in his black Versace boxers. He leaned into you, licking up your ear. “Gonna ruin my good fucking girl.” 

I owe you a black eye and two kisses, tell me when you wanna come and get ‘em

Hanma liked crazy. He could act annoyed all he wanted, but nothing got him going more than his girl acting crazy. His actions proved that. Not answering your texts or calls. Going out for drinks with his boys. Flirting with some stupid girl. You knew this because you followed him here, of course. He knew what he was doing.

If you weren't so mad, you’d laugh. This girl, bless her heart, looked as sweet as the bubblegum your dentists warned you not to have because their sugar would rot your teeth. Hanma would chew her up and spit her out. He showed no real interest in her until he saw you. He smiled a twisted, smug grin. You walked right into his trap.

You didn’t go up to him right away, no you couldn’t give him that much satisfaction. You sat at the bar, ordered a drink and watched out of the corner of your eye. You had to bite your tongue so you wouldn’t laugh at the girl coughing when Hanma lit a cigarette. The girl was talking up a storm from what you could see, Hanma not paying attention to any of it. He was too busy making sure you saw him put a hand on her thigh. There’s only so much button pushing you can take.

You sauntered up to them, trying to stay as calm as possible. Hanma looked at you expectantly, but you turned to the girl instead. “Careful with this one,” you nodded over to him, a faux smile on your face, “He keeps a gun in his waistband.” The girl’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. 

Before anyone could respond the doors of the bar busted open, men with guns filing in. You noted their colors instantly as a rival gang. The girl ran away screaming. Poor girl, you thought, just before the gun fire started. Hanma grabbed you and yanked you down, a glass shattered behind you. A second later and that would have been your skull. Hanma shielded you with his body as you ran for the back door, firing back with his own gun. A fleeting thought of he really loves me, crossed your mind as you ran. 

When you got to his apartment, he started to ask if you were okay, but before he could finish you slapped him across the face. “What the hell was that for?” he snarled, fists clenching at his sides.

“That was for trying to fuck with other girls,” you replied defiantly. “But this is for saving me.” You dropped to your knees, looking up at him seductively. 

“You’re a crazy fucking bitch, you know that,” Hanma said, sounding in love. 

“Yeah and you fucking love me.”

“God damn right I do.” He brushed a thumb over your cheek, turning serious for a second. “You’re mine, baby. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” You leaned into his touch, nipping sweetly at his thumb. Hanma smiled. “Now show me how thankful you are.”

You went to work, sliding his pants and boxers down. He was hard already, his cock heavy in your hand. You licked up the underside of him on the vein you knew drove him wild. He let out a low hiss as your lips enveloped his tip. You licked at his tip, before taking him deeper in your mouth. Hanma’s head fell back, letting out low sounds of pleasure. “Fuck baby, feels so good.”

Sin and punishment tangled in your hair, pushing you deeper on to him. He used his grip as leveraged to fuck into your mouth. You gagged, throat tightening around him and a few mascara tears sliding down your face. He fucking loved the view. “Taking me so good - fuck - so good angel.” You squeezed his balls, hollowing out your cheeks more, desperate to see him finished. Second later he let out a low, throaty groan and spilled his seed in your mouth. You swallowed gladly, earning a proud grin from him. 

You fell asleep tangled up shortly after. The next day when Hanma woke up, he found a bruise on his face from where you hit him. It got him so hard he got right back into bed and fucked you.

I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue, starting fights at the bar across the street like you do

You’re a bit of a hypocrite, you can admit that. You hated when Hanma tried to make you jealous, but that didn’t stop you from returning the favor. You liked riling each other up; driving each other crazy was your love language. Plus, Hanma never fucked you better than when he was pissed.

So, how could you not let the guy at the bar buy you a drink? It was easy enough to twirl your hair and bat your eyes and get him smitten over you. You could feel Hanma’s eyes burning into you. It made your pussy ache. Then this poor fool put his hand on your waist, sealing his fate. 

Hanma was on him in a blink of an eye. He grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. Before the guy could even get out a what the fuck are you doing Hanma stomped on his hand. “You ever fucking touch my girl again and you’ll lose that hand,” Hanma spat, ignoring his cries of pain. He gave him a hard kick to the ribs. “Shut the fuck up.” No one at the bar - owned by his gang - reacted; it was a typical evening for them. A few of Hanma’s underlings dragged him outside as he turned to you.

Hanma gripped your hair, pulling your face close to his. “You think you’re so fucking smart, huh?” He was dragging you towards the bathroom.

“Aw, Shu, we were just talking,” you replied innocently.

“Like hell you were.” He slammed the door behind him, locking it. 

“You sound a little jealous,” you poked at him. He spun you around, pushing you against the sink. His hand ran down the length of your spine, bending you over.

“You’re mine,” he snapped, “Looks like I gotta fucking remind you.” You heard the familiar clink of his belt hitting the floor. He flipped your skirt up, ripping your underwear off your body and tossing it to the floor. “Dripping like a slut. You want me that bad?” When you didn’t answer, a hand came down hard on your ass, making you yelp. “Asked you a fucking question.”

“Want you so bad daddy,” you whined, making Hanma’s eyes darken with lust. He pumped himself a few times before pressing into you. Your head dropped, moaning at the stretch. He grabbed your hair, yanking your head back.

“You’re gonna watch me fuck you,” he growled. Your eyes locked with his in the mirror as he pounded into you. The smack of skin echoed in the bathroom. You gasped as Hanma’s tip brushed the sensitive spots inside you.

“Fu- nngh - fuck Shuji,” you moaned.

“You think he could fuck you this good?” Hanma said, breathless as he fucked you, “Bet he wishes he could have you like this. Shit I should kill him for even thinking. I’d kill for you baby, you know that?” Your pussy squeezed around him at his words, lighting a fire in him. “Oh you’d like that, huh? Like me killing somebody for you? Such a nasty slut.” 

You whimpered in response and nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. Punishment gripped your jaw vice-tight. “Wanna hear you say it.”

“Want you to kill for me,” you panted, pleasing Hanma. He licked up the length of your spine.

“I fucking love you,” he said, “want this whole bar to know how much I love you. That you belong to me.” Punishment slid down to your throat, squeezing. “Gonna scream my name and let them all know?” You nodded  furiously and Hanma smiled wickedly. Sin gripped your hip as he pounded into you impossibly harder. His hold on you was so strong you wouldn’t have been able to move an inch even if you wanted to. Not that you did; you were quite happy where you were.

Hanma kept a tight grip on your throat, choking you. He slipped his free hand forward to run fast circles over your clit. Just as your orgasm was on you, he let go of your throat, letting all the blood rush back to your head. Your orgasm was white hot with intensity. You screamed his name shamelessly, squirting all over the both of you in the process.

See you all fucked out pushed Hanma over the edge, cumming in you with one deep final thrust. He moaned your name just as loudly. He leaned over you, kissing and nipping at your shoulder. “You’re mine. Forever.”

“Forever,” you repeated like a prayer. 

The next morning, Hanma told you to get dressed. He was taking you to one of his gang meetings. You were instantly excited. You loved getting to watch him at work. You beamed with pride watching men cower before him. Hanma asked you to wear his favorite dress - a silky black number - and you obliged. 

You sat at your vanity doing your makeup. You had a few lavender bruises along your jaw and on your neck from Hanma’s hands. He came up behind you, kissing the bruises and telling you how much he loved you. A smug grin slid across his face as he looked at the little gold “Hanma” necklace that hung just above your breasts.

“If I didn’t have so much to do today, I’d fuck you right now,” he breathed in your ear, before giving your tits a squeeze. You giggled and followed him out the door.

The meeting, you realized, was less a meeting and more a doling out of punishments. Hanma, being one of the most feared members, was in charge of punishing some of the worst offenses. If you were a traitor or a member of a rival gang, he was the last person you wanted to see. 

Hanma enjoyed the dirty work. He much rather be here, knocking the teeth out of his enemies than sitting in a boring exec meeting. One traitor was dragged in begging and pleading, then dragged out unconscious. Hanma smiled through it all, only the blood on his knuckles and shirt would give away that something unsavory was going on to an outsider. Watching the beatings all you could think was, Hanma never hits me this hard. He must really love me.

You were there because Hanma liked to show off, both to you and the people who worked for him. He liked having his girl, dressed like you were, sitting beside him as if to say, “Look what I get to go home to.” He liked you to see how strong and powerful he is. It dawned on you, watching this, that this was also a warning of sorts. Betray me and this is what happens. But you couldn’t find it in you to be scared. You loved Hanma and you knew he did too, in his own twisted way. Hanma chased after other’s fear and you never giving it to him is what makes you so irresistible. You needed him and you’d make it so he always needed you. Worst case scenario, you knew where he hid the guns and you weren’t afraid to use them.

All those months ago, when you met Hanma in the parking lot you may truly have been a mouse. But now, sitting here, drinking in the sight of your lover beating his enemies, promising to yourself it would always be you and him, you became a snake yourself. Venom and all.

Good men die too, I’d rather be with you 

It was one of the rare days Hanma showed true, vulnerable emotion. He held you tightly, but delicately, like you were the most precious thing in the world. It made you feel so powerful; no one else got to see him like this. 

“I’m so sorry baby,” he murmured against your neck. You and Hanma got jumped while out on a date. Hanma had handled things, beating the two guys bloody. You got away unscathed, though he did have some bruising on his cheekbone and busted lip. You thought he looked handsome like that.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, you saved me Shu,” you replied, kissing the top of his head. 

“Don’t deserve you,” he replied, “You deserve a good man. Who’s gonna protect you if I get myself killed?” You could have told him to be the man you deserve. To do better or be better. But that wasn’t the Hanma you fell in love with, nor was it the one you wanted.

You took his face in your hands, looking into his honey-gold eyes. “Good men die too, I’d rather be with you.” Hanma’s eyes lit up at that, flicker’s of his normal self coming back. 

“I love you y/n,” Hanma replied, “You mean everything to me.”

Show me how much I mean to you while I’m lying in these sheets undressed

You stepped back from him, unzipping your dress and letting it slide down your body, leaving you naked. “Show me how much I mean to you.” You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled him down on the bed with you. Hanma’s pupils were blown out as he looked over your body. He pulled his clothes off quickly, eager to be with you.

He kissed you slow and deep. Some blood from the cut on his lip got into your mouth and you savored the sweet-metallic taste. He hand slipped between your legs to play with your slick pussy while you kissed. His long fingers pumped in and out of you in languid strokes. You could feel Hanma’s cock getting hard against your thigh.

“Want you so bad Shu,” you murmured as he licked at your nipples. He sucked at your tits, pulling soft whimpers from your lips.

“Gonna give my baby what she wants,” Hanma replied, lining himself up to your aching entrance. He pressed inside you and you relished the sweet stretch of him. Hanma rolled his hips, groaning. “So fucking tight for me.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. You kissed desperately, all tongue and teeth. Hanma picked up speed, but was nowhere near as rough as he normally was. His thrusts were deep and purposeful, letting you feel every inch of each other. Sin slipped between the two of you, rolling circles over your throbbing clit.

“Shu- fuck,” you gasped.

“Love you so much,” Hanma replied, leaving hickeys on your neck, “You're mine forever, you know that?”

“All - nngh all yours,” you stumbled, pleasure tying up your tongue, “Forever.” 

“Gonna put a baby in you,” Hanma babbled, drunk on the feeling of you wet pussy sucking him in, “Never gonna let you get away.” Your pussy throbbed at his words, which made Hanma smug with love. You wanted to reply, but your mind was fuzzy. It wasn’t long before your orgasm lit up your body with a blissful warmth. You moaned Hanma’s name, your back arching off the bed with gasping breaths. Feeling you squeezing around him sent Hanma over the edge, his dick twitching inside you as he filled you. 

Hanma let himself go soft inside you, before pulling out and sprawling out next to you. He reached into the bedside table, pulled out a cigarette and lit up. “I mean it, y/n. It’s you and me against the world.” Smoked fanned over your face as he spoke.

You stole the cigarette from him, taking a drag before replying, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[hxhhasmysoul]

Have you seen this? https://www.tumblr.com/gojosbf/748604451516006400/hey-guys-what-the-fuck-is-this-who-is-voting?source=share

[That is satosugu blog (sorry).]

Just want to say : thanks so much @hxhhasmysoul. You open a new door to me, in shipping Sukuna/Itadori, and it's in the top 5 fav ships above.....As a multishipper, I never consider SukuIta until I found this blog of yours (especially your SukuIta fics recs).

I've read all SukuIta fics from your fics recs list, do you mind if I ask another fics recs? Also, thanks a lot for the Killua/Gon fics recs, really love them.....🤩

Don’t apologise for linking a SatoSugu blog, you don’t have to warn me  XD Thank you for the ask, I will be really mean, so just a fair warning.

Also it’d be pretty obvious that they are a SatoSugu blog even if you hadn’t warned me. What gives them away is that they can’t read, reading comprehension is just rare among the fans of that ship.  

They ask who voted in a ranking made based on the amount of published works on Pixiv XD

It’s even funnier no one in the notes noticed that. 

But these comments are fascinating to me.

So like 3 Gojou x Getou is reasonable but 4 Getou x Gojou is not, so it’s unreasonable for Getou to top? Is that it? 

Same with 7 and 8, it’s even funnier because the preference as to who tops is usually reverse in the western fandom XD

I’m not sure why Yuuta x Toge is not reasonable.. I mean they are the same age, right? 

Well Gojou x Utahime they disapprove on the forced straightness grounds, I mean even if they ship stsg, Getou’s dead, and Gojou could be bi… but whatever icky woman is icky.  

I mean I disapprove of shipping Gojou in general, because I think all Gojou ships are either misogyny or queerphobia, because he’s too awful to force onto other people… The dumb fascist is the only one that can be punished thusly, they are equally awful as people ;)

I guess the ships between Megumi and Toge, or Gojou and Nanami or Ijichi are pedo ships, because Toge is a year older than Megs and Gojou is at least a year older than either of them. Or is Gojou x Ijichi just simple abuse? I’d call it that. Oh, and I checked Nanami x Ijichi and that’s just clearly pedo stuff, Nanami is one year older. (Honestly this ship could be really nice, Ijichi could use a guy who can stand up for himself and actually is thoughtful)

What more can I say… Generally there being just two Sukuna ships is disappointing, people have poor aesthetic taste. No Kenny ship is also sad, especially seeing how popular Toge is and well that guy gets barely any development in the story, he’s kinda boring to me. 

As to Yuuji’s ships. GoYuu falls under Gojou shouldn’t be shipped, period. The ships with Megumi I get. Nanami and Chousou make sense too, even if they’re not my jam. But the ship with Getou… every time I see it, it makes me lose faith in humanity a little. 

___

I’m glad you got into SukuIta. More fics:

Smail just has a lot of stuff and I love most of it.

This is specifically what Smail wrote for me.

Creepy and hot trapped in spaceship smut.

Sweet and sexy Escort AU by Yuujispinkhair.

Monsterfucker Coffee Shop AU smut.

Hot Hockey Player Groupie AU smut.

Sukuna reincarnates as a cat, serves him right.

Art and short fics some very smutty.

This is one of my top 3 fics ever it was supposed to be crack but the author failed and now it's a very long fic with amazing relationship dynamics.

And another gem by the same author where Sukuna gets domesticated.

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

20 questions for writers

tagged by @pia-writes-things - thank you! :D

(under the cut to save your dash)

How many works do you have on AO3?

