#i hate desert tiles

[feletida]

See that army- aand it's gone.

[r-f-m-writes]

Pretty, Dead Animals Chapter One

The shimmering shift of tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept the man's card through the slot on the side of the machine, not even glancing at the amount due.

“Your boss ’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel wobbly as she handed the card back.

The tip of his index finger brushed against the soft underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

“I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

"Yeah, kid. I’m sure you think you can.”

Linette’s stomach was swooping itself into hot, excited knots as she stood fixing her hair in the spotty restroom mirror, yanking brown waves out of the claw clip and fluffing out her roots before arranging the tangled mess over her shoulders in a way the looked half presentable.

It had been scorching hot the night before, she’d barely slept. Her under eyes were sunken and blue tinged, she felt groggy and deflated - the clothes she wore had been grabbed thoughtlessly off the top of the clean washing hamper.

Linette didn’t look good, at all, and he had just pulled his black Semi into the truck stop.

He, who had an American accent, a full sleeve of brooding black ink tattoos, and a defined five o'clock shadow that made something primal inside her purr.

He, who had blue eyes, brown hair, and a permanent scowl that etched itself into the center of all her silly, girlish fantasies for the last four months.

He, whose name Linette didn’t know, was mysterious and new and scary in a way that thrilled her from the inside out.

Who could blame a girl for craving something fresh in the monotonous nothingness that came with life in a desert town hours away from anything important?

The shrill ting ting ting of the little ringer at the counter being hit impatiently three times snapped Linette out of her fussing, the girl giving her hair one last pass over in the mirror as she called out.

“Coming!”

The door to the bathroom bumped heavily as Linette hurried out, pretending to dry her hands on the front of her singlet. Blush stung inside her cheeks as she walked toward the counter.

A grunt and the sound of heavy boots shifting on the floor came before his voice.

“Sorry, kid. Thought it was the old fella on today.”

The nickname heated her up. She almost fell over her own feet when the rubber soles of her sneakers caught on the slippery tiles. When she cleared her throat to speak, her voice came out in mumbles.

“ ‘s all good. Ben’s off sick, I’ve been holding down the Servo for him. Pump five?”

Linette lifted her head to look him right in the eye, acting braver than she felt.

He was wearing a cap, gray, with the name of some sports team she didn’t recognize embroidered on the front. His buzz cut had grown out since last time he was at the stop, five o'clock shadow turning into a real beard, all filled out, thick and dark with no irregular patches.

That was how Linette knew he must be older, much older, than her. Boys her age who were trying to grow out their first beards always looked scraggly and gross, like they’d cut off their pubes and glued them to their face in uneven clumps. His beard was nothing like that. He was nothing like that.

Everything about him was mature and distinguished, polished in a finish of radiant masculinity that made Linette want to sink into a dependent puddle at his feet.

Even his mesh of black tattoos looked classic, and tattoos were something that, right up until seeing him for the first time, Linette had absolutely hated; taking them as a red flag of insecurity and a person’s incomplete sense of self.

On him, they looked downright lickable.

Him being the most beautiful man she’d ever seen outside of a TV screen certainly helped compel her intense attraction - but, for Linette, his voice was the nail in the coffin. Low, slow, smooth and rumbling, tinged with an accent she didn’t know how to place. She wanted to listen to him talk for hours.

The spot between his eyebrows pinched as he stooped to lean his elbow on the counter. The cut off black teeshirt he wore looked like it was fighting to stay together around the bulge of his bicep as it flexed while he held out his card for her to take.

The shimmering shift of his tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept his card through the slot on the side of the machine without so much as glancing at the amount due.

The payment was approved immediately.

“He’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of disapproval and concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel soft as she handed him back his card over the counter.

The tip of his index finger caught off the underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

Linette had to lock her shoulders back to keep herself from shuddering.

Her voice was embarrassed and quiet in her throat when she replied. “I’m twenty one. I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you can. You got anything behind the counter? Pepper spray? A gun?”

He slotted his card back into a neat, folding leather wallet as he questioned her. Linette watched the deft flick of his thick fingers and suddenly her mouth felt dry.

“Nope. Have a panic button, though.”

Pushing the wallet back into the front pocket of his dark wash jeans, he let out a short, humorless huff.

“Panic button. Shit. What‘re you supposed to do between pressing that an’ waitin’ for the cops to pull up? Just gonna stand there, smile all pretty, hope some guy my size doesn't try to rob the place or do what he likes with you?”

Linette was struck silent by the question. She had wondered the same herself countless times, but never came to any sound, practical solution other than doing exactly what he had said; standing still and hoping nothing bad happened to her in specific.

She shrugged hopelessly.

He looked at her. It was a long, strange stare that Linette didn’t know how to understand.

Eventually, he shook his head and sighed.

“What am I gonna do with you, kid?”

[hivefleet-hellbender]

Out in the desert, no one can find you... (Hex Tiles 1)

A sharp wind whistles through the desert dunes, bringing no reprieve to the travelers following the thin paths left out in the sand. Don't drink from the river — the plants that grow along its shores contain toxins that could leave a grown man coughing up blood, and chemical spills float through the current. A faraway road carries the rare drone-tank, long abandoned from any sort of human use.

My newest hobby, to distract myself on months when the purse is a bit too tight to be buying plastic crack from Games Workshop, is to build modular hex tiles! It's super easy — I pick up a hundred of these wooden MDF tiles from Amazon for $10 (they're advertised as 2", but they're 1.75" from tip to tip, and each side is 1"), grab any spare craft supplies I have lying around, and get to work! They're super quick (this first batch of one hundred took me around a week) and they open the door to a lot of cool experimentation. A lot of this is inspired by the work of u/Marcus_Machiavelli over on Reddit, who makes these fantastic modular hive city components that I hope to someday be able to emulate. 

I'm making these for two purposes, neither of which I've put in practice yet but I'm hoping to get to do at some point. They're for:

Any mass-battle games played at 6mm. This could also work for Adeptus Titanicus or the upcoming Epic reboot that Games Workshop is working on. 

Tactical TTRPGs like Lancer that are played with large beings, who can operate on a 6mm scale.

Once I get some games in with them, I'm sure I'll encounter future problems and reassess how I approach them. But for now, this is what I've got!

I Hate Sand

The first set of tiles I made, to serve as the backdrop for the rest of them, are these sand tiles. I chose to make this a desert (and thus make a bunch of sand tiles) because I already had some sand lying around, and because it's really cheap and easy to work with. Be careful though! Anakin was right; sand sucks. Try and pick up a finer grain than what I went with, apply the sand in a more-controlled location than I did, and secure it better than I did too. But here's how I did them:

Coat the surface of the hex with a mix of PVA glue and water.

Sprinkle on a light dusting of gravel or small rocks.

Apply a thick coat of sand on top of the gravel.

Knock off excess sand and recycle it for next time.

Spray with 1-2 layers of varnish. (I would recommend a sealant instead, but I didn't have any at the time)

For the ones with little paths on them, I painted the path on with White before applying the gravel or sand, and it shows through well enough! The paths are unnecessary — they're a fun experiment, but I don't think I'll be making more of them in the future.

The Gurgling Creek

Making the river tiles was a bit more involved, but still pretty easy. The method I came up with I think looks a lot better than just painting on water, and is a lot easier to work with than resin or water effects. 

Use some kind of texture gel to build up the riverbanks, trying to have them end around 1/4" on the sides of the tiles where you want your river to connect.

Paint a strip Black where you want the river to flow, running from one edge to another.

Apply sand as before, everywhere except where you painted the black. (If you're worried about fucking this up, you can swap the order)

Varnish (or use sealant) as before. 

Take some gloss mod podge and mix it with a light blue paint, and apply in large goopy quantities everywhere you want water to be. Leave overnight to dry. (If you want the river to be less cloudy, apply many thin coats of mod podge instead, letting each layer dry before applying the next)

As an extra, stipple green along the edges of the water and use a dark green wash to create patches of vegetation.

The river pieces are my favorites, and I'm the most proud of them. The tiny bridge was a thin strip of balsa wood, painted white and then washed black. It turned out fine.

I did a solid mix of straight river pieces and curving river pieces. If I was going to do it again I'd make more curving pieces than straight river pieces, because the curving ones make more sense for how rivers work.

The Road To Nowhere

These road tiles turned out really well, perfect for a run-down highway in the middle of nowhere. Here's how I made them:

Take a piece of corkboard and cut it down to be 1.75" long and 1" wide.

Glue it on a hex with the two edges of the corkboard touching two sides of the hex.

Go at the edges with a knife, making it all worn down and busted up.

In some of these spots, I fucked up and glued the corkboard on wrong. To fix that, break off a chunk and reposition it so it'll connect correctly. This will look like a big fat crack in the middle of the road, which is perfect.

Coat in a layer of mod podge or PVA glue. Leave to dry.

Once dry, paint the cork entirely Gray.

Drybrush White onto the corkboard, focusing on the edges and exposed spots.

Paint two thin yellow lines along the middle of the road. (These are optional, but they do a lot to make the 6mm scale convincing)

Apply sand, as before, onto the ground and up the sides of the road, so it looks like the road is emerging from the sand. Maybe apply some sand in a couple spots in the cracks to make it look like the sand has gotten in there.

Varnish and/or sealant, as before.

Apply a Black wash to the road. (There's a lot of tricks here! If you want the yellow stripes to be more vibrant, you can only paint them on after the first black wash. You can also target spots of sand on the road to make it look like it's asphalt runoff, soaking black into the cracks.)

Apply a second Black wash to the road. 

The bridge was a bit more complicated, and took some finicky positioning and a trip to Kung-Fu Tea.

Take a boba tea straw and cut it into 1" segments, then cut them in half, gluing them to the middle of the hex as culverts.

Take corkboard and glue it over the culverts, bending it so it meets the two edges you want the bridge to run along. If it breaks, that's okay — this is a crumbling, middle-of-nowhere bridge.

Use texture gel and spare corkboard to fill in the gaps.

Use texture gel to define the steep edges of the river. Apply a little bit in between the culverts.

Do all the road steps to the road part of the bridge, and all the river steps to the river part of the bridge.

I'm exceedingly proud of the bridge hex. It turned out perfectly, and feels very emblematic of what I want this project to be like.

Why You, Too, Should Make 6mm Terrain

6mm terrain is amazing to make. Mistakes look like part of the landscape or the brain smudges them over due to the small size, and small changes look like fascinating little details. It really opens the imaginative space and I absolutely adore working at this scale. Plus I'm developing a ton of experience with various materials I've never worked with before, so I get to enjoy the triumph of carving foam or corkboard. It rules! I might even try to make a 28mm bridge after the success I had making a 6mm one.

My future plans for this project include cliffs, craters, 3D-printed shantytowns, and overpasses. But all that is for a later date — for now I'm gonna rest on my laurels, and spend the rest of the evening reconfiguring various tile combinations and cackling like a mad scientist.

[needfantasticstories]

Blood and Blade, Chapter 10: Desert Ruby

by SkipBreaker (aka needfantasticstories)

Summary:

Legend gets to meet the Gerudo of Wild's era. (Fun fact! So far, in his games, Legend has never met Gerudo people besides Ganondorf and Twinrova!) This should be fun, right?   THANK YOU CHEETO!!!!!!! THE Beta ever!!!!!!! Crack TW: very relatable technology issues. (Qar, Riju would punch the screen.) Real TW: discussions of gender and sexism, some descriptions of arrow-wound care on a child

Desert Ruby 

Deep sand dunes clawed at Legend’s Pegasus boots, slowing him. Waning afternoon sunlight baked his hands and face, yet the veteran forged on with a vengeance across the scorching grains. The breeze created from his reckless forward run helped soothe only some of the desert’s blistering heat. He hoped it was enough for the girl; he could worry about healing his own sunburns later.

The scorching sun inched lower behind him, still hours short of sunset.

Through dancing vapors of heat, the city walls drew nearer. A humble, arched gate on the western wall greeted him. Unseen streams whispered somewhere nearby, cooling the air around the city.  Within the archway, sparkling cool blue and green tiles decorated the walls and small pools of water. 

Legend sighed in relief. Wild spoke highly of his Gerudo, especially compared to the Gerudo tribe of Time’s stories, who seemed to hate Hylians. Legend waved to the guards and hurried to pass through.  a request for aid on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he froze when the towering women shoved speartips against his chest.

“Wha–”

“No voe allowed!” snarled a veiled guard. If the blademasters were “strong” then these women were the equivalent of bipedal chain-chomps. Muscled arms flexed, and their boulder-firm stances left no question as to their capabilities. The guard on the left glared, and her drawn brows twitched as if she itched for him to give her any reason to run him through. 

He glared back at her, and resisted the urge to leap over the gate. Fresh off multiple fights for his life, what was one more, if it came to it… but what then? Jostle the girl further in a mad dash with no destination? Delay getting her aid? He could not solve this with a fight. 

‘Smile, and assume incompetence over malice,’ Zelda would remind him in moments like this, on those rare occasions she’d tasked him to guard her throughout tense diplomatic meetings. 

He could do this. This was simply a puzzle, not a fight.   

Legend took a slow step back and turned to reveal the child’s face and her injuries, her breath shallow and labored on his ear. 

Their horrified gasps would have been satisfying if not for the girl’s groan at the sudden motion. 

“Wait here until I call the healers.” The guard lowered her spear by mere inches and blew a tiny whistle with three long calls.  

At last, she lowered her weapon and the guards helped him ease the child atop a blanket one of them produced. Legend stepped back and let his legs collapse. He knelt in the sand a moment, watching them carefully ease the girl to rest on her side. The arrow wounds looked more shallow than he’d first feared, at least—none of them shot at close range thanks to their wild descent—but it was little consolation when he could see her bleeding and shivering. 

“Here. Healing potion,” Legend staggered to his feet and poured some on his blistered hand for them to see. He knew his era’s potions looked different than Wild’s. The healer snatched it as soon as the wound faded. 

Legend watched, unable to help further but unwilling to look away as each arrow came free. Instead, the veteran fisted the dense weave of his tunic as she bit down her pain. He could have done more. 

She took it all with a courage he admired. And, she was right. Gerudo were tough .  

At last, the red-tipped arrows lay discarded on the ground beside the empty bottle of healing potion. Legend rested again in the sand just outside the gate, watching the little girl breathe  deeply in her sleep, safe in the shade.  

One of the guards turned to him with a softened expression. Not a smile, but not aggressive. “Thank you, young voe, for rescuing her. Buliara has been frantic over her disappearance,” she said with a sad shake of her head, “She’s very close to her nieces. I’m sorry we can’t allow you inside, or I’d buy you a drink myself.” She leaned closer. “Although,” she whispered, “You could do what another voe warrior does and buy a convincing vai set. Not many voe can pull it off, but I suspect you could do better than most, especially with that pink in your hair.”