64 at the moment!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

145,151 in eleven years... same as with drawing I don't post 90% of what I do lol whoops

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently TES has been getting the gears going the most, but ER is my perennial love - and once in a blue moon I am compelled to do something TLU! SM is still very dear to my heart but I've been pretty dry on fic inspiration/drive for it for a while now :(

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

these are ALL OLDER PIECES haha so don't look too closely: it still burns - fluffy OPM piece for Knight c: what else can I say! too cold for you here and now - fluffy little Makoami piece (are you sensing a pattern already...) featuring terrible puns, because I have always loved characters trying to make each other laugh you do it for her (that is to say you do it for him) - another one written for Knight; OPM/SM crossover. with TWO chapters! left, left, left right left - introspective Romano piece re: arm. I actually now disagree with some character choices I made in this one so seeing it still getting attention has me like no... this doesn't represent me... Across the Western Ocean I Must Wander - Makoami pirate AU. also not a oneshot! (shock!) I don't think it holds up as well as I'd like, but the premise still compels me and there's some cute moments :'D still VIVIDLY remember being up late on a class night listening to one song on repeat while working on The Kissing Scene™

5. Do you respond to comments?

almost always! it may take me a bit sometimes, but I do try to make sure I do

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

frankly idek - being completely honest, "angst" just as a word at this point turns me off so immediately and so hard that I can't engage with the concept that way. I prefer endings with some hope, but I like some emotional complexity too! all my baggage about fandom and "angst" is for. ANOTHER TIME

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

again I'm not totally sure how to answer this one! I guess Ocean? doesn't get much more stereotypically happily-ever-after than "and then they ran away together the end"

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, thankfully! I've gotten the occasional comment here and there that make me go "??" but more just sort of confusing, not malicious as far as I can tell lol

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

sdlkghlsj sex-repulsed asexual here and not for the first time I say: I am reasonably confident nobody wants me doing that. it can happen but offscreen to spare me the inevitable mortification... fade-to-black is about as far as we go in the House Of Mouse sorry!!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have before! it's not my preferred stomping grounds but I like a good one. I don't know about "craziest" but wouldn't do us any harm I think is probably the funniest of the handful I've shared (again: written primarily for Knight! warning that it is from 2016 LOL)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

also not to my knowledge!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

yes! baby Mouse ran a fic awards "show" (in the written medium obviously) with a friend back in like 2010 or 2011 on FFN... it was loads of fun!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

just one?? if I have to choose then: Lizzie & the Bald Boys... my little driftwood raft that I've finally convinced a handful of other people aboard c':

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Makoami Princess and the Goblin AU :( still means a lot to me but SM just hasn't been where I've been drawn to write for a while!

16. What are your writing strengths?

dialogue + characterization is most often what I get compliments on (<3) - I'd like to think I have a fairly decent hand for little meaningful details too, but I think these more often than not end up just being for my own benefit because I like my symbolism subtle aha

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

LONGFORM... plugging together things into ordered chapters and maintaining momentum over longer spaces is my greatest struggle. I've had to come to terms with the fact that I'm much more a sprinter than a marathon runner, and it's been very freeing letting myself step outside of needing all the surrounding context to just do things as I come to them and then getting to string it all into chronology via series ordering

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

done well I find it really impressive! it's very hard to do well though ahaha.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

without the context of "fandom", the first story I ever wrote was about the Boxcar Children hanging out with me at age 6 (the entirety of chapter three was all of us singing the alphabet together and it was narratively crucial that this happen. for some reason.). with the context of knowing about fandom though, Scooby Doo at 11-12!

20. Favorite fic you've written?

of what's posted: Ocean has a lot of personal meaning because it was the first multichapter piece I was able to finish in several years, but on a technical level I've been really proud of some of the more layered pieces I've been practicing in the last year or so: Thermal Equilibrium and skipping stones I think are good examples of that :')

tagging: @knightnightwrite (I AM GOING TO GET YOU TO DO ONE OF THESE SOMEDAY <3 <3 <3), @wispstalk, @ehlnofay, @wonderofasunrise, and anyone else who wants to do it!! as always no obligation if you've been tagged and don't want to! except for Knight. beloved I am knocking on your door come PLAY WITH ME

[tciddaemina]

Putting absolutely no limits on it, what does your ideal dragon look like?

(Not in like a monster fucker way, not asking about the most smashable dragon, just like generally as a fantasy creature... That is the same thing innit... Shutting up now.)

😂😂😂😂😂

lol the fact that even has to be qualified is proof we live on the right side of the internet.

i mean, yeah, we've seen the results of me designing a dragon recently in with the tail of the snake (which, also, is a fic that is your fault tenshi, for sending me that ask. so like congrats, a long ass fic of dragon smut now exists entirely bc of you). with that one i went with a wyvern type design, black, with your traditional enjoyable horns and long tail.

idk tbh, i vibe a lot of the different varieties of dragon. eastern style dragons are very fun and have their own charm (they're so graceful and cool). but also i do enjoy a good bulky western-style dragon. if i had to say one thing tho, it is that i admittedly do prefer wyvern to traditional four legs + wings dragons. idk, they just feel a little more grounded and interesting, because its more similar to how most legs+flying irl animals are shaped.

(this guy is pretty peak aesthetics tbh - sourced from Jay Choi on ArtStation)

absolutely though, whatever dragon it is has to have horns. there's so many fun shapes, and they add so much character. generally also i enjoy dragons that look quite predatory, with proper claws and a dangerous sort of look. sue me, i like them more as intimidating forces of nature than as being cutesy or regal and friendly. when i enjoy a dragon most is when they legit look like a dangerous carnivore, like they hold themselves with that animal grace. the same sort of feeling as seeing a tiger at the zoo - impressive but also like, holy shit would not want to be in there with that

also fun - the elden ring ancient dragons are very cool, with their six wings and red lightning. like those are some good fucking dragons. (shh, i definitely don't have a eventual fic idea about elden ring and dragons and also sentient swords)

anyway yeah, to put this all together. eastern long-boi or wyvern style dragon + horns and proper claws + dangerous looking, predatory, and graceful + yeah okay i am a fan of some good black and red

[horuhosu]

an (admittedly long) hol horse backstory 🤠

i denounce hol horse's backstory in the new crazy heartbreakers novel and have had a personal one for ages that i am currently turning into a fic, but i thought i'd finally share a summarized version here under the cut if you can’t wait for updates! of course, this is all my headcanon, so feel free to just read, go "that's cool!" and carry on :p

Childhood

to begin: this man's legal name is NOT hol horse. no way. we all know this. so!

holland daryl oates is born sometime in september 1963 to stephanie, who dies in childbirth & curtis, who is now a single father to a son. eventually, curtis remarries a woman named beth when holland is ≈ 3 years old. beth has a daughter of her own, kerry, who is about 12 years old. he has a good relationship with kerry - not so much with his dad (he sort of blames him for stephanie's death, but doesn't say it out loud) and his stepmother has always preferred her own daughter, but their relationship is not bad, per se.

(hol and kerry)

curtis & the blended family run a general store in a small town in texas, and holland helps grow produce and the like. he enjoys westerns and being outside like any texan boy would!

one day, holland just so happens to get angry at something - he gets bullied a lot at school and never stands up for himself, always has someone else go stand his ground with him. could stand up to people by himself if he wanted to, but..... doesn't like doing things by himself, and he never will enjoy doing things himself - after all, why be number one when you can be number two? a philosophy learned VERY early on. he's been in the backseat when compared to his older sister for years, and they work together well. why change it?

he's mad & upset... and alone in a field to let off steam, he feels this sudden weight in his hand. it is WAY too heavy for him, and he doesn't know what's happened, but he looks over and sees what appears to be a gun, way too big for him, in his hand.

a ... gun?

he's scared, but curiosity gets the best of him. so, he aims for this rock across the way. and he ... surprisingly ... doesn't miss. so he tries again for another target! and it doesn't miss! this is, however, simply beginner's luck (plus we know how Emperor works, so i won't waste time explaining.)

at this point, holland believes it to just be his silly ghost gun, and he has named it "Silver Secret." kind of lame, but he's maybe ≈ 8 years old, so leave him be. he's very impressed by it, but keeps it a secret. it's a gun, after all.

The Robbery and the Fallout

cut to months later, and what was meant to be a peaceful day is not. it's anything but. a man tries to rob the store with kerry behind the counter, demanding money and throwing around gendered insults. holland can't stand and watch his sister be disrespected and threatened. he has to do SOMETHING!

he can't do much, however, but he decides to try to scare the robber with "Silver Secret." a few warning shots.

and so he summons it and lets some bullets fly.

after that, he excitedly turns to kerry, happy to have saved her.

"didcha see, kerry? i have a gun! i can protect us!"

she did not see.

nobody saw.

all they saw was some kid making a finger gun, and now a man is bleeding out on the floor of the shop, soon being rushed to the hospital. however, this potential robber is dead on arrival.

as such, holland becomes an outcast - people are afraid of him despite him being just a little boy. what hurts him the most is that kerry is scared more than anyone - his own big sister, scared out of her mind to be around her little brother now after it seems he mystically killed a man. it has obviously scared the town as well, and the shop loses business to the point of shutting down. who would want to visit the store where a man died so mysteriously, owned by a man with a son as a killer?

the incident causes a huge fight between curtis and beth - his freaky son scarred her daughter and made them lose their business. it gets so rough and so rocky that words break it apart. as expected, this ends in their divorce, and beth takes kerry away with her. holland and kerry never see each other again, nor ever keep in contact. this incident strains curtis' and holland's relationship as well, obviously.

at 13, a few years after the incident, holland doesn't wanna go by his name anymore (who would?), but doesn't know what else to call himself, so he stays holland a bit longer.

it's at 18, when curtis kicks him out and tells him to fend for himself that holland comes up with his new alias - but not without stealing his father's favorite hat as a keepsake in the morning when he leaves. a final "fuck you" of sorts. it's his hat now and becomes a staple of his reinvented look. on the road, holland comes up with something he thinks is cool. it's kinda lame in hindsight, but he's ditching his real name in favor of it. i feel we can guess what this name is …

A New Alias

he starts going by hol horse, and he knows he has no clue wants he wants to do with his life. ends up a ladies' man, hired by people to do dirty work bc they'd heard the rumors of him doing a "mystical" killing when he was younger. hol realizes if people can't see his weapon, he's got no chance of being caught. this begins his foray into hitman work, and if that's what he needs to do…

this carries on for a while - hol's being a little bit of an asshole bc he's free to do whatever (though usually he's on the hunt for what pays best.) soon, he ends up in Egypt - he's making fair money and can travel the world. lots of people to kill, ladies to woo, places to see.

A Fated Meeting & New Work

however, hol is suddenly contacted through a letter by this strange somebody, who demands to see him, as they've heard of his "almost mystical weapon of choice." he goes to visit this mysterious man, who introduces himself to him and his right hand woman. this mysterious man asks him to show off this "mystical weapon" - and hol obliges.

this man then imparts the knowledge of a Stand to hol, and has his right hand woman assign it a card of the Tarot. upon meeting hol, and getting a feel for him as a person, he is assigned none other than the Emperor (though she thinks this card should belong to her son, truthfully). hol thinks that name matches a hell of a lot better than "Silver Secret."

as part of his goals to increase power and convince hol to stay under his wing, DIO promises riches upon riches, and pairs him with enya's son,  j. geil (note that hol never knows anything more ab j. geil than he is enya's son and their stands work well together. he learns about all his crimes and abuse towards women only after him and enya are dead.) 

something about hol feels untrustworthy, though, like DIO knows hol won't ever bow down to him, so he fleshbuds him just in case. 

for two years before SDC, they carry out DIO's wishes. eventually, DIO asks them to set out for the joestar group, and especially to watch out for a jean-pierre polnareff…

and then this, obviously, leads into SDC and canon as a whole. things then play out EXACTLY as you know them.

[roachsideblog]

Jfkdkdkdk Duckieesss get well soon 🫂🫂🧡

Wishing u speedy recovery ✨💫🫶

Also for the wip game: time portal fuckery (i hope i remembered the title right😂🪦)

(Btw no stress for answering, get lots of rest, am teleporting u nice tea🤌🏻✨)

Thank you sunnn~~~ 🫶

I keep editing this post because the more i think about the interactions between 09 and 22 gaz the more interested i am kdjddkdk. This ask has turned into active brainstorming LMAO tysm

Time portal fuckery is a general outline rn. Its also less about a time portal and more about a dimensional one because my idea changed *immediately.* but it starts with establishing that 09 ghost, soap, and gaz *hate* the mirrors on base. Generally creeped out, seeing shadowy figures, etc. Mirrors off-base are fine, so they default to hauntings. Roach is like "y'all're stupid. Ghosts arent real. Well, one is."

Eventually one day a shadowy figure is hanging out too long while theyre all in there. It's ghosts size and shape but not following him. He reaches to touch the glass and maybe lightning strikes the base or something and the lights shut off. Theyre knocked to the ground.

When they come to, theyre in the 22 universe. Roach was dragged along even though he has no alternate version because hes my fav and this fic was an excuse for me to have him around *6* big beefy dudes i ship him with rather than the regular 3. I was also interested in exploring the interactions between them and how the ghosts / soaps would deal with the shift in power dynamic and the gazes being like 'oi what the devil?'

This is where the outline stops and random ramblings begin lol

To my understanding the gazes also have personality differences that would be cool to explore.

Lots of 09 ghost + roach calling 22 soap captain (much to his amusement and 09 soap's dismay. But 22 soap being a sergeant also gets on his nerves.)

22 ghost getting reprimanded by 09 soap and not being able to take things seriously.

The 22 crew learning that they like roach

22 Price being like "fuck. This has more than doubled the number of idiots i need to take care of"

The ghosts confiding in each other about their shared traumas and taking comfort in that.

Roach being uncomfortable and alone knowing he doesnt have a double. Is it weirder to just *not* have one, or to have a dead one? Does he try to find out if 22 roach ever existed? If 22 gary sanderson just isnt in the sas/military?

22 soap wishing he had more power/agency in the power structure? 09 wishing he had less?

09 soap relieved to see price alive and well, even if it isnt *his* price

It would also be interesting to explore implications of 09 gaz and 22 gaz changing ethnicity. Im not sure im qualified to handle this/its not my place to handle the topic, but writing unfamiliar topics/perspectives (respectfully with lots of research, good intentions, and a thorough examination of ones own internal biases) is good to do. Maybe more from 09 gaz's perspective, since i am also of the mayo variety.

But like. How would their upbringings differ? How did this impact their personality differences? Opportunities? Their path to getting on the SAS? How were they treated differently? How does 09 feel about this--any guilt? Any other discomfort? Maybe he/the other 09 crew learn a lesson about how they can still hold bigoted ideas/cause harm without actively feeling hatred. How about 22 gaz?Any jealousy? How does him being thankful for/proud of the experiences, challenges overcome, and accomplishments as a black man mesh with that? Is 22 gaz better off than 09 in any way that leads to more complex feelings/themes? Are they treated differently by their teams? (Not that the others are racist [bold claim for a western military propaganda game, i know. But for the sake of fanfic being a fun, safe place], but just. Different personalities = different interactions.)

I love 22 gaz. He doesnt get enough attention! Not even from the actual marketing stuff even though he's awesome. I need to write more fics centering him--i try to include him as much as possible in my fics that dont, though.