Voe. That word again. 

Oh .

A man. 

He had found an entire civilization that hated him, helping the little girl notwithstanding. Legend regretted not grilling Wild about his era as soon as they’d come. He couldn’t even restock here, couldn't rest, might as well move on. Legend looked back at the wavering ocean of sand waiting for him to search. But where? Not back to the Yiga base. To Hyrule castle, perhaps, to find Wild’s Zelda? To Wild’s house in Hateno, the only place they’d spend time in their short visit before? Legend had no map, and such a lush village as Hateno must be hundreds of miles away. 

The guards looked relieved when he asked for directions to both the castle and Hateno. 

The guard who answered, one with short hair who wore it loose, pointed towards the far side of town. “There’s an oasis a few hours ahead where you can resupply, then a Hylian-run stable at the mouth of the canyon. Follow the canyon for a few days, cross Digdogg Bridge, on your first left is another stable. Return to the road going east, then beyond the coliseum ruins–”

Colosseum ruins… Legend’s heart sank at the words. 

“Take the road north. You will see the castle. For Hateno, stay on the path instead of going north. You will find stables to rest in  along the way. It’s a two week journey, at least, for most travelers. Best of luck.” 

Legend saw a pair of green eyes staring at him. The girl rested, perfectly still, as her caregivers whispered above her. He waved a small goodbye. She lifted two fingers in answer. 

“Yari!” A booming voice called from within the walls, and Legend stared as a massive Gerudo warrior collapsed at the girl’s side, her spear clattering on the packed earth. She wrapped the girl in a bear hug that might have killed the poor child if she hadn’t been healed first.

She would be just fine. A smile tugged at Legend’s mouth, though accompanied by a pang of jealousy. He missed his own brothers, and especially Hyrule, and the certainty of knowing they were all okay. 

“I’m glad I got to see that, at least,” Legend told the guard as he took his leave. 

She smiled as she waved. 

Hot wind blew sand across the barren path ahead. He took one uncertain step. Two steps into the arid desert, the first steps of his next journey, and paused. 

It felt more than lonely, without the girl on his back or brothers at his side or even his fairy companion from years ago. It felt more than daunting, with his skin already pink from the burning sun. It simply felt… empty. 

“Buliara, that voe is the one who brought Yari back.” Called the guard he’d just said goodbye to.

“You!” the newcomer, Buliara, barked at him from the entrance. “Young voe! Explain.” 

Legend slowly pivoted, hoping he would see someone who could help rather than hinder his quest. He took in her stern expression, and her rosy floral silks clasped in place with golden plates of armor, royaly jeweled. Legend wondered, if he faced her in the fighting colosseum, if he could even win.  

Buliara eyed him skeptically in return. “What were you doing inside the Yiga base? How did you find her?” 

To his own surprise, he rather liked this woman’s simmering rage; it was refreshing, somehow, and it matched his own. And, despite her people’s appalling sexism, she knew Wild’s world far better than he did. Honesty, it is , he decided.

“The Yiga ambushed my brothers and I, along with some demon, those bastards–” He was surprised at the slight wince the guards gave. Then again, with that much jewelry, Buliara could actually be royalty. Court voice , he decided. He explained, much more formally this time, the basics of the ambush that morning. “We reappeared deep within a cave complex in the canyon in that direction. Unfortunately, the demon did not appear there, the one who took my brother. I thought he was in the caves too, but I searched the whole complex, and even the Yiga did not know where they’d gone. I found Yari in the dungeon, and we made our escape together.” He paused to sip from his waterskin, at long last. It gave the guards a chance to whisper back and forth as he washed hot grit from his throat. “Now,” he added, “I still need to find my brother, wherever the demon took him, and return to our companions.”

“You say the Yiga are in league with a… demon?” Buliara scowled, and for the life of him Legend could not discern what it meant. But every guard and nosy civilian gathering near the gates to watch the commotion had also flinched at the word as she said it.

“Yes. Tall, thin, white hair and clothes. Do you know anything about demons, or where to find them?”

“We are no demon tribe!” One of the guards glared at Legend. “Have you come here to brazenly insult us with old prejudices?” 

“No!” Buliara cut her off, stepping between them. “I believe they are earnest, and clearly a stranger to our history and our culture,” She eyed his clothes with something akin to amusement. Legend stood a bit taller. She nodded with something like approval, some decision reached. “The increasing brazenness of the Yiga clan may be explained by what he has seen; if there is such a monster among them, we must know. I will take you to our Chief. She should hear of this.” Buliara beckoned him to follow, and in one graceful motion she hoisted her sleeping niece into her arms like she weighed no more than a rabbit. Yari settled back to sleep almost instantly.

Legend hesitated, eyeing the guards. “As much as I’d like to brag that I got invited to your super-exclusive city, I really need to get back to my brothers. Do you know a man named Link?”

“Ah! The one with the vai clothes!” the guard whispered to her companion, much too loudly. 

So, that’s what those silks were for? Wild wore them to get in? Legend suppressed a laugh. “I need to tell Link where I am. Do you have a way to contact that slate device he uses?”

“You know him, and the Sheikah slate?” Buliara considered him anew. “Lady Riju might know a way to contact him. You get to enter our exclusive city after all.” Buliara rolled her eyes, “Now put on decent clothes, for Nabooru’s sake. That dress is too thick for our sun, and we can’t let our citizens see a voe within the gates. Here. change quickly.” And she handed him a handful of soft fabric from her pouch. Like his own pouch, it was small but carried far more than its size implied. 

“Uh, am I supposed to change here?”

She pointed to a gap behind some crates just inside the gates, and joined the other guards in shooing away the chittering crowd and telling them he was, in fact, a vai in disguise. Yari remained fast asleep on her shoulder. 

Legend palmed the soft clothing she offered and walked behind the crates, and carefully examined each piece. 

He took out his rok cape, briefly entertaining the idea of climbing a wall and soaring with the magical item to the palace without the grumpy soldiers hovering, but he did not particularly want to get on her bad side. He changed quickly, missing his skirt until he slipped into the silk pants, shimmying into the top and instantly feeling cool relief from the heat. 

They felt… nice , he admitted in the privacy of his mind. I’m keeping these . 

Buliara pointed to the gate, now cleared of spectators. “This way.” 

Legend was never one to commit halfway. He swayed a little as he walked, trying to copy the sea-like gait of the vai filling the narrow street. If he was going to do this, he’d do it right , Hylia damn him. 

Passing through alleys, all tiled in colorful mosaic designs, they soon entered a large plaza.

Canvas-covered shops lined the adobe town square, and shopkeepers reclined on rich carpets in the shade behind unfamiliar wares. They didn’t bother shouting, there were customers aplenty, Gerudo and Hylian and bird-like creatures and gorons all milling around curiously. The sun had a smothering effect, even in the cooling silks. This market would be a tough place for a thief to steal, so spread out were the stalls, and with so many eyes on one another’s customers. 

Behind the shops, soft susurrations promised more waterways running somewhere behind the low walls, and cool air drifted into the plaza from above. Or he thought, until they passed water streaming from atop the wall itself into a mosaic-lined pool, the water diverted underground, but so close below he could still hear it as they entered the main plaza. 

The central walkway to the palace was flanked by palm trees, and the water was exposed again between the walkways, joined by two wide waterfalls flowing down blue-tiled steps, all leading up to the adobe palace and its towering crown of stone pillars, bulbous at the top. A shimmering cascade flowed down like a divine gift from the sun goddess itself. Perhaps it was. Hylia was a strange goddess.

Sellers and Gerudo customers called familiar greetings to Buliara as they aimed for the palace steps. Curious eyes turned to him with open curiosity. Legend reflexively covered the scars of the trident on his chest and stared at the shimmering pools of water to keep himself from glaring back at their shameless gawking. 

Stepping into the shade at the top of the palace steps, Legend finally sighed in relief, free of the sun and stares and the exhausting performance of walking in the awkward, foot-tilting shoes he’d only seen women of the court don for galas and balls. He missed his boots. 

The little girl stirred in Buliara’s arms, and she whispered quiet greetings and comforts to the girl and held her closer. The girl settled, and watched Legend through heavily lidded eyes as they entered the Palace. Her gaze moved to his hair. She seemed uncertain. Legend resisted the urge to look around the opulent palace and waved at her instead. She smiled back at him, and closed her eyes.

“You found her!” Came a young woman’s voice, older than Yari’s but far higher than any of the guards. Legend begged his eyes to adjust faster. 

Buliara dropped to one knee—spear braced in one hand and little Yari snuggled in the other—and bowed with only her knees. “Chief Riju, my niece is safely returned, and I present to you her rescuer.”

The tall throne, carved in ancient script like a monument, was fitted with a sort of wooden booster seat and small steps to accommodate the girl sitting in it. She lifted her gaze from some papers in one hand, her radiant gold headpiece–that looked much too large for her head—wobbling as she looked up. 

“Praise all the sacred mothers!” The bejeweled girl looked relieved to see the child resting in Buliara’s arms. She faced Legend. “And who is our brave heroine?”

“Forgive me, Chief Riju, but I will personally vouch for this particular voe.”

“Oh!” The Chief gasped, and she laughed, light and airy, like the way Zeldas sometimes did when her courtly mask slipped. Several nagging worries evaporated with the sound. Riju straightened her headpiece from where it had fallen forward a little. “Well, she’s—I mean he’s not the only one, is he?” 

Chief Riju slid off the throne and examined his eyes as she approached, as if trying to see the clues to some mystery. Her smile was open and unguarded, and refreshing. She reached for his hands and he readily offered them. She smiled even wider at his compliance, and held his hands earnestly as she spoke. “Thank you, young voe! Buliara has been inconsolable. She had all the troops gathered when the news of your arrival came. Please accept this in thanks.” 

She pressed into his hand something heavy and warm. He knew better than to refuse a gift, so he bowed in thanks and peeked at it before stowing it subtly away: it was the warmest, heaviest ruby he’d ever seen, a gem that would have Ravio begging to buy it for crafting some new magic item… if he ever found out about it. 

When he looked up again, Chief Riju was still staring. The chief blushed as she seemed to realize it herself. “Please forgive me, but you look so much like a very dear friend.”

“You mean Link, right? Hero of the Wilds?”

Riju’s open smile snapped into a frown. “You know him?”

“We were traveling together. He’s probably looking for me, and our brother.”

“I would like to know how you came to know Link, and of the Sheikah slate he carries.” Buliara asked, failing at keeping her tone neutral. 

Their guards were up again. With enemies like the Yiga and that pale demon, Legend didn’t blame their suspicions. He knew the risks of shapeshifters and possessing spirits all too well. 

Buliara did not wait for an explanation. “Chief Riju, I brought him here to his tale of encountering the Yiga, and his rescue of Yari, and his journey with our mutual friend. But he also claims to have seen–” Buliara paused and whispered it in Riju’s ear.

“What? What sort of… As in the ancient… does Link know?”

“We should listen to his report.”

They both turned to him.

“Please, share your tale.”

“It’s… it’s a bit hard to believe, but…” Hylia, where to start? “Are you very familiar with portals that can move you, not to different places, but to different times ?” 

An uncomfortable silence fell as Riju blanched. “Yes.”

Legend began alowl, awkwardly, as awkward as the day he first stumbled through a portal and his confusing meeting with Hyrule and the black eye the traveler gave him. But as he spoke the story wove itself more easily: meeting the others, the sha-shifting creatures of dark magic and the monsters it infected, the ambush, the teacher and the mage, finding Yari, their escape, and finall to the moment he arrived at their gate.

The only interruption was when he shared their nickname for Wild.

Buliara laughed, “That’s quite fitting. He smells like a wet dog and muddy leaves most days, especially when he’s been around his wolf.”

Legend stored that intriguing comment to ask Wild and Twilight about later.  

A long silence followed the end of his tale. 

“Wait here,” Riju ordered, and she marched past her throne, and disappeared behind it. From behind the monument of a seat came a cacophony of thumps and bumps and clacks, of some jumble of items being pulled around.

“Chief Riju, please be careful!” Buliara hissed, trying not to wake her stirring niece.“Purah has yet to repair it.” 

Riju ignored her. 

Legend waited with growing dread, fingers itching to reach for his pack in case things went… well, as they often did: sideways. Had he said something to make them think he was secretly an enemy? Why was the Chief so upset about time-travel? He ran through all his words, but exhaustion had long since taken the edge off his mind. He sat, and drew slow, calming breaths. Nothing was wrong, not yet . Wild trusted them, and though their auras were not overwhelming like the mage, he could still feel them, fresh but strong like rainstorms. 

Riju emerged at last. Her arms overflowed with a tangle of wires and cords, small stones and crystals and metal coils. Screws dropped from the mass as Riju moved. “She said it could still connect to the Princess’s, so I’ll risk it.” Riju answered her guard, dropping the bundle on her booster-throne. “We don’t have the technology or spells for time-travel,” And she mumbled, “Not in this version of our history.” And she stopped, sighed deeply, and continued louder, “However, we can travel and contact each other across great distances, thanks to the Sheikah technology the princess and Link have rediscovered.” The young chief pulled out what looked like a slimmer version of Wild’s fromslate amid the nest of cords. She studied it, her nose wrinkled in deep concentration, scanning the slate with uncertainty, and finally she pressed something on it. 

“Your majesty, wait!” Buliara yelled, momentarily distracted by setting down her niece, but too late. A jolt of blue light pulsed from the crystals and stones, along the wires and cords, and promptly faded before reaching the slate itself. 

Riju frowned, and Buliara sighed in relief. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked. 

“Oh, by all the mothers!” Riju grumbled, and held up the slate in one hand. With the other hand raised in an elegant pinch, she snapped . 

OceanThunderHyruleWhere!? Legend’s mind scrambled for understanding as light consumed his vision.  

When color at last bled into view again, Riju stood with the slate glowing softly in her hands, the wires and stones dangling from it pulsing steadily with a now-familiar blue glow. 

“R… ch… Rij—” A crackled voice spoke from the stone. “Chief Riju, is that–worki—gain?”

“Princess!” the girl shouted. “Princess, I have found someone you should meet! He says he knows Link!”

“l—be there as soo—ake care of—oon–here me? –e on our way there,” a barely intelligible chorus of voices crackled in reply from the various stones.  

“I do hope that means they’re coming,” Riju furrowed her brow, but the optimistic smile at the corner of her mouth never dissipated. 

Hylia, why does she remind me so much of Hyrule? And the princess was coming? Legend could have cried in relief. She’d have answers. They always did.

As guards marched out to meet the Princess, and attendants brought refreshments, the trio waited on a collection of plush cushions and carpets set to one side of the court. Legend made use of the damp towels provided to wipe his face as the late afternoon sun peeked below the window tops, inescapable.

[yanderecrazysie]

Crucify (Yandere Todoroki Shoto)

Requested on Quotev!