Also, did i mention roach being around twice the big military dudes? I really like that part.

If anyone feels inspired by these ideas, especially the gaz one, please use it! Just credit me and shoot me a link so i can read it and gush over your work <3

[depressed-avocado]

||SAKUATSU AND THE JAPANESE MEDIA||

have you all noticed how we have an abundance of sakuatsu fics, fanart and stans in the western media but very few and rare doujins served by the japanese side of the fandom?

even the sporadic content we see has a very different take on sakuatsu than we do..

now, take myself as a referance. i entered the fandom with a vengeance against all but suga, avoided sakuatsu and kagehina like it was the COVID epicenter itself but a year and a half later ended up reading one teeny fanfic on ao3 out of dire curiousity and ended up with sakuatsu as my adopted babies.

there was a lot of discussion on this ship on twt, tumblr and the like, but when i searched up for doujins to satisfy my horny hunger, i found none?

the very few and far between were actually AtsuSaku (top atsumu, still not much common with the english speaking world) and SakuOsa (poor atsumu 🤣) and featured sakusa as a very grumpy, tsundere, devil-may-care lover whom atsumu had to ask permission just to kiss. compare THAT to how the western fandom potrays him as the blunt jerk who is nefariously down bad for atsumu, but is still kinda loveable and chaotic in his own steed.

the thing is, sakuatsu is a rare ship. there are hardly 5 panels on interaction for them in the manga, and still quite less info on sakusa available, which gives the people the opportunity to mould him into any shape they want. atsumu has more chemistry with hinata, aran, kita, suna, hell you'd even find more miyacest content in japan than sakuatsu. it all started out as a crack ship, something similar to matsuhana, and exploded exponentially in a span of few weeks like it was set on fire. honestly, covid-19 would be jealous.

in the year 2020, the world recieved so many beautiful fanfics, maybe some of the best in the fandom. the same teenagers once raving after kagehina and iwaoi were now adults and have had enough of bubbly, tooth rotting fluff and circumstancal angst.

iwaoi's biggest potential for angst is them seperating for college, same as bokuaka and kuroken. maybe an external factor causing a rift in the couple. very basic.

they wanted something dynamic, something real, something which allows your creativity to leap out the box and sprint several kilometres ahead.

the salient answer was sakuatsu.

only in sakuatsu, the angst potential come from the characters themselves. sakusa and atsumu are insufferable, totally unlikeable people (though i have met a lot of people like atsumu and they get on with their day just fine). they have no chill, no qualms, no redeeming feature other than volleyball and their looks and maybe this could work out?

two jerks, aint afraid to talk shit, bringing out the best (or worst?) in each other. maybe they could find love afterall? huh.

what's this? a chance for ao3 authors to expand their creative writing skills to new horizons and take artistic liberties indulgently but still have a locus to ground themselves to so that they don't go all hocus-focus?

you bet they'd take this chance.

famous fics like 'a liar's truth', 'hand study', 'burden of blame' were released and it was the explosive and beautifully belligerent start of a ship no one saw coming. riding on the highs and lows of a relationship, depicting exactly how toxic yet fulfilling realistic dating can be, its upto you how you'd end up. these fics depicted the shimmering tension, the passionate abhor and the disastrous clashes.

there was no way a huge chunk of japanese fans, enough to catalyse its popularity, would be able to reach these fics and fanarts, which were usually just characteristics fleshed out in the author's mind. ooc, if you will.

sakuatsu is literally whatever you want it to be. a murder mystery or a romcom, you decide. it is ever changing, ephemeral, dangerous. you need to keep up with every step to find its beauty.

its a pity that the japanese fandom wasn't able to catch onto this sakuatsu fever and create some god-tier content like they usually do with other notorious ships like kageoi or kitaatsu.

also, osaatsu/atsuosa, kitaatsu and atsuhina are already selling there a lot (which makes a lot of sense in hindsight than this sakuatsu, no offence) and view atsumu as a TOP.

also, also the japanese part of the fandom have no qualms with shipping komosaku and ushisaku and do it graciously, so well both characters are satisifed fully with the japanese seperately as far as they are concerned.

well, if the movies come out, there is a good chance that the sakuatsu car ride would be just around the corner again and maybe this time, the japanese fandom can hop on a ride? and show atsumu riding on sakusa too pls i need to see thier bful art ahaha

[axl-ul]

The Flight of the Western Crane: Chapter Fourteen

(A reupload/repost of my fic/dark retellingof Journey to the West which can be also found on AO3 under the same name)

(General info about this fic/wip/retelling is here)

****

Under the sky, thick redwood tree giants, golden larches and discreet gutta percha trees were covering the area with their wide veils. Every single twig played in various shades of green, the only colour which seemingly brought some vibrancy to grey daybreak. Yet, under their leaves, an unbelievable humidity carrying the stench of decay and boiling hotness quickly wrapped around the group of armed travellers who took hiding in the swampy groove, making their scaly skins under the armour drown in salty sweat mixed with dust and peeling skin. Only one of them didn’t seem to care much about the tough conditions despite the thick fur covering him from head to toe. Standing in the darkest shadow, he appeared as a terrible statue dressed in a tattered cloak and a brown waist sash of a beggar. Yet nothing but a pure arrogance of a victorious thunder god was carved into his grotesque features.

The nameless monkey’s pupils had to burn with tiny orange flames so he could keep watching the cursed Dragon Prince warily. The snow-white body was lying on the moist ground not moving. The steamy fumes streamed out of the nostrils like the gas leaking from under the bubbling surface of the nearby dirty pool. The dead river arm desperately tried to hold onto the last bits of life just like the will of the dragon horse. Its numerous thin fingers stretched out among the low hanging cypresses and low fruitless bushes or lilacs.

The horse snorted from his deep sleep with great difficulty. Lie’s nose was in the worst condition than ever before, the pink was painted over with deep purple and indigo blue from numerous bruises.

While the ominous figure never left the prey out of sight, his fingers played with a tiny flask filled with a dark liquid.

What to ask? Where is Sun Wukong? To trust Golden Wind with the task of hunting down the Pilgrims wasn’t an option he was willing to prolong. His future younger brother must surely know something. Anything.

The macaque’s foot was quickly tapping on the ground as he pouted.

The liquid splashed behind the glass. An inaudible noise for a mortal. Yet for the demon, it marked a promising future.

The macaque brought the item to his vision and observed the essence for the hundredth time. His hawk eyes were as precise as always even now in the treacherous shadows of the swamp. In no way they could have been easily deceived.

Truly, the creature he witnessed had blood darker than the night, darker than the core of the rotting pit, the corner where his damned soul should be.

****

The macaque’s hands brushed away the twigs and lianas of the gargantuan banyan like two rakes. Faster than any other being in the humid forest, he certainly gained a lot of strength from the devoured monkeys of Mount Huaguo. Most of his skin was already covered by golden-brown hair, which got darker with each day. Occasionally, there were red dots sprinkled over the fur on hands and throat which kept holding on, refusing to be washed away by the light summer drizzle. Yet there still remained a few spots on his face, back and legs where the skin and the muscle didn’t replace the dead rock. It, however, crumbled with each step and the more he went, the more flesh was born from it. The freedom washed over him. He wanted to feel like all those years ago when he for the first time saw the golden light, the innocent blue sky threaded with creamy clouds and the waving trees of the wide mountain. He really should have been feeling like an infant as he was freed only a few days ago.

But he didn’t.

He knew he couldn’t. Although, his hunger matched that of a newborn.

His eyes darted around, his mind was stripped of any remorse. The demon wanted to feed. It became his only wish. To feed, to grow stronger, to conquer, to murder, to last forever.

That was his purpose. To survive and to show he was the strongest. In the chaos of the world, nothing was certain. Anything was fleeting, anything could easily get lost. Anything but him. He is eternal.

He desires to be the next sky, the next stars, the next sun, the next moon and wind. The next seas and oceans and mountains. He will last far longer than forever. He will become beyond comprehension. That is his potential, what he truly must become for he was born to achieve it, to claim it.

He. Tianchan Shihou.

The macaque was submerged in his own thoughts; he did not realise the terrible howling coming from nearby.

He stopped. His six ears perked up as he carefully listened.

Yes. A howling. A terrible blood-freezing screech which the inky night should have carried away. But the sound continued. A metal clashed against a metal. The fight resonated and made the curious macaque come closer. From behind a massive boulder coated with moss, the demon carefully observed. 

What he saw, he couldn’t believe.

A being with a head of a one-eyed brown dog and horse hooves leaped against an unbelievably tall naked creature which resembled a person only in the structure of the body and the amount of limbs. Its skin was as pale as fresh snow, a perfect contrast to the dark hair wildly flying around as the creature ducked down from the incoming attack. Even though it didn’t last a second and the distance between the two enemies and the monkey was rather big, the demon noticed a pair of dots located on the creature’s face. Eyes. He wasn’t sure, though. But if they were, those were the biggest and the darkest eyes he’d ever seen on anyone. 

Another cry, another spit, another kick into the stomach and shin and they clashed again. Now the demon monkey understood. Their crossed claws were the source of the ear-piercing clang.

The pale one roared in a voice like a thunder. It thrilled and waved around the vast area as the pair fought and bled.

The sight, the view, the sheer speed and might far greater than his own sent shivers down his spine. Not from fear, though.

The pale one shrieked as the twisted dog-creature with a muscular human torso leapt forward and bit down into the lanky neck. The dirty teeth tore down into the flesh until something black started pouring out.

The macaque thought he recognized the winner. However, his judgement wasn’t correct this time.

A sound of meat being torn apart, white bones crushed to dust, a splash of red blood reeking from the hole in the barking dog’s chest as the clawed hand of the pale creature ripped through it. There, imprisoned among those dry dead man’s fingers was a beating heart.

The dog monster collapsed on the ground, motionless, while the pale one’s protruding spine arched back so the pale demon could howl in a bitter victory. Yet, the relieved puffs didn’t last long. Holding the breath for a moment, the face with sunken cheeks turned to the East so the abysmal eyes could inspect the starless sky.

The macaque didn’t understand at first the terror in that face. He followed the direction of the creature’s gaze until he met the rays and warmth of the rising sun. The creature screeched for the last time as it grabbed onto its wounds and limped in the opposite direction. Enormous bat wings grew from under the ashen skin and in a flick of an eye, the thing disappeared in the remains of the night sky as black as charcoal.

Understanding the risks of coming out of his hideout too soon, the demon waited for the sun to fully come out, enjoying the pleasant change of the colour palette in the meanwhile.

Surely, it was a bizarre look on the foreign corpse lying among the numerous flowers of snow-white rhododendrons, bright lilies with spotted yellow petals and carmine orchids. A grotesque contrast for sure, when nobody knows whether to admire the bizarre scene nearly taken out from a fine collection or paintings or to cry out from dread.

These odd circumstances certainly caught the macaque’s attention. But not in the way those dark dots on the dried out twigs and trampled grass did.

At first, he thought the ooze was only covering the affected areas. Looking closer, the macaque noticed a peculiar detail. Everything it had touched was now rotting and hissing as the liquid burnt through.

His brown eye with a scarred brow twitched. A malicious toothy smile suddenly cooled down the summer air. He vigorously stood up, the heels of his bare feet digging into the wet soil. Quickly, the monkey robbed the one-eyed canine to the last possession. As if by a miracle from the Heavens, a little flask was included, too.

Soon, he proudly started to munch on the meat of the fallen. His face twisted, already distinct wrinkles became even more profound. The taste was nauseating. Not sure whether the meat was naturally so repulsive to digest or it was the effect of the black blood, he spat it out. Although the strange monkey hated the idea of wasting food, his crying stomach and the bitterness building up in the back of his throat changed his mind quickly. The acidic aftertaste kept on nagging him for a long time, even when he returned to his pursuit of the Pilgrims and his destiny, gold-plated on the first glance, yet crooked and rotting deep within.

****

The macaque demon shook his head. The memory used to be exciting. Now, it’s a bitter reminder of his own weaknesses. He must get stronger. The sooner the better.

What’s a better way of achieving that if not becoming one again…or only the sole one?

Soon, the mount’s limbs started to convulse and the macaque with six tattered ears threw away his flaming mask of arrogance.

****

Lie’s heavy eyelids uncovered his blood-shot eyes as the mount was starting to gain consciousness. His strong muscles were sore and exhausted. His legs were bound together by a strangling rope, thus he had no way to stand up. The rough material cut him deep. Those invisible claws and fangs, daggers and needles sucked on his strength and energy, his blood and pain became the source of their collective but twisted pleasure. Worse, the nest of his despair didn’t end there. His heavy body was crushing his innards. His lungs itched and jabbed. Puffing and trying to neigh, he became no more than a jerking worm drowning in a pool of mud and dirt. His heart was beating wildly. Like a wild river, the mount’s boiling blood was running through the veins, his pulse quickened as a fog enveloped his surroundings.

At last, the most desperate neigh stuck somewhere in the unknown of his stranded thoughts. It never reached the outside to be heard by anyone.

His terror, however, bounced back and cut deep into his heart once Lie noticed two flaming eyes targeting him from the darkness so thick and glutinous as treacle.

Lie froze. A tired hoot, a sound more of a low but loud screech than a twittering melody, reached his ears yet it was all that managed to get to him through the thick coat of horror which wrapped around him completely and caused an unbelievable tremor to his body.

“You should rest while you can, Brother Lie.“

He was there. Looking right back at the Dragon Prince. A pair of miniature charcoal pupils encircled by hellish flames. Two damned islands in the middle of a large face painting where the skin convoluted with deep wrinkles until they resembled terrible waves.

“Don’t call me your brother. You’re nothing to me.“ Though still trembling and stuttering, Bai Long Ma himself was taken by surprise by his audacious words.

The stranger, whose dark cloak rested on his wide shoulders like terrible birds of omen, remained unfazed, though. Only the sharp jaw clenched. “Where’s Shifu?“

“Stop referring to him as such! I may not know what you’re exactly,“ goosebumps emerged on Lie’s skin the more resemblance he noticed between Wukong and the demon in front of him,“but I'm sure you ain’t up to no good.“

The horse’s fury had no impact. The six-eared stranger muttered his question again. “Where’s Shifu?“

That was the last drop. The dragon horse inhaled deeply and then spat out a large flame towards the monkey. Once the fire was gone, the Prince bulged his eyes out as he saw nobody standing on the spot he aimed at. But within a few seconds, a dull pain struck the back of his head. The kick caused dozens of miniature stars to appear in the horse’s vision. Then, a clawed hand grabbed him from behind under the throat and elevated the Prince’s head. The fiend whispered to his ear,“Where’s Shifu? Where’s the imposter? Don’t try to lie. I know all of you too well to know where you’re trying to dance around the words.“

“Go…“ Lie puffed, the iron taste spreaded on his forked tongue,“...to Hell.“

The unknown demon chuckled. “Don’t need to. I’ve already been there and let me tell you, Yama isn't as scary as some like to claim. At least he didn’t protest when I made a little update to his records.“

The macaque let the mount’s head meet the floor. The prisoner lay still with his eyelids shut, his initial shallow breaths slowed down and significantly deepened.

Although it was a pitiful sight at the humiliated heir of the Dragon King of the West, the Prince had no intention of letting his only friends down. His inner willpower and courage burnt in his heart and caused the fear to retreat.

The macaque, of course, noticed it. Although it complicated his plans, he wasn’t angry. His thin, strangely playful, smile showed how the creature’s resistance really amused him. The nameless macaque shook his head and politely added,“Sorry for that outburst. I let myself get carried away a bit. Y’know, the temperament is sort of my thing. But, brother, please. Just answer my simple question and we can continue westward soon. I know that you know that Shifu needs us. He’s in great danger. That swarm of demons shall devour him soon. Idiot and Little Brother won’t be enough for protection. I can save us.“

Lie gathered the last strength as his head rose from the stinking brown mud beneath. His voice was fragile, the macaque had to lean in to hear properly despite the six ears decorating his head. “I’ve already answered you. Go to Hell and don’t call me your brother.“

A spit landed in the middle of his forehead. The monkey’s eyes flared up. He grabbed the nearest stone and nearly struck the horse’s head with it. 

Lie’s heart raced as fast as a rabbit followed by the village hounds. He expected the hit to land any time soon. Thankfully, though, a tall viper demon with a disfigured cheek walked out of the shadows. The bald head retracted and hid in the safe zone of his shoulders when he noticed what the demon monkey was about to do. “I’m sorry to bother you once more, sir. Me and the boys thought of a pretty addition to your plan scheduled on the nearest full moon-“

The rock flew right by the snake’s trembling jaw. Like tiny arrows, numeros splinters caressed his wide scar. The scaly demon thanked the Heavens perhaps for the first time in his miserable life because when he turned around, the stone knocked a hole into the mighty trunk. Without ever looking back, the lone macaque growled, his index finger stretching out from the slim hand,“Golden Wind, this was your last warning. Let’s be honest, ‘thinking’ isn’t your strength. Let that part to me. One last thing, so I don’t forget. Don’t you dare to disturb me ever again. I’ve been holding myself back so long around you I consider it my new record.“

Goosebumps emerged like tiny sharp hills on Golden Wind Viper’s greenish skin. It curled and crinkled as bulging eyes emerged from the skull. Backing away like a defenceless mouse, the sweat drops flooded his temples for the second time and fell to the smelly mud beneath when the nameless demon suddenly turned around. Golden Wind Viper let out a whimper. Before he managed to run back to his troop, the tired monkey sighed and ordered the viper fiend to interrogate the monk’s mount. A clumsy salute and the viper was no more.

Before the nameless one jumped back to the shadows to get some sleep after the rough day and night, the hoarse voice of Ao Lie made him stop and bared teeth. “I may not know who or what you are. But trust me, it won’t take a long time for me to break from these chains. I, Ao Lie, the son of Dragon King of the West Sea, swear to the Jade Emperor and Buddha I shall save my Shifu and brothers from whatever you plan you got.“

“Look at yourself. You can barely keep your eyes open. Stop giving yourself these false chances. Spare yourself and myself the embarrassment.“

“Not in this life nor in the next one if I’m not destined to reach the West. But as long as I breathe, you bet I’ll do my best to do so.“

A long tail swished like a whip, the macaque bounced from the floor of the swamp and gripped on one of the branches of the nearby banyan tree.

“I have one last question for you before your lackeys come to beat me up.“

The macaque smirked, his dark eyes glistened once again and cut the fumes rising from the dirty pool in half. “Then speak your mind up for the last time today, Your Dragon Highness.“

“You think you may know every secret thanks to your six ears. But how are you so confident you know any of us, especially Brother Wukong, so well? We’ve never met.“

The simian didn’t answer. Instead, he let Golden Wind Viper’s belt silence the horse.

Finally, he reached the highest branch. As soon as he climbed up, the cicadas resting on the wood flew up and spreaded on the wide blanket of the sky, which was slowly but surely changing its cool shades of grey to pink and carmine.

He lay down despite the cries and screams coming from underneath and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off. He simply couldn’t be bothered by the suffering of the horse disciple as the dragon prince chose his path himself. Those cries and chokes would end soon anyway.

However, the macaque wasn’t able to find any peace in his sleep. He kept on changing sides, turning from right to left, then from left to right. He cursed under his shallow breath because of his earlier decision to remember the fateful night of finding the black blood of the pale creature. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget the face of that thing. It always stared back at him from the pitch black of his long dream.

Prolonged, gaunt, protruding.

And those eyes. Those two blackest coals on earth were slowly tugging onto him. The longer he kept looking back into the abyss the more he was getting devoured by the creature inside out. Something crawled on his arms, on his legs, under his skin. He no longer felt the sensation of fighting somebody dangerous.

He’s lost, alone. He’s drowning in the dread as he realises that thing, whatever it is, is clutching onto his mouth and dragging him deeper. As if to turn him into an abomination of its own.

His shallow gasps are no longer enough. For the last time he tries to look behind, to look for the poor trace of remaining light, a place he could escape to. Alas, he found no sun shining in the horizon. Nothing to turn the dreadful curse into dust and ashes. To burn its very presence away until no proof of the thing’s existence remained.

The darkness of those two cursed eyes was gazing at him. Only then the nightmare left him be and the macaque finally took a deep breath in his finally achieved rest.

****

Wukong shot up on his bed. Slowly turning around while scanning his surroundings, he could bet the strange dream occurred only a few minutes ago just as he was slowly dozing off. Now, as he was sheepishly approaching the red window, the rays had already caressed the city’s splendid palette of roofs. The Great Sage was thankful though. The image of strange black eyes was starting to vanish. How he achieved such visions and whose empty stare it was, he had no idea. As far as his attempts to recall anyone with such unique features, the list was getting thinner and thinner till there was nobody left.

Shaking his head, he walked up to the large porcelain bowl painted in deep blue and red. Next to it, a water vessel was sitting, sounds of splashing water echoed in its long neck when the demon picked it up. Slowly pouring the cool water down his head, he occasionally massaged his sore temples. Veins on it were bulging and pumping the boiling blood. The scintillant droplets cascaded down on his naked chest, the drastic change of temperature made it quiver like leaves in the autumn.

Yet, he always felt as if that lingering stare was burning a hole into his brain. To avoid to this day an unfamiliar feeling of dread creeping around the corners of his mind, he directed his attention elsewhere.

He recalled another detail which still managed to unsettle him, though.

Márgerdra didn’t share the room with him last night. She did show up in the monk’s room for a brief talk about the dinner story but she soon vanished once again, never to return.

Where did the witch go after last night? Did she stay with the captain for the rest of the night? Did she like his company more than that of their group? What if something happened to her? Captain Jun was no obstacle for Wukong to fight off and the witch certainly possessed the same set of her amazing combat skills.

Yet there was nobody to have her back. The crane could’ve easily led her to a trap. Wukong was a fool to let her go that easily.

Then, something else crossed his mind. This time, a thought significantly more chilling. A thought well familiar to him. One he’d wanted to turn blind eye to since their reconciliation.

She betrayed them. She betrayed Mei, Shifu, Bajie, Ol’ Sha, Lie. She betrayed him. She made a pact, sold them away. Just to save her own hide…

“Nonsense.“ Wukong gritted his teeth and stomped off to the nearest armchair to sit down and tame the wild herd of his worrisome ideas. Having nobody to talk to, to unburden himself, he whispered the lament under his nose, his trembling hand ruffling the thick thatch of wet hair stuck to his forehead,“C’mon, she wouldn’t. Ever. She’s a friend. Blondie knows when to pull out from the danger. She’s not Yawen either. She might be a foreigner and look weird but… She’s not…evil. Right?“ The low rasp stuck in his throat, unable to come out and carry out any more words. All the simian could do at that moment was to look to the side and face the small bronze mirror left on the low table, the same piece of furniture which carried their hands during the writing lesson. Wukong clearly saw his imperfect reflection. The lips contorted like a wild python crawling across the jungle and the varying length of his face. Underneath, when he took a closer look, Wukong noticed what a pitiful sight he was.

After rubbing face with water and a piece of white cloth, which was lying nearby, the markings on his face were washed away. The lack of paint revealed the dark circles and dry skin under his eyes, no longer joyful, only tired. The words, sentences, feelings, it was all being washed away from the shore of his stranded self, leaving him with nothing. Although, the longer he sat in loneliness, the more taunting the vultures of loathing became. Slowly he began to remember how innocently Márgerdra acted in front of him. How vulnerable she was in privacy. Suddenly, the rage flooded him no matter how much he tried to keep himself in check. His pulse quickened, the stone heart was cracking and beating like a blacksmith’s heavy hammer against his ribcage. His clawed hands dug into the redwood of the armrests. Dozens of splinters stuck under his nails, sinking deeper and deeper into the meat. Red blood trickled down his pads, then down the carved wooden spiral and dripped on the stone floor, creating tiny red suns and stars across the matte grey. Their edges were as sharp as the tips of Wukong’s fangs which shone in the morning sunlight. The fur lining his chiselled chest and abdomen bristled. All of a sudden, Wukong’s right leg shot up and landed on the floor hard, the brisk motion helping the simian to quickly stand up from his seat.

He paced the length of the room. He was beyond being furious. Now, the simplicity of the only emotion nagging onto him kept him on the verge of breakdown.

Uncertainty.

When he thought he was about to lose his mind, the sliding door opened and a person entered.

Wukong fastly turned around in hopes of finding the woman. Although his wish was left unfulfilled, he was still overjoyed for the presence as it finally chased off the dreadful silence where not even the larks sang through.

Before Wukong managed to spat all of his questions, Bajie shot up his hands and informed,“She’s with Her Highness now. Both are sleeping. No need to worry, Big Bro.“

Wukong couldn’t contain himself anymore and snarled,“Why didn’t she then come here?!“

The monkey’s unpleasant manners worked up the former heavenly marshal. “Do I look like I know?! If you want to fight then go up to her and leave my poor hide alone!“ He then uttered,“Already behaving like a jerk from the morning, aye?“

“What did you say, Daizi?“ Wukong’s eyes narrowed until only two slits remained. “Perhaps I didn’t hear you right. Repeat it.“

“Look,“ Bajie rolled his eyes, not giving any attention to his hissing senior,“anything that's going on in your head is beyond my business. Not that I don’t care about ya. Not at all, Big Bro. Sometimes, though, you’re such a tough nut to crack and it’s not that I’m getting paid to ruin my nerves with your tantrums. The same goes for our pretty lady with golden locks. Now, it’d be for the better to calm down, alright? Remember what Shifu always tells us? Inhale, exhale. Again. Don’t let your emotions take over you.“

At first, the Sage unwillingly did as he was told to. Few seconds later, he was breathing in and out spontaneously with maximum ease. His tensed body relaxed. His lashes flickered like butterfly wings once he came back to reality.

Bajie, not waiting for any apology, had taken a seat in the meanwhile and began to feast with fruits presented in the bowl by the window.

The Monkey King leaned against one of the major pillars. He sighed. “What happened last night?“

Sweet bits stuck in Pigsy’s throat, scratching it badly. The middle disciple began to cough and choke and tear up so much Wukong had to tap him in between the shoulder blades. “C’mon. We had a deal, Middle Brother.“

Zhu Bajie hesitated. His gaze lingered on the doorway and briefly thought about the witch. In that very moment, regret spread inside his heart and reigned with an iron fist. Although he was aware of his promise, to upset either Wukong or Márgerdra was his last intention. Not because of fear. He simply didn’t want his close ones to suffer. He already saw enough of that in the witch’s hidden manners.

“Bajie, spit it out.“ Wukong’s hoarse voice pulled the pig out of his thoughts.

“Are you sure, brother?“

The Monkey King simply nodded, no emotion displayed on his face. But Bajie knew all too well how much it was boiling inside the old monkey.

“Promise me that you won’t say a thing to the witch. Now lean over a bit, Big Bro.“

****

Márgerdra’s lashes fluttered as she was waking up. Beside her, the young princess was still snuggling the witch. At first glance, the young girl seemed to be at peace. However, her hand was tightly clutching onto the blanket her advisor threw over her at night. Occasionally, her expression contorted, muscles waved, making her look upset or worried, though it was hardly because of a dream.

The Wolf Witch completely understood the Princess of the Great Tiger Kingdom. The Northerner didn’t feel much better. Indeed, she was glad that at least Mei was able to fall asleep and rest, even if it were only for a while.

Márgerdra cringed as she leaned over in order to peck the princess’ forehead when the younger woman let out a deep sigh. Fortunately, the attempt was successful.

The large blanket with a golden rooster pattern shuffled upon the witch’s struggles to get up from the bed. Her hand was pressing against her stomach while the puffing woman, all too pale for it to be normal, walked towards the green teapot.

The steamy fluffs lingered over the surface of the herbal tea. Its heady aroma spread around and it easily filled Márgerdra’s nostrils. The unmistakable earthy notes of cinnamon and fennel accompanied the slight tingling sensation the ginger caused in the witch’s eyes. Márgerdra wished to drink the liquid as soon as possible, alas, she growled when the somewhat sweet taste soon turned into iron-like as the tea burnt her tongue and cheeks. In her anger, she nearly threw the cup against the floor. Recalling the sleeping girl, she changed her mind at the last second.

Slowly sinking into the armchair, she rubbed her face, the swollen lids heavy from the sleepless night. Her tongue was sliding up and down her mouth and teeth as the Wolf Witch tried to keep herself from puking.

The exasperation slid under her skin, made its way deeper through the flesh and finally settled down around her innards, choking them.

How more useless could the protector get? She hated how much immobile the cramps and the fatigue made her.

The dismal mood didn’t have intentions of abandoning the woman. Even more, it seemed to have intensified because in her vain attempts to focus on the strong first impression, the last night with the captain left Márgerdra with a sour taste in her mouth. The more time had passed, the more rotten the image of the man, deprived from any greatness she once tricked herself into seeing, became. The worst of all, the demoness knew all too well this wasn’t about the captain only.

Her fragile fingers quivered like the few feathers of the caged finch as the despair, the loneliness which was lurking around the corner jumped and dragged Márgerdra into the blackest ooze of her dying self. She no longer fought. She was too tired from the pain twitching the muscles of her otherwise firm belly. She only closed her eyes and let herself be carried away, not knowing the young princess was slowly coming back to her senses.

****

The threads of the setting sun shone through the carved spirals on the shutters into the long corridor inundated by the dim light of the ceramic lamps which were displayed in circular alcoves carved into the cold rock like numerous tiny soldiers on the watch. Some of them were accompanied by small screens with an ivory support and portrayal of the noble peacocks with wide green eyes on their tails, pond herons with blue and white wings, grebes crowned with black and orange crests and lastly the always present proud black and white cranes dancing in the snowy country with their bright flaming red crowns tilted back, the birds seemed to reign over any other birds, the sky and the land in all the paintings and embroidery.

The soles of two pairs of feet softly landed one after another on the floor, neither of the visitors knowing they were secretly followed by a boar barely managing to balance on the roof above. Although Márgerdra had her suspicions after a roof tile slid down and broke into tens of miniature pieces. Fortunately, the presence of the guard captain was too alluring for her to go and investigate.