Title: Crucify

Pairings: Todoroki Shoto x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, quirkless AU, bullying (not towards reader), OOC Shoto, mentions of abuse, delinquent reader

Summary: All Shoto wants is someone to come to his rescue.

“Every finger in the room is pointing at me

I wanna spit in their faces, then I get afraid of what that could bring

I got a bowling ball in my stomach

I got a desert in my mouth

Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets”

-from “Crucify” by Tori Amos

Todoroki Shoto had once been known as the quiet, stoic, and somewhat rude, handsome outcast throughout the school. He was an odd boy without any friends, but everyone left him alone. It was a peaceful life.

Everything changed when his dad was arrested. He went from outcast to the number one target for bullies. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he was sure that he hated this change.

Wasn’t it enough to have to survive everything his father put him through? Couldn’t he get a break, some sympathy, from his classmates?

Apparently not.

Most of the bullying occurred behind closed doors, when no one but his tormentors were around. He preferred it that way- no one around to watch him suffer. He was sure that’d be worse than the bullying itself.

He went home with his stomach a constellation of bruises, wishing he could tell his mother but not wanting to burden her with the knowledge when she was already dealing with so much. With no one to go to, he suffered in silence, only letting the tears escape when he was completely alone.

But at least no one else knew of his plight. That would just make him more pathetic than he already was.

“Hey Shoto- how’s your dear old dad doing? Hope he hasn’t dropped the soap yet, am I right?”

Shoto stiffened as one of his worst bullies sidled up behind him, flanked by two other equally-intimidating boys. His heart dropped.

Not in front of everyone, please, anywhere else…

The bully’s voice was loud enough that people’s heads were turning to face the drama. Shoto could feel his cheeks burning as panic began to seize hold of him. He silently begged the bullies to do this later, when they were alone, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“Did your daddy do this to you?”

Shoto was suddenly shoved roughly to the ground, landing hard on his back and cracking his head against the sticky cafeteria tile. His vision spun as his bullies towered above him, beginning to laugh at his pathetic state.

To his horror, they weren’t the only ones laughing. In fact, the mocking noise was spreading across the room like wildfire, burning Shoto to his core and making bile rise in his throat. This was the worst case scenario.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t-

“Awww, is itty bitty Shoto about to cry? How saaaaaad.”

Tears filled his eyes and he desperately willed them back as he tried to stand. One of the bullies firmly placed his sneaker on Shoto’s chest, forcing him back onto the ground. One tear slipped out and, as if a switch had been flipped, more followed quickly after.

It happened in an instant. One moment, his bully loomed over him, the next, his blond hair stuck to his face, wet and stained with chocolate. The bullies scurried out of the way to face their next target.

You stood there, looking both pissed and bored at the same time, holding an empty chocolate milk carton in one hand, the other placed on your hip.

“What’s wrong with you all? Bullying someone because their dad abused them? How is that his fault? How pathetic are you?”

Shoto watched in awe as you barked out your questions, the bullies flinching with each word and backing away from you. Your facemask had been pulled down so you could tear into them even more.

“Get lost, losers. Pick on someone your own size or, better yet, go look in the mirror at your pathetic, ugly faces and punch yourself in the balls before I do.”

The boys hurried away, giving you one last timid look as you crushed the carton in your hand and tossed into the nearby trash can. 

Shoto recognized you as one of the school delinquents. One that nobody messed with.

And you had defended him?

“Thank you,” he managed to get out, eyes shining no longer with tears, but with admiration.

“Yeah, whatever.” You shrugged and turned around, walking away without a care in the world.

Shoto wanted to be like you- he wanted to scare away his bullies with just one glare. He wanted to be untouchable.

No, there was something deeper to his wishfulness. It wasn’t just that he wanted to be like you, more like he wanted to be with you. You could protect him and he could… well, he didn’t know what he could do in return, but he’d do just about anything to make it up to you.

From that moment on, Shoto couldn’t get you out of his mind. Your harsh words, the way you looked at him softly after tearing apart his bullies, the way you protected him.

He wasn’t the type to talk much, but he had so many things he wanted to say to you. He wanted to thank you again and again, yes, but he also wanted to express just how much he admired you, on the brink of obsession.

He began to watch you walk around the school. Follow you even.

He loved the way you didn’t seem to care about anyone you passed by. He craved that indifference but he also wanted you to notice him. Talk to him. Love him.

Maybe he’d have to work harder to get your attention.

[melmedarda]

@meljaymicrofics ⸻ heatwave ⸻ wc: 975 ⸻ rated G

It’s insufferable.

Air too thick in her lungs, her throat and nose close around every inhale. Rebel with every exhale. Perhaps this is how she’ll die.

The woman on the television has a pretty, plastic smile on her face, make up perfect. Face without the sheen of sweat as she announces the weather report in her perfect, near robotic voice. Mel has never hated a woman more.

Hot winds blowing up towards the isthmus from the deserts of Shurima threaten to make this summer the hottest we’ve seen. With record breaking temperatures of 311K and above, the costal cities of Krexor, Holdrum, Piltover, Rokund, Trannit, and Zaun are facing several heatwaves in the summer season. This is Lady Sempescu with PNN, live from—”

The tele blinks off, Mel’s hand tight on the remote. Held like a spear, handled like a weapon within her grip.

There’s no one she can go to. Mel has few friends enough as it is, and the few she has are busy. Elora’s gone to some convention in Noxus. She hasn’t heard from Samira for upwards of two months, which means she’s on assignment. Shoola’s gone to Camavor on vacation, and she’d jump into the Pilt before ever asking Salo for a favor. And then, there is the manor.

She entertains the idea, stripped down to the barest of clothing. Reclined on the cool tile of the apartment, she relishes the feel of it against her heated skin. Stares at the ceiling and thinks of her childhood room in her too quiet apartment. Thinks of a place that has not been home for a long while now.

They have working AC there, no doubt. Ambessa would not tolerate anything otherwise. But if Mel was to leave Midtown Heights and return home, her mother would give her the look. The look which communicated that Ambessa was right, and that Mel should have never moved out in the first place.

Mel had left home to escape her mother’s controlling hand in her life. Tolerating Ambessa was much like this heatwave. Oppressive. Suffocating and smothering. Mel had worked hard to escape; to return for any would be humiliating. Not when she worked so hard to escape her mother’s world.

Mel would never live it down.

She calls the Midtown Heights office again, bare foot tapping impatiently as the line rings. Her skin is cooler after standing in front of her open freezer for some relief. But her core temperature is rising now, and her temper with it. Finally, she gets someone.

“Good morning, Midtown Heights Luxury Apartments, how may I help you?” the operator says. The cheeriness in her voice makes Mel want to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“Hello, this is Ms. Medarda, from the penthouse suite 1004. I’m calling to inform you of a issue with the air conditioning… yes, I left a message two days ago and have not heard back. Is the maintenance man available to come up today? Yes, please do. Thank you. You too.”

She’s near peeling her skin off her body by the time she hears the doorbell. The sky is too blue outside the large floor to ceiling windows, not a cloud on the horizon. The sun blinds, unrepentant. Beside her, the box of ice cream she’d picked up from the mart is half finished, containing a pool of melted Noxian citrus ice cream.

Mel opens the door and immediately, heat swirls and builds beneath her skin. The handyman is a vision. Smoking hot, as Samira would say. He smiles at her, and she feels his eyes rove over her as well. They leave a trail of new heat in their wake.