Initially, the Captain of the Royal Guard observed the foreign-looking woman sparsely. His confidence returned fast, though, and the man raised a question,“Do you enjoy your stay here so far?“

The right corner of the woman’s lip rose, something the captain had no chance of seeing as he was walking by her left,“Why wouldn’t I? The meal is delicious, we have a roof above our heads, we’re well protected thanks to you, captain.“

“You’re too generous, Miss Yaling.“

“I don’t think so, captain.“ The couple stopped what allowed the witch to face the dashing soldier. His jet-black hair, which was finally allowed to throw glints as the captain freed the strands from under his helmet, was tied up in a knot allowing the long contours of his noble face to be better observed by the she-wolf’s watchful gaze. Márgerdra felt like fish being thrown back into the water. She finally took hold of her cards and she was grasping onto them as if she were gripping on the reins of a horse brought to be tamed. “I’m being fairly honest with you. Or do you want to tell me you’re not much used to such good manners, perhaps?“ 

Her sultry voice made the crane demon chuckle. Before Jun could add anything, Márgerdra seized the opportunity,“Am I dreaming right now? Is that a smile I see on your face, captain? I thought you can’t do much apart from your stern expression. It looks like you’re full of surprises. My husband could learn from you at times with his difficult nature.“

The words made Jun laugh out loud, this time. “Miss Yaling, I could pass as a sort of an enemy of your husband. Yet you dare to make me an example for him to follow?“

“I might have married him,“ Márgerdra came up to him, making sure her natural scent highlighted by the flowery perfume was presented properly to the man in front of her, and whispered with a foxy smirk,“But I won’t pretend he’s flawless.“

“What a cruel woman you can be, so harsh on your own lover.“ Jun returned the favour and closed the moderate distance between them. Yet his mind had always stayed bewildered by the striking features of the beauty. “At least you’re not as cruel as somebody else I know. Though you both have a similar, let’s say, approach to conversation.“

“I know very well where you’re aiming, captain, and I’m not sure whether I should take this as an offence or not. I am no Miss Yawen.“

“Your words carry the weight of a threat but your eyes are still smiling and so I’m sorry but I just cannot take your warning seriously no matter how much I truly desire to do so.“

“What a long sentence. I’ve never witnessed anyone so well articulated. That makes me happy.“

“May I ask why?“ Jun slid his hands carefully around the blonde's thin waist. Her skin radiated under the blue silk, an experience so magnetic the crane couldn’t help but give it a small squeeze.

Muscles of Márgerdra’s right leg stiffened at the last second. Her whole limb felt as if it were on pins and needles. Like by magic, she fought off the urge to twist and bark. Though, taking control over the fist and not punching the man in the middle of his face proved to be so much more difficult. After all, Jud had zero of Wukong’s charm and friendliness. Only the surrounding circumstances and Márgerdra’s own stubbornness to achieve her goal saved Jun from carrying away a bloody nose.

“It means you’re going to be a delight to ask a few questions.“ The witch forced a chuckle and easily slipped from his grasp. In a moment, her long lean back presented itself to the captain, meanwhile she was marching towards the large open window with the view on the whole city and the wide hills and mountains behind.

It didn’t take long for Jun to take a seat on the windowsill next to her.

“Captain,“ the woman started coldly,“as I mentioned I’ll be honest with my intentions. The bandits were able to infiltrate not only past the city gates but even into the palace. Which means they must be well familiar with the infrastructure. This fact leads me to the inevitable question whether they are former residents. Or whether they have somebody to rely on inside. Although, there’s still the secret third option.“

“Which is?“

“Both, naturally. Do you have any idea? Before you get suspicious, let me clear some things up. My family is now directly involved in whatever this mess is. I want to know my enemy before I get to snap their neck for endangering my little sister.“

Jun became more relaxed in the presence of the enigmatic woman. He leaned back, his gaze lowered, focusing on the folds of the light fabric wrapping around her hips and thighs. “I can see how you charmed Huang. Very well. I decided to trust you. For now.“

The Wolf Witch cocked her eyebrow but kept smiling, even though these oddly familiar manners unnerved her more and more with each second passed.

Rolling her blue eyes and puckering red lips the blonde went on with her act of a seductress. However, inside, something poked at her. Both Jun and Wukong shared her husband’s confidence. However Jun also carried his raven black hair, his tall stature, his piercing gaze and sharp nose. Those bits and pieces of her lover were so much stronger here than in Wukong. Yet, she felt so much safer, so much alive and like herself in the presence of the monkey demon. Not around the soldier. Neither around Ereanth.

“You’re right. The bandits did originate from our citizens and even from our ranks. They might also get some help from someone around here.“

As her ears finally heard the news she hoped for, the witch relaxed, stretched her back and propped her head against her palm. “Good. Go on, captain. Who is the ‘help’?“

“I’m not so sure. You may want to ask your husband. I bet you two lead wonderful debates each night.“

“Is it Miss Yawen?“

“Might be,“ Jun scratched his beak-like nose since he did his best not to focus on the woman whose heaving bust was perfectly illuminated by the lamps and the weak distant sun. The orange flames created a perfect mix of the light’s warm tones on her creamy skin. “I wouldn’t be much surprised.“

“Why so?“

When Jun didn’t answer, Márgerdra inconspicuously added,“Is she related to the fiends in any way? Well, apart from being a snake herself. Literally and metaphorically.“ Even though she muttered the words, Jun clearly heard the venom in them and grinned broadly.

Was his gaze also this shallow? Márgerdra thought and she caught herself not actually wanting to know the answer. She wasn’t even certain who was the target of her question. All in all, the thought sent shivers down her spine. Something she hadn’t experienced in years. After all, until now, she’d revelled even in the most superficial attention given to her.

“Golden Wind Viper, the leader of the bandits, used to go under the name Jin and he was one of the highest ranking officials in our army. Yawen is his twin sister. Those two have been inseparable and you can imagine what sort of beasts they were and still are.“

“Yes, I can. The same way I can hear the hatred whenever you say her name. From my own experience, hatred and passion are two sides of the same coin. You and Miss Yawen were having an affair, weren’t you?“

The remark pulled Jun out of his trance. His knuckles turned white, his eyes widened meanwhile Jun’s full lips parted.

“My apologies, captain. This was highly inappropriate from me. Let’s change our topic, shall we? We started this evening as allies, friends even,“ the witch pushed herself closer until their knees touched and though she didn’t drop her alluring smile, she visibly softened her gaze which created the much needed effect. Her look was a brief one and she soon focused on the charming landscape beneath. She did let him stare a bit longer, however, while she adored the chirping of thrushes which were hopping on the rooftops but mainly in the treetops of pines like naughty children, a small protest against the setting sun. The murmur of the river played gently into the lullaby of the upcoming evening. Little by little, the Heavenly horses of the Jade Emperor were running back to the stables and as they did, the numerous clouds were getting dragged away by the immense herd. “I’ve never seen such beautiful nature. Not even back home. Or while on the journey with Wei. Truly, this is a jaded treasure one shouldn’t touch and harm.“

Captain Jun cleared his throat,“Precisely, Miss Yawen. That’s the reason why our dynasty settled down in these vast lands.“

“Has it been a long time since then?“ Márgerdra didn’t look at him yet she sensed the growing tension and added,“I don’t see the city much expanded beyond the walls and so I’d like to congratulate you on keeping the mountain mostly untouched with all the citizens around.“

The argument worked with the captain and a proud smile settled on his lips. “Her Majesty came to these lands a long time ago. She was fed up with the hypocrisy of the world and desired to create a place for us, demons, to live in and to cultivate ourselves.“

“How? By eating people?“ Márgerdra snorted, bitterly amused by the story she heard so many times before. It was a lie she herself used to claim many centuries ago. “By stealing one’s life essence in a blink of an eye? Because this sounds like an excuse to become a power-hungry tyrant yourself. No offence, of course.“

“You have a sharp tongue, Miss Yaling. I must admit I like that in a woman. But be careful, you’re speaking with the Captain of the Royal Guard.“

“And you’re speaking with…“ In the heat of the moment, the blonde’s tongue nearly slipped as she was prepared to announce her title. She quickly had to change her reply. “My apologies, captain. It’s just…“ Searching for the right words, Márgerdra decided to discreetly admit her deepest fear. Sighing, she hung her head low to watch over her nails and palms and muttered,“Please, don’t take any offence in my words as my rage wasn’t directed at you. Simply put, you remind me of somebody I used to know. It was most inappropriate to drag you into matters you know nothing about. I offer you my deepest apologies for that, captain.“

Márgerdra shot up her head, her expression stern, ridden from any deeper emotions. Yet, her words were truthful, spoken with vigour and honesty, the captain had no reason for doubt. 

This time, it was Jun who snorted. Not from amusement, though. His eyes glistened like lightning striking from the indigo sky.

“You are truly strange,“ he directed his gaze into the unknown distance of the mountain range while simultaneously resting his chin on the formed fist,“my aunt is going to have a wonderful celebration with you around.“

Fortunately, this remark led Márgerdra to a newly formed plan. She wanted to know more about the water source she discovered in the chambers. Now was the perfect time. “Yes, the celebration. I wonder what the feast is going to be like.“

“Wonderful just as always. Though, it might be ameliorated this year.“

The spark in her sultry voice was brought to life once again,“How so, captain? Do you prepare, let’s say, a special present for Her Majesty?“

“To be honest, she’s preparing it for herself.“

“Are you not going to tell me?“ Although the captain’s wild eyes flared up with dangerous flames, Márgerdra’s daring nature couldn’t be scared away and the woman continued with an absolute ease. “Captain Jun, I hope you do realise I’ve been telling you things I wouldn’t announce to many people and that I’ve declared I have no intentions of betraying your trust. After all, I’m all but at your mercy right now. Don’t think I’m naive. I know your hand on the hilt of your sword isn’t twitching for no reason. I also know you’ve noticed the whip dangling under my robes and that I pose a threat to you.“ The man clenched his jaw once Márgerdra motioned towards his right hand seemingly casually resting on the pommel adorned with jades and emeralds of the curved sword. “It would be utterly foolish to try and assure you with words only that I became warier over the course of the past few days. I’m not afraid to pay the highest price in case you truly obtain the impression I might be a spy or even worse, a danger to your loved ones. I can be a woman of many lies and deceit. Yet, strangely, or rather ironically, the honour isn’t a foreign word for me. We have a common enemy and a common goal - to keep our families safe. So if you think I’m lying to you and have ulterior motives, don’t hesitate,“ the long sleeve rolled up and the demoness stretched her right arm on the table next to them,“unsheathe your weapon and strike.“

Despite how quickly the foreigner saw through the soldier’s intentions and worries, Jun remained equally composed,“Do you recognise the weight of your words, Miss Yaling?“

“I do. So should you, Captain Jun.“

Bajie, who until now had been silently cursing under his breath while trying to find the safest position on the roof, went completely pale. He brought his large palm closer to his ear. The old wood of his diminished rake scraped his shaking finger.

Jun paused. Eyeing the woman for a moment longer and replaying her invitation over and over again, he came to the final conclusion.

In a blink of an eye, the Captain of the Royal Guard unsheathed the shiny blade and brought it down upon the woman’s bare arm.

Bajie’s heart missed a beat. His eyes watered, his mouth agape yet no grunt or a yell escaped from the horrified boar. He was too far away. All he could do was to watch the witch’s arm being chopped off. He saw the bloodied limb falling to the floor. He saw the mutilated woman scream in pain and cry for help, for the unbearable pain to stop only for the soldier to cut off her head, as well.

At least that was the scene his mind pictured in that sole moment of pure dread. Because the reality made him shiver, nearly shed a tear, from true happiness, although he still cursed himself for not choosing a wiser spot or a hideout. 

The blade stayed lingering right above the elbow. The soldier offered the witch a smug smile when he saw that not only she didn’t budge, Márgerdra never stopped piercing him with her icy gaze either. Neither did her breathing become irregular.

For a long while, they remained in their places, unmoving like the aeons old two mountains of the universe.

Slowly sliding his sword back into the red-gold scabbard with a flaming blue feather emblem, captain Jun returned to his seat visibly well amused,“You’re truly something, Miss Yaling. Your courage matches your beauty. Since you managed to convince me I will share some information under one condition.“

Márgerdra crossed her legs. “If it’s related to me keeping my tongue behind my teeth, so be it. That won’t pose a problem to me.“

“That’s not the case.“

The witch cocked her fair eyebrow and pouted her cherry lips. The root of her nose wrinkled slightly but the Lady Wolf Witch did nothing else.

“I suspect your husband must truly adore you. How couldn’t he? Nobody could ever reach your beauty, not even the Lady of the Moon herself. I wonder what you really are. What sort of treasures and flowers you hide under all those garments. What your sweetest fruit tastes like.“

The blonde laughed out loud while her fingertips caressed the bare collarbone. Her provocative eyes glinted in the approaching darkness. She loved every bit of his attempt to chase her. “Men are truly simple creatures! Never ever in my life I’ve heard somebody say something so lewd yet so poetic. Captain, you’re lucky you’re this handsome and you know your way around the words.“

“Is it a ‘yes’, then?“

Bajie stiffened. He was utterly appalled by the soldier’s courage and even more, the witch’s pleased behaviour and playfulness, though the pig demon had been a witness to her foxy manners before.

“What do you think when you see a woman smile in the light of the rising moon?“ She drew closer and waited for the captain’s own response. It didn’t take long for his right arm to envelop her hip.

The crane demon leaned over to whisper in her ear. His fingertips delightfully brushed against Márgerdra’s ear lobe and his breath tickled the side of her neck.

His voice was low, slightly nasal, inaudible for the most part for Pigsy. However Márgerdra heard every single word he aimed at her. The edge hidden in the plain sight of his faint smile also didn’t escape her notice. “My aunt used to be one of the Immortal Cranes on Mount Kunlun. She served the Immortals whenever they came. However she disliked some of their decisions and didn’t appreciate that some of the cranes and dragons weren’t rewarded enough for hard work. You see, we used to carry Immortals, we were their messengers, rides, servants and even protectors if needed. Yet our efforts to cultivate ourselves were never enough. My aunt decided to leave the place and come down to lower regions where she could continue without the Immortals. However, she was considered to be one of the most reliable and capable cranes there. They didn’t want her to leave for she’d even taken an oath. In the end, it led to a rebellion.“

“You keep saying ‘we’. Were you also there?“

“Yes.“ Jun grew more melancholic with each word. “My parents, my brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents. I was only a freshly hatched colt. My aunt was the only one to survive and we both shall never forget that ‘punishment’ of Immortals, the old bastards backed up by the Jade Emperor.“ His spat landed on the floor in front of them. “I hope he’ll get what’s coming for him.“

The conscience was biting onto Márgerdra. She was well familiar with the captain’s pain and sorrow. “Captain, please, accept my condolences.“

For a while, they kept on being silent as two mice. Jun couldn’t help but bitterly sigh upon the memories flooding in. “Good thing the Kinbutcher wrecked the Heavens back in the day before he turned his back on the rest of us.“

The name, which Jun barked out, rang a bell, however Márgerdra couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “I’m sorry. Who?“

“The Kinbutcher,“ another spit flew through the air,“Sun Wukong. One of the mightiest demons in existence. The bastard who cultivated himself until he got strong enough. When the Jade Emperor thought he was too much of a threat he decided to listen to his rats and tame the Monkey King…“

“I know this story, captain. Don’t think I’m that unfamiliar with the local legends,“ Márgerdra rolled her eyes,“I only haven’t heard that nickname. Did I miss something?“

The soldier chuckled, his fingers curled until they reminded of talons. “Sun Wukong turned on us the day the young monk freed him from Buddha’s imprisonment. Since then he's been murdering his fellow demons on sight. One by one.“ His teeth clicked next to Márgerdra's ear. “Hence the nickname. He’s just a puppet now. Both he and the Tang monk be damned. If only we got them as soon as possible. To hear that wretched macaque cry over his ticket to freedom being eaten alive by us is going to be music to my ears. Just the fact he shall finally understand how much he screwed over himself and how far he’s fallen from grace while we ascend thanks to the knowledge and immortality gained from the Golden Cicada’s tender meat…“

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. The pieces of the complicated puzzle started coming together. The witch understood most of his outrage. The betrayal, the sorrow, the hatred and loneliness were old friends to her. But she could not shake off the feeling of dread when she thought of all the spilled blood.

Sanzang had been kind and she could not think of a single day she wished any harm to him. The young man didn’t pretend to be generous. Simply, his soul was indeed a blessing to anyone he spoke to. His disciples were no different despite their flaws. Inside, all the Pilgrims possessed courageous hearts. Just like her little plum Mei. The idea that Jun would go after them in his bloodlust and blind hatred crushed Márgerdra’s soul.

To think she once thought similarly and not only herself  but also the one once so dear to her cold wolf heart…

“Captain, your story is a heartbreaking one. I’m sorry to hear about such a tragedy…“ The woman attempted to change the topic despite the fact she was trapped between disliking the captain because of his family’s future plans and feeling sorry for the crane demon.

“That is alright, Miss Yaling. It’s been a long time. Though the Dynasty of the Azure Crane doesn’t forget that easily. We will have our revenge. We just need to wait a little bit longer. You see, the little crane baby wasn’t the only thing my aunty managed to take in all that haste.“

“If so, what was that other ‘thing’?“

“Two seeds of two precious trees. Once was supposed to be a present, a symbol of divine nobility, for the Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu. The other one’s a fig tree which can give up to twenty immortality fruits. Now, the trees are highly guarded in the upper gardens and the palace residents aren’t allowed to freely speak of them. Even Miss Yawen hasn’t been told the whole truth about them, only miserable bits, though the harlot thinks otherwise.“

The shared secrets widened Márgerdra’s eyes. She was finally back on the track and she wasn’t going to let go of her lead, not even in a dream.

She kept her tone gentle like a morning fog, a perfect veil for her real intentions. “Then why are you telling me your secrets? I know I’ve caught your attention. But even the Tang Emperor’s concubines cannot feel safe with him. Is it that you can easily snap my neck if I betray you?“

“Precisely.“ Perhaps for the first time, Jun’s smile froze, he slowly blinked as if to drive away the gloomy thoughts. However, he continued to caress the woman’s cheek with all tenderness. Soon he came back and his sweet whisper went on,“Did I say I’ve never seen anyone with such marvellous eyes like yours? So pretty in colour. Those two splendid shades, my darling. I can’t decide whether I desire the amazing waves to wash over my body in your left eye or to fly high up in the clear sky of your right eye. Your lips, they seem like the sweetest lychee in the world. You can’t imagine how much I desire to explore their divine taste…“

The Wolf Witch grinned. Despite she’d heard such flattery before she couldn’t exactly deny the crane demon didn’t manage to stroke her ego. “Is that so, sir?“

Jun nodded while giving out a silent sigh.

“In that case go on,“ while speaking, Márgerdra brushed her lips against his. At the last second, when the captain was prepared to deepen the fleeting touch, she pulled away, her palm pressing into his tunic interlaced with gold threads, a pleasant change for his usual armour,“but you better hold onto your part of the deal, Captain Jun. Don’t you forget, I’m doing you a favour. I’m still a married woman and my husband’s waiting for me. What’s the real deal about the fig tree?“

“Very well,“ Jun finally pulled away, too, though the eagerness in his glistening eyes remained. “There are twenty fruits in total growing on it. When the right time comes, one can eat them. The fig shall give you additional strength, it shall also grant you immortality. You won’t ever need to worry about old age catching up to you, marking your youth with terrible scars. Instead, your body shall become lighter, eternal, its marvellous beauty preserved forever.“ Jun leaned over and deeply inhaled Márgerdra’s smell. Simultaneously, his hand slipped around her waist again, warming the skin under the woman’s brocade skirt studded with carmine peonies and pink magnolia flowers.

“Immortality?“ The witch snorted. Like a wasp trying to get into the beehive, she was searching for another way to unravel the knot. To make sure her plan would work, her hands once again started rubbing his steel-like shoulders. “Is this vanity all such a treasure holds or are you hiding more from me, dashing Captain Jun?“

The strategy seemed to have worked out.

The captain broadly grinned. His head tilted backwards as if the demon was thriving in the intimate attention. The delight intensified in both when the foreigner started stroking his muscled chest. At first, Márgerdra adored his desperate response to her touch as the captain, equally eager, grasped onto her firm thigh. His thumb massaged the side of it, making slow circles around, something her Ereanth used to do. However, Márgerdra was now seeing the other side of the guard captain. No. Of her former husband. The memories flushed her all at once. She recalled the side she was always turning blind eye to. Something she willingly buried in the back of her mind simply because of her inner desire to achieve peace. To settle down. To start a family. “Who knows, my beauty. Maybe, it’s like you said. It should be added that the fruit can even heal the most fatal wounds, bringing the seemingly dead back to the world of the living. To say the least, it’s quite a win if you get your grasp on it. Unless you eat the unripe fruit. Not only it shall crumble in between your fingers, its ash is poisonous and kills anyone holding it.“

“That, my wonderful darling sir, I can trust you on. But tell me one more thing before our time’s up.“ Getting more nervous about the realisation kicking in again, this time stronger than ever before, she straightened up and drew her neck away from the man’s lips. 

“Anything for you.“ Though the words belonged to the captain, all the witch saw was a green-eyed man from her past.

“The trees of the Immortals must be great possessions. How do you supply them, then? I suspect you must be using another source than the river running through the city…“

It wasn’t the annoyance the she-wolf saw there but rather lightning of fury and suspicion. His reply was evenly sharp though Márgerdra clearly heard his effort to stay civil with her. Whether it was out of politeness or out of respect, the witch had no idea. “Yes, there’s a great lake behind the mountain. It’s located on a vast rocky platform with a strong stream. We don’t need to ever fear for it or the lake to run out dry. Thanks to it…“

“...the two halves of the city, the palace and the gardens are equally supplied with enough fresh water with the river being a nice back-up,“ the witch finished the sentence, leaving the captain with wrinkled eyebrows and pursed lips. “If there’s a platform like that right behind the palace, aren’t you afraid of Golden Wind Viper’s attack from there?“

The captain let out a bark of laughter,“The fiend would never dare to cross such a high peak even though he could easily infiltrate Her Majesty’s palace this way. A beast is guarding and tending the stream as it deems the water as its rightful home. The creature is dangerous. Occasionally we can hear its roar every full moon when it comes to scout the surroundings.“

“Aren’t you afraid of it, dashing sir?“

“You said it yourself. I’m a dashing soldier. The fear is the ultimate unknown for me. Her Majesty made a pact with it anyway. We feed it and give it offerings and the beast lets us use the water. You know what they say. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.“

“I see.“ Márgerdra let Jun plant a few kisses on her jaw and neck while she squinted, a sign of a pursuit for another question. When he leaned in to steal a kiss of her own lips, she stopped him once again.

“You’re never going to let me claim my reward, are you?“

“I am, dashing sir. But you woke the curiosity within. What does the beast look like?“

“I don’t know, I’ve only seen it from a distance. It’s probably a distant relative of the Dragon King. Now face me, my beauty, and let us enjoy the last touch of our deal.“

Although the soldier’s desire was undeniable, the Wolf Witch, like a sly fox, tried her luck for the last time,“Do you think you could sneak past it?“

“Of course. Aunty said that the beast recognizes her and me by our scents. She says she introduced me to the stream guardian when I was but a little chick. Since then, quite a long time has passed, a few centuries. But the beast still remembers who saved it from the rock crushing its foot.“

The two looked each other in the eye. Márgerdra was now sure. Ereanth’s stare has turned shallow, vain. The one she preserved a false image of. A made up memory of a person she idealised to fulfil her desperate dreams.

No! This was Jun. Somebody completely else. Somebody whom she didn’t fail. Somebody who didn’t fail her. No, no. Ereanth would never fail her or anybody else. He was a courageous hero. A great husband. It was all her fault they were no more. She didn’t meet the expectations. She betrayed her love.

Jun’s looking at her, his expression soft. On his pale forehead, coal-black brows faintly raised, his lips parted.

Márgerdra focused on that. This was the reality. Jun was real. He was the one with her now.

Márgerdra closed her eyes as she leaned into the kiss and soon she deepened the union. Jun gladly took his chance. He moaned, enjoyed the feel of her tongue pressing against his, her leg hooked around his hip as Jun’s fingers dug into the flesh.

Márgerdra wished to cherish the moment as she’d dreamed since she had first laid eyes on the handsome soldier. But now, she was clutching her eyes just to avoid the disappointing reality, the state of her sorrowful circumstances she landed herself into. She had no idea that Pigsy, the one who now knew what not to mention to his senior brother, was a witness to her silent lament.

In her soul, the woman gritted her teeth. Yet her restless mind always brings her to her husband.

The flower of anguish bloomed inside her heart. Its iron petals stabbed her, cut her, made her bleed like never before. The green-eyed man was looking at her, though his gaze was as hollow as a trunk of a rotting tree. His touch slid past every part of her body and yet he remained so distant as if he wished not to be with her, not to claim the happiness of their wedding night, such intimacy where they finally promise one to another. Then again, he did protect her when needed. He was always there when she was upset or unsure. He even tried to find solutions to many of her problems. Although was there any inner fire beside the friendliness? Was he listening to Márgerdra? Or was he only hearing the witch out? He was an ally, a friend. But was he ever more? A close friend? Though she did care about him, had he been ever something more to her? Had she been more to him?

Did they, in the times of despair, loneliness and hatred, confuse their feelings, tricking themselves into something that could never be?

The cruel truth she knew long ago but refused to admit was deadening. Settling down, it crushed her like thousands of stones which crumbled down the steep slope on the day Wukong saved her.

If only the Sage hadn’t caught her on time. She wished that at least one of the stones had hit her head on that day and for her limp body to be swallowed by the mass of rocks never to be taken out from under the pile just for it to become the next meal for vermin.

A grave without the title, a single name with no surname. A girl that never came to grow up and stand up for her beloved big sister, their gentle master who they deemed a father, her little…

Driving away the anger, the hatred, the sorrow, the regret, she somehow convinced herself to give into the pleasure. That was until she felt something long stroking her nape dangerously close to her golden mane. Before Jun’s hand reached her hair fully, the Wolf Witch broke the kiss, the act which left the breathless crane not only speechless, but his brows furrowed with deep wrinkles by the root of his nose too.

The lamps in the long empty hallway went out. The cold wind rose and claimed even the tiniest flame there.

“Miss Yaling,“ Jun stretched out to tenderly touch the blonde woman who was now looking past his shoulder into the nothingness like the most wonderful statue devoid of any life,“is everything alright? Did I overstep the boundaries?“

He gave her knee a little shake when she kept on being silent. “Miss Yaling, please, say something.“

“No, this isn’t your fault. It’s just that our deal was about a kiss, wasn’t it, Captain of the Guard?“ Her voice was monotonous, yet it carried the unmistakable hint of steel authority.

Watching her stand up all of a sudden, Jun stuttered, confused by her actions,“Yes, it was. Miss, if I truly offended you, please, know that was not my intention.“

“I do trust you, soldier,“ Márgerdra straightened her light blue gown. She walked up to the sitting man. Her hand cupped his cheek and the woman gently brushed his lips with her thumb. The fingertip carefully wiped off the red lipstick from Jun. Without hesitation, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the tempting moment of their last intimate touches. “There you go,“ she whispered and tenderly slid the back of her palm down Jun’s cheek,“make sure to be properly cleaned before you meet Her Majesty.“

“Or Yawen, I’d like to add. She can be quite possessive and get jealous no matter how much the person wants to distance themselves from her.“

“If you say so.“ The waves of blue, red, gold and pink fabric swished through the air and the soldier now saw only Márgerdra’s back. The long skirt like a long veil dragged behind her.

 Quickly grasping onto his senses, he shouted not caring if anyone would hear him,“Is this the last time we saw each other?“

The woman replied immediately,“In this manner? Of course. I’ve told you. I’m married. This was just a business. Though it was truly a pleasure to meet you, Captain Jun.“

“Don’t you wish for a divorce? I could give you a better life.“

Márgerdra stopped in her tracks. Deeply inhaling, her eyes darted, her lips quivered. If only you knew I already am…

“I already have a better life. Farewell, captain. I hope to see you soon under other circumstances.“

She quickly marched away. After turning around a few corners, she started arching over. She felt her knees had become wobbly, weak. Soon, she had to grasp on her abdomen.

****

The blonde witch shuffled across the hallway. The blush on her cheeks didn’t leave her. It was a miracle she convinced the princess she was alright and that her sour mood was caused solely by menstruation. The princess, a kind and innocent soul indeed, even offered her another sandbag so the witch wouldn’t fear the one she had received wasn’t enough.

‘Don’t worry, Márgerdra. I still have three left. So if you’re gonna need one more, just say.’ No matter how miserable they were, Mei’s cheerful voice always encouraged the witch. In her thoughts, the Northerner thanked the Heavens she had the luck of meeting the young heiress.

Finally, she was in front of the door to her room. Márgerdra sighed in relief that she could change into not only different clothes but also to change the sandbag she was currently using as the item was completely soaked from her blood.

With a faint hope that the room was empty and waiting just for her, she slid the door open.

The little bit of the happiness from the brief morning interaction with the princess vanished into thin air.

“Brother, no matter how much you’re going to insist that I’m hiding something, you’re never going to be right. I told ya everything. It was merely a brief conversation which ended with the talk about the beast-“

The witch’s sudden appearance in the room cut off Bajie in the middle of his sentence. 

Márgerdra gathered the last of her strength and straightened up to show off her full height. She didn’t need to say a word, Pigsy understood everything that was written on her face. Simply wishing a good morning, he used his chance and ran out from the room, leaving the reserved Wolf Witch and the furious Monkey King alone.

She didn’t need to guess twice what his first words would be.

“Where were you?!“

“Chasing the heavenly horses of the Jade Emperor, what did you think?“

“Very funny.“

“Just as funny as you sending Bajie to spy on me.“ Sighing, she took the jug of water and drank from it, not caring whether it looked disgusting or impolite.

“So?“ the monkey folded his arms and began pacing around the room,“You’re giving me a headache, woman. Next time I’m tying a little bell ‘round your neck.“

“Careful with your words, Wukong. That attitude may backfire soon,“ still catching her breath from taking such a sip, Márgerdra nonchalantly wiped her mouth with the narrow-cuffed sleeve, “Now, excuse me. I need to change.“

She stepped out but the Great Sage soon blocked her as he stood right into the middle of her way. “Move away.“

“I’m not your lap dog. Neither am I a circus monkey. Don’t think I’m gonna dance as you whistle no matter how sour your mood is.“ Wukong furrowed his brows even more when the witch paused and observed him in complete silence.

The sunrays were sliding down his cheeks and only now Márgerdra realised why his face looked strange this morning. She snorted through the pain. She had to avert the attention somehow and this was a perfect chance to do so. “Yes, now I see why you’re so unpleasant. You must be missing your eyeliner, don’t you?“

Wukong pouted but didn’t let himself throw out of balance. He offered her an equally mocking reaction,“Yeah, you could use some for those swollen lids, too. I thought Ox-Head came from Hell to say a little hi to me when you walked in.“

It seemed to have worked on the already irritated demoness. She seized the few clothes that were thrown over the armchair, her red nails digging so deep into the fine fabric they nearly tore the skirt and trousers, and marched behind the folding screen in the far corner of the wide bedroom. While passing Wukong, the Wolf Witch didn't forget to growl at him to which the monkey demon only offered a provocative grin. Once she was out of sight, however, his frown was immediately back.