And Mel’s not one to feel embarrassed or self-conscious, but she cannot help her acute awareness of the too short night slip she wears, and the near sheerness of the material. Of how sweaty she is. Of how far from appropriate this situation is. Of how deeply the heat has addled her brain, because she realizes she hasn’t said anything as yet.

“Jayce Talis, Miss Medarda. Admin sent me to fix the HVAC?” Golden eyes flit back to her. Mel swallows thickly and nods, something bitter in her throat. Steps back. Opens the door wider to let him enter. Keeps her eyes on the deep blue of his henley as he walks past. She nearly swoons when he removes his work boots before stepping further into the house. Thoughtful.

He turns to face her, and Mel realizes she is simply standing. Watching. “Please, call me Mel.” Miss Medarda reminds too much of Ambessa. “And yes, the unit has been out for about two days. She gestures towards the hall, and he falls her through on near silent feet.

“It really is hot. Did you not want to go to a hotel until everything was fixed?” His curiosity betrays his real question. Why are you courting heatstroke by roasting in this glorified oven, no doubt.

“I have fish to feed,” is all she says as they pass her assortment of fans lining the hallway. “It’s just in here.” Her penthouse comes with a rooftop garden, within which the body of her problem lies. Jayce nods, and wordlessly gets to work.

She checks on him about 30 minutes later. Better clothes and bearing a glass filled with water and ice cubes. His broad back is the first thing the greet her, blue henley discarded. Then the toned muscles of his arms. Her eyes drink him in, greedy. A desire to paint overwhelms her. She says nothing, leaving the glass near enough that he might see it, and retreats into the house.

Perhaps she might see if there is anything else in the penthouse that needs…fixing.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

IOU. - OC Story

pairing: OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x MootOC!Valkyrie (platonic) extra: Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley words: 1.6k~ cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, torture and bodily harm (descriptive!), kidnapping, forced starvation, injuries, blood, use of weapons, thoughts of death/dying.

June 4th, 2021. Beirut, Lebanon 1156 hours.

"Valkyrie."

"Watcher."

"Where are you?"

"Currently getting falafel in a nice little food stand."

"So you're free?"

"Depending on the price, I might be."

"No government funds this time, Val."

"So you're paying for this out of pocket? How generous of you."

"Wiring you 25 now."

"Copy that. It just came in. Where's the target?"

"That's what I need you to figure out. One of my assets went dark in Turkmenistan."

"When do I leave?"

"Now."

"...Can I finish my lunch first?"

June 4th, 2021. Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. 2147 hours.

Val crouches down on the tiled rooftop, still warm from the sun that had shined down on it for nearly 16 hours straight during the day, their flashlight illuminating the path that indicated a scuffle, more than a few broken tiles, a few of them displaying bullet holes.

In their ear, an earpiece relayed the audio file that Laswell had sent, a voice they recognized very well coming through. The last comm Whiskey was able to send in before they went dark.

"WATCHER, COPY GODDAMN IT!"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST... THIS IS WHISKEY IN THE BLIND, IF ANYONE COPIES, PLEASE RESPOND."

She was out of breath, her voice uneven and loud, a clear sign that she was not just on the run, but definitely being shot at, if the loud bangs between the static of the lack of commands was any indication.

"MY LOCATION HAS BEEN COMPROMISED... ATTEMPTING EXFIL ON FOOT... CURRENTLY BEING PURSUIED... ENGAGING HOSTILES."

"SOUTHEAST BOUND... OUTNUMBERED... AND UNARMED... NEED NEAREST SAFEHOUSE LOCATION."

Valkyrie could hear the panic in the American's voice with each word she said. Val could almost picture it, each step she took, each rustle of clothes, each jump and vault she performed over the rooftops trying to make it across, as she was chased.

Restarting the audio, they started following the steps they assumed Whiskey took, through the broken tiles and gunshot holes, parkouring and vaulting walls and roofs, southeast bound, just like the American likely would've...

And the audio finished just at the same time as Val spotted it.

"AHHHHHHHHH! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!"

A large bloodstain on the tile beneath their feet, an attempt at dragging herself away, before being caught, and lifted, the blood splattering as someone carried her off.

Looking around, Val's eyes fixed on the street across the building, both their hands coming to rest on their hips. "Now what?" They murmured under their breath.

June 8th, 2021. Darvaza, Turkmenistan. 0303 hours.

She didn't know how long it had been.

The only sign that time was going by was whenever she'd pass out from exhaustion and dehydration, only to wake up again with a bucket of water being poured atop her, or a cheek-bruising slap being delivered to her face.

It had been a while since she found herself in this situation... and it might have been the delirium setting in, but she couldn't help but feel that she was rusty.

She used to be able to withstand torture sessions much more easily. If they could catch her, that is. She used to see enemies coming much easier than she did this time.

Hell, had Simon really softened her up so much? Or was she just getting old?

Not to say she had gotten weak, or stupid. She hadn't. She had followed procedure and kept her mouth shut. She had told them little else than her full name, her service number and her birthday.

Anything else they wanted? They might as well kill her because she wouldn't speak.

But she had to admit that it was getting to her. She didn't know when it started becoming too much, but it had.

Maybe it was how stuffy and hot the bunker was, in the middle of the stupid desert, God how she hated the summer and the heat...

Maybe it was the waterboarding.

Maybe it was the nail pulling.

Maybe the finger breaking.

Maybe the punches to the stomach until she was puking.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep.

Maybe the barely sutured GSW to the upper right thigh, which, sure they had sewn up, to keep her alive for long enough to interrogate, but that was just about where their hospitality ended, because they didn't provide any pain killers and left it to fester, still in her bloody clothes.

Maybe it was the sensory nightmare that was the sweat slicking her skin, and, oh, how soaked her compression leggings were, sticking to the sensitive skin on her legs.

Maybe it was when they hung her upside down for long, endless minutes, hoping the blood rushing down to her head, coupled with the lack of food, with create a cocktail of dizziness that would make her talk.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was when they tossed her on the back of a jeep and drove her out to the dunes in the desert and left her out there for what must have been multiple hours, under the scorching sun, feeling the sand burn against her face, her mouth gagged with cloth and hogtied like a pig, only to come collect her after a few hours, when she already had blisters of a nasty sunburn forming on the back of her neck, lower back and hands, after she had succeeded in rolling herself onto her stomach to protect her face and neck.

She barely registered the sound of gunshots outside the room, barely awake and shivering, running the nastiest fever of her fucking life, her head hanging low as she was tied to a chair in a room that might as well have been a furnace, baking under the hot sun and sand for the whole day.

The moment the lock is opened, Whiskey raised her head, her hair hanging over her eyes, her eyes squinting, trying to make out the shape at the door, but her eyes were too hazy and her head was throbbing.

"Back for more?" She used the last of her strength to taunt her kidnappers, like she had been for the entire time of her captivity.

She might have been worn down and at the end of her rope, but she'd go down her way... By being an absolute cunt until they put a bullet in her head to end her once and for all.

And when they disposed of her body somewhere in the desert, it wouldn't take long for them to be buried beside her. She knew Simon would make sure of it.

Simon... God, she missed him. What a terrible fucking start to their marriage. She was pretty sure this was not what a honeymoon in the desert is meant to look like.

"Holy shit, you look like crap." Was not the answer she expected, followed by the ropes binding her to the chair to be loosened.

Val knelt by Whiskey's feet, looking up at the brunette with knitted brows and compassionate brown eyes. "You alright?"

Valkyrie. Huh... Seemed like Laswell actually sent someone. Whiskey was starting to wonder if she'd just be considered a loss and left to rot here.