Sliding down the armchair and scratching under his chin, a peculiar iron smell reached his nostrils, however he paid it no attention. The simian barked,“So, are you gonna tell me, blondie?“

All he was met with was a dull silence.

When Wukong was about to smash the armrests with his palms to stand up, Márgerdra muttered under her nose as she hung her blue skirt over the upper edge of the screen,“Jun made me think of something. Let’s say the evening didn’t go as smoothly as I had planned. Though I dug out some information from him.“

The Sage chewed onto nothing. In his mind, scenes of various inappropriate images played over and over and made his skin crawl.“Blondie, I do know you’re a tough one,“ he motioned to his left eye, although the witch couldn’t see a thing,“I know from experience you’re a really good fighter. But I… Did he..y’know…“ The monkey demon had to grit his teeth before finishing what disturbed him the most,“...touch you?“

“Excuse me? Don’t be ridiculous, Wukong,“ she retorted and kept trying to scratch away the dried blood from her skin in the quickest manner possible. Her hand rubbed the rag up and down. She didn’t stop scuffing the skin even when the irritated place turned red and started itching and burning. 

“Look, I get this is none of my business but…“

Fed up with the cloth being already soaked with the fluid and new trickles running down her thighs, she raised her voice,“Then why do you keep asking?“

It wasn’t the question which took Wukong back but rather the firmness within. No matter how much Márgerdra pretended to be alright, how much she tried to hide behind the screen or covered her face, the fragile shake under the surface couldn’t possibly escape Wukong’s sharp ears. “I care about you. Can I not know my dearest friend’s struggles and to help you out? It hurts much less when two share it.“

He saw how her shadow, which fell on the bright yellow paper, froze for a brief moment.

Immediately, though, the black silhouette quickly put on a long robe and tied a sash around the waist as the Wolf Witch came back to senses. “This isn’t what I expected of you.“

“What?!“

“Not in a bad way… Sorry, I don’t know what I exactly mean by that myself.“

The monkey lowered his gaze. Suddenly, the painful lump in his throat was easily swallowed with no traces of strange anxiousness left behind. Still, it wasn’t enough for him. “Would you like to talk about it?“

Though they were rather stereotypical, Márgerdra caught that strange friendly warmth radiating from the disciple again who wasn’t even that near to her. The need to hug him and to be hugged back was building up. It was a strange yet pleasant thought which left her tongue wordless.

The Wolf Witch wasn’t the only one who was slowly being driven crazy by the stillness of the moment.

The Monkey King rubbed his hands together. Although it wasn’t the flames of rage burning him like usually. Now, he felt the unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty made him to be of two minds. Thinking he should have chosen a better approach, he tried to calm down by taking deep breaths and massaging his left palm.

Fortunately, she did give him the answer,“No, not now… But thank you. I just…“

“Yes?“

“No, it’s nothing,“ the  woman changed her mind at the last second. “Can I bother you with something else, though?“

“Blondie, you bother me with many things, just not with your well-being,“ Wukong uttered while he nonchalantly crossed his arms,“What do you need?“

“Mei had tea prepared for us early in the morning. Please, go and tell the servants to prepare the same mixture again.“

“What mixture?“

“They shall know. Don’t worry about that.“

“Hey, Missy Prissy, stop this nonsense and tell me directly what you need. My patience is running thin. By the way, what’s taking you so long behind that screen today-“ The monkey fell silent in a heartbeat. The smell from before, the one which was coming from the witch’s direction, rose up his nostrils again. His eyes widened, though his curiosity took over him and the simian peeked behind the screen.

The bitter taste of his stomach’s content made its way to his mouth.

But he managed to hold himself back when he caught Márgerdra changing the dirty sandbag for a new one. Her weak and shaking hand tossed the old one into the bowl with water. Though she tried to be careful, a few red drops spilled onto the floor. She cursed under her breath even more when she noticed the hairy head of the monkey demon peeking at her.

“What are you doing, you moron?! Don’t you hate looking at ladies?“

“I do! Just thought you were injured or something!“ He yelled back, never hiding his twitching eye and mouth twisting in disgust.

“You’re going to get injured soon if-“ The witch pulled the long purple robe even tighter to her body and remade the strong knot around her waist so as not to show a single bit of her naked skin. Angry and tired beyond belief, she was prepared to scorch Wukong with a lightning bolt from her palm. However, the simian took her by surprise again.

Straightforward as always, he simply shook his head.

Cocking his eyebrow, he motioned with his chin forward and awaited her silent approval to get closer. Strangely enough, not one of them uttered anything and yet, they perfectly understood their companion.

Márgerdra nodded back. Only then he carefully shuffled towards her. Slowly, he knelt down. The witch gently lifted the hanging brocade. Her right leg showed itself to the Sage to be inspected by the disciple.

Wukong’s fingertips slid down the front of her thigh. Her skin was warm, perhaps even warmer than the sun outside. Under his touch, her muscles flexed and it was only now that Wukong realised how strong her legs actually were and that her kicks could truly become lethal. Upon Márgerdra’s sharp inhale, the monkey demon took a piece of fabric, soaked it in water and began to wash the demoness’ skin.

The Wolf Witch could no longer hide how much his actions astonished her. Wukong, a hot-headed brute at first sight with a seemingly unending amount of sarcastic remarks, was now so tender and discreet, never casting a single look under the robe. Instead, he gathered all his patience, even held back his slight disgust. Márgerdra’s lips and swollen eyelids quivered. During the demon’s first touches she was clutching onto her collar. Now, her hands relaxed and rested by the length of her body. Even more, after a slight hesitation she decided to rest them on the disciple’s shoulders.

The Monkey King didn’t mind the gesture. Quite the opposite, a faint smile played on his lips.

“Fennel and ginger?“ he raised a quiet question as he continued in his slight massage downward towards the she-wolf’s foot and then focused his attention on her left leg.

“How did you know?“

“Blondie, I’m not at all oblivious to the basics of medicine,“ the Sage playfully winked at her. “Though, would you like to try a different sort of tea? If the fennel didn’t help much you could try the ginseng.“

The blonde crossed her arms. “Wukong, you’re on thin ice right now. I might be seven centuries old. But I’m not that old.“

“Blondie,“ he chuckled,“it’s not used just for the menopause. I’ve been told it has a similar effect as fennel. You could give it a chance. If you want I can order some for Her Highness, too.“

“That…would be delightful of you. Thanks.“

Once again, they fell into silence. The Wolf Witch felt like falling asleep under the numerous gentle rubs. At least for a short while, she was able not to feel any pain in her abdomen, a wonderful feeling she wanted to last much longer.

“I guess you can’t join me in training for the tournament today.“

“I fear so too, dear friend. But tomorrow-“

“You shouldn’t force yourself. You better rest now,“ Wukong stood up, washed the cloth for the last time and helped his comrade to the bed. “I’ll bring the tea and you can tell me what your little research from last night brought. I can familiarise you with my own investigation. Deal?“

“Deal,“ Márgerdra slithered her fingers into his palm. “But bring venerable Master and boys, too. And Mei but that goes without further saying, I suppose,“ she added with a weak smile growing on her face, her cheeks appearing much healthier than before.

“Yeah, don’t worry about that,“ the Great Sage joined her in the light giggle. “I wouldn’t dare to leave them out.“

The moment he seemed to stand up, the Wolf Witch squeezed the hairy hand. Wukong looked back at her, a clear worry behind the stern expression.

“Jun called you a…name yesterday.“

He offered a flippant grin. “Many call my old hide various names.“

“This one was different, though. He called you…what was the title…a ‘Kinbutcher’.“

The imp as well as his daring smile froze. The sudden silence flooded the vast space, not evening the birds outside dared to chirp or tweet. The time seemed to have stopped. The stare he offered, a deep void consuming everything in sight, was long as if it had no end.

The witch held her breath. She opened her mouth to break off the uncomfortable moment. Soon, she closed it back as barely any sound escaped from the dry throat.

Finally, the monkey demon moved. He licked his thin lips and rubbed his face meanwhile he walked up to the bowl with dirty water.

“Wukong…“ The hurt in the demoness’ voice was unmistakable.

“It’s not your fault.“ Sun Wukong marched out of the room. His demeanour became a perfect contrast, both freezing and boiling hot. Before shutting the sliding door behind himself, he uttered one last phrase not realising the woman had equally excellent hearing. “Just mine.“

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51

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List of chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Epilogue

[stargirlstudio]

A Note on Citrine and Sapphire:

When you’re reading the fic, please note that you are reading from the perspective of a 16 year old Lengii girl. Given that she is a non Westerosi but still a privileged monarch — she is an unreliable narrator. She comes from a place in Essos with a lack of western culture so she is experiencing everything in Westeros for the first time.

Some background info on Leng:

Despite coming from a long line of bloody warriors, violent God-Empresses, and a history of self preservation — Leng is experiencing something I call the 4 Generations of Peace. Practices of bloodshed and strength within the royal family, specifically the Empresses themselves, are long gone.

Also, Leng was once a previously colonized country with their colonizers being YiTi. Having since broken the grasp from YiTi with Khiara the Great — they are continuing the dynasty from their rule. But with the slow uptick in globalization, the rulers of Leng have lost the plot.

A common thing you’ll see in the Lengii people is this need to self preserve. The common folk know this much more than the royal family.

The History of the Empresses are as follows:

God Empress Situsuwana

Daughter of God Empress Ratu, the last warrior Empress, Situsuwana enacted a time of peace. Before her death, she helped quell the rising conflicts between the YiTish and the native Lengii. She was also a firm believer in the education of her children.

God Empress Kanitara

Continuing her mother’s legacy, Kanitara pushed for economic prosperity by slowly opening the gates and allowing trade to come in and out. The once heavily isolationist Leng slowly became one of the hustle and bustle cities like their YiTish neighbors. Leng Ma, Kanitara’s pride and joy, became principal in the increasing wealth of the crown. God Empress Kanitara was also the God Empress who ruled while Lord Corlys was visiting. Kanitara gave birth to 8 children, five daughters and three sons.

God Empress Citra

Citra continued to be a peaceful queen, but was plagued with telling from the Old Ones, the gods of Leng. Citra, preoccupied by inner strife from her family, personal illness, and a looming prophecy was too busy to focus on a debilitating Leng economy. She was also too busy to properly guide her children, having also been neglected by her own mother during Leng’s golden era of wealth.

God Empress Nita

Nita is the newly appointed God Empress assuming the throne at 15-16. Where her mother lacked in self preservation, Nita flourishes. Nita is a firm believer that she is apart of the prophecy the gods have told her mother and believes she was meant for the Leng throne. She is determined to oust her sister, Léi Leng, or the People’s Traveling Princess, from the royal succession.

The Old Ones:

In my lore, the Old Ones are gods who have become bored with the rulership in Leng and feel that this “Era of Peace” is unfit for what they stand for. The Old Ones, despite being helpful, believe bloodshed is what makes the world go round.

Note: If you have any questions about my iteration of Leng please let me know! I talk about it a lot with my dear friend @majestickitty and I feel like I have left out some crucial information for everyone else!

There isn’t much lore attached to Leng itself which is why I am basically creating its lore from the ground up (for a fucking reader insert, no less).

[seoafin]

just wanted to come say that you genuinely are one of the best jjk writers overall, your characterization is always well done and on point, for being a gojo disliker almost no one gets him like you do. You clearly know about japanese culture and customs, but you don't incessantly make references of such nor are you over the top, your mc is truly one of my favorites not just in jjk but in all /reader fics, I really don't know how to express how much i appreciate her, I really, really like her. and, of course, your concepts and narrative are amazingly done. you deserve all the praise you get.

Mostly sent this because i was reading a jjk fic, and it had like, 3 times in a chapter where the 'caught in 4k' joke was made, and I just couldn't possibly imagine the characters having thoughts about such western memes. It had even more stuff like that and got me thinking if it was a crackfic but no, it was not. but the writing was not bad, it really wasn't, the story was solid, but there was so much stuff I just don't think works in japan (petnames for example) so I kept thinking about you and how much I like your writing

STOP IM BLUSHINGGGGGGGGG

let me go off on a tangent abt this below:

i have so so so so soooooo much respect for the writers who can ground their works in japanese cultural knowledge respectfully. they restore my faith in fandom every single day. obviously, all my mcs are culturally japanese which i hope is clearly portrayed in my writing but also i think in terms of that my writing is bit more of a middle ground. like i do have a lot of translation woes (i write a lot of dialogue in japanese) and i do grapple with how i can culturally translate some things in my writing for instance keigo and honorifics (which i do keep in my writing. it's the early 2012 ff.net/quotev in me im sorry).

i think a lot of this also comes into play with the arranged marriage trope which i know is a very popular gojo trope, in which the mc typically comes from a traditional japanese patriarchal family which more often than not, is abusive. for me personally...it's either a hit or a miss. there's nothing wrong with it!!!! (unless it's blatantly offensive and just. a plain bad portrayal.) it's just personally i've experienced so much of the sensitive topics being written about in my own life from from misogynistic patriarchal family members in korea who were directly affected by the jpn occupation so a lot of it just makes me uncomfortable lol like i said it's usually either a hit or a miss bc some writers 1) don't do research 2) draw from offensive insensitive assumptions which is blatant in their writing. so. yeah. fenwfjkwenf

don't get me wrong though! i do think there is a way to make one's writing more...compatible(??) for a western audience that isn't just straight up a western portrayal of japanese characters in tokyo, I think things like memes and character quirks/sayings can be translated for a western audience really thoughtfully, I just think (personally) it's difficult to get a good grasp on the balance between two cultures so I just take the middle ground which I hope makes it a bit easier for ppl to be introduced to a way of living they may not be familiar with!

[solarsavoy]

Fandom Saturday, Sailor Moon!

Sailor Moon is very near and dear to my heart. This was the first anime I ever watched and it inspired me to draw, to sing, and opened my mind and heart to all sorts of love, even if I didn't know it at the time.

Although I watched the Westernized version that cut out a lot of the more progressive themes, they still reached me on some level. I fully believe that it was the foundation of Sailor Moon that made me always see love as love, no matter what form it took. Love has no age. Love has no gender. Love has no bounds, no limit and can even transcend time and space itself. Sailor Moon really is the guardian of love and justice in that way.

It also was all I had.

I got bullied a lot as a kid and had very few friends. (As in very few. I had to find people in other grades than me because everyone in my grade was mean, for the most part.) I envied the close knit relationships the inner senshi had and longed to have my own close friends, and then season three came out and I discovered Sailor Uranus.

She was a loner, reserved, always seemed to hate things around her while trying to appear cool and suave and, I really wanted to be her. I wanted to be cool, but I related to her on some level. She was always running from her problems instead of facing them. She happened to have someone to ground her in reality and I knew that was something I needed too. I like to avoid things myself.

The thing about Sailor Moon is that there's a scout for everyone. It appeals to people regardless of age, gender, personality, preferences, there is a character in there that you can relate to. I'll admit though, the English dub is horrendous. And when I learned that America chopped up that beautiful anime and even ignored some of the episodes, I was hurt, but still, it reached me.

America made Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune cousins. Cousins. Yeah, no, those be lesbians, not cousins, it's pretty obvious. -_-

Anyway, the simple brilliance of Sailor Moon leaves so much to discover. The last names of the scouts line up with the first kanji of their planets. Their birthdays are under the horoscopes ruled by their planets. There's so much in here, it's nothing short of absolute genius. And it's SO progressive for the times it was released. If you haven't watched it, I recommend the Japanese original version from the 90's. I've yet to work my way through the new generation, Crystal, but part of me is reluctant to because my memories of the 90's version. Even the chopped up and watered down American version has taught me so much. I just can't recommend this anime enough. For it's open-mindedness. For the friendship. For its depth at times. It aims for the heart and hits you right in the center.

I thought it'd be appropriate to talk about Sailor Moon due to my "Magic Shuu" fic that came out yesterday, and I really hope I can capture just a little of the awesomeness that is Sailor Moon.

For love of all kinds, I hope you give it a shot. You never know how it'll reach you. Although I could say that about many anime shows, this one is just different. It just is.

Thanks for reading!

[xihe1874]

This fic is inspired by the prompt of the lovely @janeeyreofmanderley on Tumblr! Here is the original prompt.

I planned to post this on Christmas, and then New Year, and... I decide to fight against my procrastination and post it now!

I want to thank them for their beautiful prompt!! I really love this idea, and I hope that you will like this story 😉

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

Rating:

G

Relationships:

Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)

Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II)

Aragorn | Estel & Faramir (Son of Denethor II)

Aragorn | Estel & Boromir (Son of Denethor II)

Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel

Éomer Éadig & Éowyn

Character:

Elboron (Tolkien)

Additional Tags:

Fluff

Love

Letters

Married Couple

Long-Distance Relationship

Post-War of the Ring

Boromir Lives

Yule

Celebrations

Pregnancy

Sweet

Eowyn and Faramir love each other so much

Family

Word Count:

1125

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Chapter 1 The First Winter: Five Letters and One Discovery

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

My dearest Faramir,

Winter is approaching - I can feel it from the chill in the air and the water. This morning I woke up and found my feet freezing. I have to ask Holdwyn to add logs in the fireplace - can you believe it, my dear? I never feared coldness before.

Rohan is as beautiful as always, and I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I returned. However, my darling, I miss you more. Every day when I am walking in the garden, I think of you, and every night when I close my eyes, I will see you. I can’t believe I still have to wait two weeks to meet you again.

How is your expedition with the King and Boromir? It’s such a shame that I can’t go with you! Remember the night before our wedding? When we rode together to the outskirts of Minas Tirith? That was such a heavenly night. I still keep that leaf in the last letter you sent me, and the stone shaped like a diamond is now on my desk. When can we go out to explore again? Maybe next spring, what do you say, my dear Faramir? We can ride out at dusk and spend the night watching the stars.

I spend a lot of time with Lothíriel these days, and she is the loveliest lady I have ever met. Sometimes it’s still hard to accept that my brother has married - and to this perfect girl! I almost feel like my crude brother doesn’t deserve the fine lady. 

I am counting the seconds until we see each other again. Please take care of yourself.

With all my love,

Eowyn

____________________________________

My dearest Eowyn,

Receiving your letters is the most wonderful thing these days, and even the precious messenger has been influenced by my enthusiasm - He was still laughing when he turned around to ride back to Rohan. (The innocent gentleman has no idea how jealous I am! I shouldn’t be, I know that without any doubt, but he will be much closer to you than I am now.)

My dear, you have been correct. Winter is lurking around imperceptibly, and the sharp coldness is flowing in the wind. Please, my dear Eowyn, adopt the assistance of fire and garments or anything that can protect you from the harshness. I know you are in the habit of walking around barefoot to feel the ground - I adore that, but please look after yourself for me.

I miss you more than anything. Today, when we arrived at the western side of Minas Tirith, I read the map to provide directions for our beloved King Elessar, but all I could think was that we had ridden along a similar river before! Our King, the benevolent ruler as he is, didn’t scold (or even address) my awkward fluster. He shook his head and took over the map with an indulgent smile. But Boromir was not that merciful, as he chortled and almost startled his poor horse.

As you can see from my recount, our expedition is going very well. We have completed our investigation of the western district and will move on to the north tomorrow. My darling, I sincerely wish you could join me on this journey. You will surely love the vast expanse of fields. However, Rohan needs her white lady as much as I need my magnificent wife. 

I remember that night like everything is still visible before my eyes. I remember the limpid stream bubbling between the stones and your hair floating in the breeze. I remember you under the moonlight, softly glowing, and when your beautiful eyes met mine, I was sending my gratitude to all the Valar for their blessing. You said that King Eomer is fortunate to have Lothíriel’s love - though I assure you, my darling, they are made for each other - but I believe I am the luckiest one.

Boromir is now roaring to the King, saying terrible things like, “That lad is writing to his wife again, I assure you, my King”. So I am afraid I will end this letter now to avoid his further teasing.

I will be reborn when I see you again, and now I am living for the promise of our stargazing night. Please take care of yourself for me.

Always yours,

Faramir

____________________________________

My dearest Faramir,

Your incident with the map made me laugh (Eomer said I was giggling, but you shouldn’t listen to him). My poor Faramir! Are you talking about the river we went to after we got married for a week?

Sometimes I wish we are just the populace, a pair of the average couple, instead of Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, or White Lady and shieldmaiden of Rohan. Don’t take me wrong, my dear, I love our countries, and I will fight for them until the day I die. But the separation is almost overwhelming. I know we have our duties, but I wish we could spend every day together! You have only been away for two months, but I feel you have taken half of my soul.

How are your sword wounds recovering? Do they still hurt? I am praying to Estë that the winter will go easy on you.

People are preparing for the Yule, and the joys of the holiday are in the air. Everywhere I can see feast and wine, everywhere I can hear laughter. Our people are coming out of the shadows of the war, and that warms my heart. There are still struggles, but there will be hope.

Something strange occurred today when I practised sword fighting with Eomer this morning. My stomach cramped, and I felt nauseous - that had never happened before. I had to drop my sword to retch several times. Eomer has requested (forced, more accurately) me to be examined by a doctor, who will arrive soon. But please don’t worry, I have rested well, and my stomach is much better now.

Only one week left, but time is still passing too slowly.

With all my love,

Eowyn

____________________________________

My dearest Eowyn,

Your letter broke my heart as I am not by your side right now. You tell me not to worry, but how could I? I have reported this to the King, who allows me to finish the mission now to go to you. Boromir will escort the King for the rest of the expedition. 

The messenger is here now, so the letter will arrive earlier than me. I shall be there in two days.

I am praying so hard.

Always yours,

Faramir

____________________________________

My dearest Faramir,

I really should wait a few more hours to send out my last letter. See you tomorrow.

With all my love,

Eowyn, and our first child

[vigilantdesert]

What is your favorite canon muse? How far do go with divergencies when it comes to your canon muse?

Happy Mundaymas - Accepting

What is your favorite canon muse?

Ooo that's a hard question. I really have loved Urbosa so far. She's the first honest-to-god hero I think I've ever played, and I'm enjoying it much more than my younger self ever would have thought. Part of the issue is I've always gravitated towards older female muses and those tend to be on the antagonist's side if they're given agency over themselves and their actions, thank you western media.

Besides Urbosa, my favorite is probably Mrs. Lovett still. I played her the longest, had several long-lasting partnerships that spawned great threads and fics, and still have a lot of affection for her. She was a way to touch into my romantic side in a (admittedly hilariously) safe way, since I was always into exploring the dark side of relationships, but still preferred presenting them in the light of "this is fucked up, and that's why it rules in this context." I also enjoyed the external pressure put on Nellie as a single woman in a time period which made that intensely difficult. While I love interpersonal relationship drama, I also love man versus society plots, so the pressure of "can I make taxes/heat/food expenses this month" was enjoyable to me.

How far do go with divergencies when it comes to your canon muse?

Aside from the cop-out answer of "it depends on the muse/source material" I suppose I find a middle ground? Historically I've played very few characters that had a rigid canon presence, since I tend to play side characters. I also enjoy playing in the corners of muses' lives that canon doesn't touch. Using the above example, the implication in Burton's Sweeney Todd is that she was widowed recently/at an older age, but it's never expressly stated. Instead, I had Albert die off a few years after their wedding, leaving her in hundreds of pounds of debt, even after they sold off most of their assets.

I do generally try to maintain major plot points, though. If I twist happenstance, I usually section it off into its own AU, even if it's a relatively well-known plot twist (Calamity beaten during the first attack in BOTW, for example).

With that said, I have absolutely nothing against canon divergent muses! I think they're great and often outdo the source material! I do appreciate a bio of what gets changed, though, so I don't accidentally reference things from canon that don't happen in your muses' history.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Writing smut without cringing the whole time? How do you do it.

Writing Smut 101: Overcoming Smut Shame

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW RELATED CONTENT BELOW.

The short answer, nonnie, is: you don’t. 

That is to say, writing smut is always kind of cringe—especially if you’re new to it, or simply “not in the mood” to write. 

But rest assured, feeling embarrassed is completely natural. The trick is learning how to overcome the cringe when it does happen, instead of letting it deter you.

I’m going to break this up into a few sections: 1) Why you might be feeling this way, 2) How I, personally, combat the issue, and 3) Some more tips that might help you get the ball rolling.

1. Why You “Cringe”

It’s important to find the root cause of any form of writer’s block so you can pull the weed out instead of just trimming it back. Smut writer’s block is its own special brand, and generally, the main issue writers have when it comes to smut is stigma.

Speaking openly and honestly about sex, in Western society, is still very much a taboo.

No matter how “progressive” we like to think we are, the inherent shame surrounding pleasure-seeking experiences, and the detailing/consumption of them, has been ground into us since we learned how to understand the concept of gratification.

And I’m not just talking about sexual gratification. This applies to everyday things, as well. Eating, shopping, relaxing (or doing virtually anything in capitalist society that does not directly contribute to capitalism).

So it makes sense that you would feel any amount of embarrassment, awkwardness, or “cringe” when writing smut. It’s something our society teaches us is wrong to want. Unfortunately, that shame translates to writer’s block when we sit down in front of the computer.

A lot of this blockage might stem from not giving ourselves permission to write the thing.

We’re staring at the blank document, knowing we want to write smut, and suddenly the thoughts start streaming in: This feels wrong, is this wrong? What if someone comes in and looks over my shoulder while I’m writing? Am I describing this right? Is this too unrealistic? I have NO idea what I’m doing, and everyone is going to know it.

These are all perfectly normal thoughts, and definitely ones I still have from time to time. But they’re also probably the direct cause of why you feel so blocked. Luckily, I have some bits of advice to give you on how to unblock yourself.

2. How I Combat Smut Block

✦ First, when the intrusive thoughts occur, instead of ruminating on them, think of each one as an impermanent object. You can use any metaphor, but I like to use the imagery of leaves:

Each negative thought is a leaf floating down the river of your mind. If you focus only on the leaf, you’ll exert a lot of energy running to try and keep up with it, consequently miss everything else around you. But if you acknowledge that leaf as a temporary part of the scenery, and let is pass, you can process and appreciate the beauty of your surroundings a whole lot better.

Remember: you are separate from your thoughts. You are not defined by them. The things you think sound stupid might be incredibly exciting to someone else. 

If you can string a sentence together, you can write smut. This is all part of giving yourself permission to write the thing that makes you feel uncomfortable.

✦ Second, I’d suggest giving good thought to how you personally experience embarrassment, how you experience excitement (of the sexual variety), and how those two might sometimes commingle or feel similar.

For me, they are very comparable, like different shades of the same emotion—but there are differences which are important to note. 

If I’m making myself blush from excitement, this is a very good thing for writing smut. It means that what I’m writing feels real enough to evoke something in the reader, even if the reader, like me, knows what’s going to happen.

If I’m making myself cringe, however, it may be time to take a step back and readjust my perspective.

✦ Third, ease yourself into it! Don’t jump straight in the deep end and expect to know how to keep your head above water if you’ve never swum before.

The way I eased myself into smut was first by writing “Steam”—a category of fic I made up because the current vocabulary lacked an efficient term for fics that straddled emotional romance and explicit content. 

Essentially, steam is smut-adjacent but not explicit, and here’s a step-by-step example of how I transitioned myself smoothly from one genre to the next:

I first wrote my fics Wicked Game and You Are (both of which feature either a heavy make out session or teasing + lots of sexual tension) with this “steam” concept in mind.

I wrote the first chapter of Fine Line, which has brief but explicit descriptions of fantasies, framed by a very sexually charged scene.

I released my fic Crashing, which is probably more of a bridge between Steam and Smut, and features soft-focus fingering. Nothing in it is explicit—it focuses more on the emotions than explicit detail—but it’s very clear what is happening.

After I wrote those, I felt just confident enough to make that final stride over the threshold into smut. I wrote my fics Holy, King, and the second chapter of Fine Line all within weeks of each other.

And trust me when I say, once you get the momentum going and receive that validation from people who’ve read your work, it becomes SO much easier to sit down and start writing. 

You just have to finish that first piece.

✦ Finally (and I know I’m going to sound cliche when I say this), just like any other skill, the more you practice the more confident you will feel and the better you will get. 

So practice, practice, practice! 

If you’re nervous about posting smut for the first time, have a trusted friend/mutual Beta read it for you. It’s the online equivalent to someone holding your hand before jumping off the cliff, and works wonders for the nerves.

3. Keep The Smut Rolling

Now that you have some tools to help get you past the blockage of writing smut, here’s how to keep the inspiration flowing.

✦ Start by incorporating smutty fanfiction/erotic fiction into your regular reading rotation- 

Of course AO3 is a fantastic resource for smutty fanfiction. 

If you’re a fan of TFOTA or ACOTAR and want some of my personal fic recs, visit my fic rec masterlist.

In terms of erotic fiction, my personal favourites are anything Anais Nin (specifically Henry & June and Delta of Venus), The Thornchapel series by Sierra Simone, The Godwicks series by Tiffany Reisz, and The Original Sinners series by Tiffany Reisz.

There are also sites like Literotica and sexstories.com, which play host to explicit short fiction (not fandom based).

✦ Next, I’d recommend having a designated digital space for smutspiration- 

This can be a list of “smutty” words/phrases kept on a separate document on your computer, for those days when you just can’t think of the right way to describe something. 

Or you can create a private side-blog or Pinterest board for your favourite smutty fanart or other kinds of visual smutspiration.

✦ For that matter, try following some smutty/18+ blogs (ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+) here on Tumblr-

Many of them have a plethora of what I like to call “lemony snippets”, a.k.a. short text posts that describe (usually in conversational language) explicit scenarios. 

This is useful because it will normalise the concept of sexual fantasies in your brain, making it less weird for you when you try to come up with ones of your own to write into smut. 

Not to mention, your dash will be rife with inspiration.

✦ I would also suggest checking out 18+ ASMR on YouTube (AGAIN, ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+). 

My favourite account is Professor Cal Official, but Auralescent also has some good content. 

Headphones are highly advisable for this, as their stuff is very dangerous for work.

So, nonnie, I hope this has provided you with at least one helpful tip. Whether you took anything away from this or not, just know that the feelings of embarrassment when it comes to writing smut are entirely normal. And the best way to keep those feelings at bay is to confront them head on. 

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Advice Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

2K Celebration!

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

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