"Took your sweet time..." Whiskey croaked out, causing Val to chuckle and shake their head, their hands quickly undoing the restraints that kept her feet bound to the chair.

"Yeah, well, had to stop and sightsee a little bit, do all the touristy things... You know how it is." Valkyrie replied as they shifted their weight around and helped comb the hair off Whiskey's face. "Can you walk?"

Whiskey gulped a bit, dryly, and nodded, though, really, it was anyone's guess if she really had enough strength to make it from the chair to the door, let alone outside or to town or... god knows where they were.

Using her bloodied hands, she pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling violently from a mix of being light-headed and having been shot in the leg days ago, which caused Val's gloved hands to shoot forward to help stabilize her.

Whiskey knew better than to bat them off, especially now, when she knew she needed help. So, she wrapped an arm around Val's shoulders, and shifted her weight around on her leg.

"Thought you said you could walk?" Valkyrie teased a bit, causing Whiskey to groan and shoot them a look of pure rage.

"Shut..." The American grunted. "Just get me out of here..."

"Alright... Alright... Jeez, tough crowd." Val quipped as they began helping Whiskey out of the room and down the corridor. "You know, whatever you get paid for this, I hope you know it isn't enough to warrant going through torture..."

"Shut up and walk... or so help me God..." Whiskey grumbled.

June 8th, 2021. Tidworth, England. 1218 hours.

Val watched how the door to the helo was slid open, a couple of doctors and medics on the other side, already scrambling to help transfer Whiskey to a wheelchair, to take her in for further examination.

The doctors over at Izmir Air Station in Turkey, to which Val had taken Whiskey per Laswell's orders, had done little else than stabilize her and get her hydrated, fed and on medication, before transport was arranged back to England.

But they worried, of course they did. She was in a sorry fucking state... Even if she was alive and doing better than when Val first found her.

"Wait." She groaned at the doctors and raised her head to look at Val, beckoning them closer. "C'mere."

Val approached, only to have Whiskey's hand reach out to bring them close, allowing the American to whisper in their ear.

At first, they didn't know what was being said to them, just a string of nonsensical numbers that seemed to have no rhyme or reason...

Only for, as she pulled away, Whiskey to add:

"I owe you. Call me if you need anything."

for @superhero-landing because our OCs are basically ebsties from this point forth.

[raainberry]

Last Waltz

« A last dance refers to the final opportunity for someone to engage in or enjoy an experience before it ends. »

Spy!Yeji x Vigilente!reader

Angst

synopsis - you and yeji’s ambiguous rivalry gets tangled in a last waltz

wordcount - 1.9K

T/W - Violence (?), Blood (mentions), Death (allusion but not really)

A/N - In celebration of Itzy’s latest banger and Yeji’s solo, may I present to you my latest piece of work that i finished half an hour ago but started two weeks ago. I did not mean for it to be as dark but alas, the voices. Too late Enjoy!

You squinted your eyes as you looked through the glass ceiling.

It was hard to focus when your own reflection kept getting in the way, staring back at you within such an obscure silhouette.

You struggled to see past it at times, but the changes you witnessed were necessary. You needed to become someone else to take on such a mission.

Cold blood was the most difficult trait you had to develop, you hated feeling it running through your veins. It’s been years now, and you knew it would never go back to the way once was, back to normal: warm and senseless.

Now it seems as though it could only run in two extremes.

Ice cold, when facing the enemy. Whoever it was, you couldn’t bring yourseld to care. Getting them out of the way is all that matters.

Burning hot was a rare one. Losing your cool was something you forbid to yourself, or else you’d be as good as dead. It only happened twice, and twice you escaped death by what you could only take as pity.

If her tongue held itself back, her eyes made sure to let you know.

She could have easily killed you both times.

Third time’s a charm?

You wondered as you reminisced about Yeji’s figure the last time you’d crossed paths. She seemed so flawless from afar. The way her dress fit her body, an accomplice in the act she put on around all those unlawful citizens…

Both of you had a past, one that lead to very different paths until they became one in this hunt of evil.

The chase brought you together, got you close enough to dance around danger and betrayal for far too long.

As far as you “knew”, she was part of that ring, attached to that man’s arm like candy he waved around to subdue whoever he needed.

You couldn’t blame anyone involved, she was stunning. Strikingly gorgeous in both literal and figurative sense.

She wasn’t your target. She never was, but it seemed as though she decided to be. You always ended up fighting her instead of her boyfriend.

A too powerful ring leader, one that caused harm on a much bigger scale than any criminal should be able to.

You couldn’t help but wonder how she’d landed by his side.

Such talent. Such beauty. It was almost too pure of a stain in the midst of all this filth.

To some extent, it felt wrong to feel bad for her. You certainly regretted it when it caused you to lower your guard the first time. When you let that sweet, tempting smile lure you to the harmful consequences of a brainless heart.

Waking up in need of stitches to several spots on your face didn’t prevent you from lowering it again a second time, weeks ago. She’d become too familiar. You’d gotten too comfortable. The bathroom of an underground Gala would have become the stage to your public execution if it weren’t for the public itself.

“Get in my way again, I’ll take you out of it for good.” You remember hearing.

Her voice was distorted, taken over by the ringing in your ear as the cold tiles beneath kept you conscious.

The sound of her heels against them as she left… It was identical to the one that had followed you into this third meeting.

A once cold and deserted hotel in which heat and chaos had emerged as you made sure to take everything out of your way…

It was obvious there was no one to care for what was within these walls in years.

The curtains danced in the wind welcomed by the missing bay windows as you slowly walked alongside them. Each step offered a new view, new information to take in.

The moon highlighted the dust on the ground, various trash items undoubtedly accumulated by some brave and rowdy teenagers. You made sure not to kick any of it, mindful of your surroundings.

The dim emergency lighting made it difficult to assess them, but you remained focused. Broken chandeliers glimmered, fighting for your attention along with the detailed marble floors.

The design was sophisticated. A perfect, oddly beautiful ambush spot you’d willingly stepped right into.

All because of her.

The air suddenly felt cold on your face, allowing it to breathe after so long in that mask you proudly wore for years now.

It felt good. If only your lungs were allowed the same breath as the skin on your bruised cheeks.

You choked up, feeling a fifth punch landing on your jaw. Not that you kept count, you couldn’t even tell how many of your own fingers if you were to hold some of them up.

That girl could fight. She’d rightfully earned her title in your books, all you cared about at the moment was to make it out alive.

Not because you had to live, rather because you couldn’t give her the pleasure of seeing you surrender to her blows.

That kind of pleasure she only could relish from pride. It made your blood boil.

If you could just get everything to stop spinning… Maybe you could try to bruise that ego of hers.

“I have to say, Y/N, you got me used to better.” You heard her say. Her voice was distorted again. Almost unfamiliar if it weren’t for the echo in your mind. “Get yourself together.”

Her foot found your stomach, making you aware of how low you’d fallen. That last hit had sent you to the ground, and the kick only made you sink further into it.

The marble felt as good as it looked earlier; cold to the touch and so relieving to your burning, wounded skin, but the feeling startled you.

You couldn’t give up. Not against her.

So you listened to her, pushing yourself up to your knees, and sitting back on your heels. You were thankful she allowed it, but wondered what she had in mind.

Her eyes were darker than you remembered. They looked so pretty just a few weeks ago, you couldn’t blame yourself for falling for them.

“So much for not showing me mercy, Yeji.” A broken smile pulled on your lips in an attempt to taunt her.

Months of rivalry. You knew her patience ran as thin as a strand of her own hair.

“The spy I know would have broken my back already.”

The moonlight betrayed her cold features, shedding light on the way your words managed to get to her.

It was for a split second, but you caught that eye twitch. It filled your worn out body with hope. You still had a chance.

“Spy…?” She repeated, out of breath.

You knew this whole time? Or had you figured it out? If so, how? When?

She’s been undercover so many times before. This wasn’t her toughest job, but you sure made it difficult. As if getting in her way wasn’t enough, you’d now just revealed yourself to be a genuine threat to her mission.

In her eyes, it was a permission to kill.

“Get up.” She ordered through her teeth.

The weak chuckle you gave in response only riled her up. She didn’t know what was with you, but something made her want to push not only you but herself as well to your absolute limits.

Some vigilente popping out of nowhere, sabotaging plans she’d spend days on, ruining a reputation she spent years building within her division—she could never let you get away unscathed.

Much less alive now that you’d blown her cover.

Though, if this was the last time she’d fight you, she had to make the fun last.

She reached for the collar of the rough tactical gear you mainly wore to look the part, furrowing her eybrows at the feeling of the fabric.

She hated the sight of it. It was as though you were mocking her silently, replicating and treating her uniform as a mere costume.

Your body suddenly rose closer to her, her pull strong enough to hold it there as she stared right into your eyes.

“Fight me.”

If that last laugh of yours hadn’t used up most of your remaining strength, you’d have done it again.

Was she begging? It sure sounded like it. What you were sure of was she certainly intended for her words to come out as an order.

Unfortunately, her voice betrayed her the same way her eyes had.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose.”

You smiled. She knew you so well.

You’d caught enough of your breath to retaliate, grabbing her waist and leg in order to pull her to the ground.

She barely had time to blink that her back hit the floor, the latter knocking the wind out of her lungs. The bit of air she managed to gasp for was soon trapped when your arm found her throat.

You made sure to look into her eyes as you applied just enough pressure to make her panic. You wanted to see it; her desperation to stay alive.

It showed she was human too, despite seemingly doing her best to hide it for that character of hers.

“All I’m asking for…” You panted, “Is you get out of my way.”

Taking that ring leader down was another job her boss had assigned to her.

You… You’d assigned it to yourself the day his power spread enough to reach your family.

She always got the job done, and she was set on completing this one too, going so far as going undercover and infiltrating the ranks as the leader’s girlfriend.

Unfortunately for her plans, you promised to yourself that man would be ruined beyond one could imagine by your hands.

“I was looking forward to this.” She managed to croak out.

She struggling as much as you were, but her words made you lessen the pressure on her throat as they made you realize something.

So were you.

Your eyes were defiant against hers, yet no pity in sight. The blood felt cold in your veins, despite her ever so provocative smile.

A soft chuckle left your lips in disbelief. You finally managed to overpower her.

Yeji fought to even get a couple breaths in, but she wouldn’t be caught wasting a single second to overthrow her opponent. She exploited that second of vulnerability your own body displayed against your will.

Another blink, and her hands shoved you away from her before her boots launched you back to the ground.

It was a last effort kind of move on her part, although not in the desperate way you might think. She was set on putting an end to this rivalry tonight, and nothing could stop her.

This was the last effort she’d put into this side quest. Her last attempt at getting you out of the way for good. It had to be.

She dragged herself up, making sure to look down at you as she walked to your side, priding herself at how weak she’d rendered you.

The glow in her eyes was entrancing. The longer you looked into them, the more you confused the weak fluorescent light it came from as sympathy.

“I told you to get out of my way…” She taunted from above.

You could only stare at her, following her hypnotizing figure as she lowered a knee to the ground. You would have loved to look at her a little longer before your eyes fluttered shut under her touch.

It was light as a feather. Her fingers were so delicate all of a sudden, it almost erased the blood she’d spilled from your veins.

“Why didn’t you listen?” She whispered.

She could draw a small shape with the amount of it on your face that night.

Maybe it was the fruit of your imagination. A last attempt at hope from your weakened brain as it fought to stay afloat.

You swore you she’d drawn a heart before plunging it under the surface.

[hlizr50]

Welcome back to the ACOTAR Writing Circle, organized by the incredible @azrielshadowssing!

For part two I was tasked with continuing the Feysand fic the story starts when it was hot and it was summer and by @damedechance (read part 1 on tumblr or on AO3) and boy did she know what she was setting me up for. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm that slow burn kind of girl, but we are in full banter and smut territory already for part two!

That being said, this fic is now officially NSFW!

You can check out the master list for this writing circle here and see what everyone is writing! Part 3 will be posted in two weeks!

One week.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty eight hours.

Ten thousand eighty minutes.

As Feyre lay sprawled on the tile clad in nothing but a bralette and panties, she contemplated trying to math out just how many seconds she’d been sharing this apartment with Rhys.

“No,” she chided herself, cursing to the empty, heavy, oppressive summer air. “Rhysand.”

She gave up on figuring out how many seconds had been in that week. Math wasn’t her strong suit, anyway.

It had become increasingly difficult to hide behind her crumbling wall of practiced distaste for the beautiful man. Which was why she’d been avoiding him for nearly three years. Feyre had come to know what lay behind that infuriating arrogance and smooth calculation once before.

At least, she thought she had. And then she’d slept with him, like an idiot.

About a month after she’d returned from her beach vacation with Mor, where she’d met the tall, dark, unfairly attractive man and had finally succumbed to the urge to jump his bones, Feyre had been giddy at the prospect of attending his company’s autumn banquet. She’d tried to keep her enthusiasm in check; she and Rhys – Rhysand – hadn’t exchanged more than adoring smiles and casual kisses before they left the beach house in separate cars, keeping their dalliance a secret. But it had been the best sex she’d ever had, and she saw those incredible luminous violet eyes in her dreams more often than she cared to admit.

When he strolled through the ballroom wearing an impeccably tailored suit and a bowtie, her mouth had gone dry as a desert. He’d looked like a movie star, with all the confidence that he so rightfully possessed, and the tall, striking redhead with her perfectly manicured fingers tucked into the crook of his arm was a fitting, beautiful, disgustingly perfect pairing.

Even now, as she did her best to cool herself on Mor’s living room floor, her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was glad she could blame it on the sweltering summer and the broken AC. She had been a fool; one of those silly girls she’d always felt sorry for in college, panting after a pretty boy who had made no promises and had gotten what they wanted. When Rhys had come to greet her and Mor, she’d thought perhaps there had been a flicker of surprise, perhaps regret. But she knew the latter had just been the crushed hopes of a plain girl who had little to offer a man such as that.

Especially in comparison to Amarantha.

Her hair was silken waterfalls of wine. Her skin, pale and smooth and pristine. Feyre hated the way her ruby red, pillowy lips seemed to tick up, as if she knew the thoughts and despair that was racing through Feyre’s mind. Her dark eyes seemed so deep and empty and soulless, and Feyre found herself delighted that the woman had at least one singular imperfection.

Since then, the young artist’s walls had been solid as steel and black as onyx, constructed from avoidance and distraction. Tamlin had started as a rebound, but he had taken care of her in all the ways she had dreamed a man would when she was toiling to make ends meet for her family, working full-time as she struggled to finish high school. While her father wasted away under the blanket of his despair and his perceived shortcomings.

Tamlin should have been everything she wanted – everything she could have ever dreamed. His family was wealthy, and he was an up-and-coming attorney at his family’s prestigious law firm. Feyre had wanted for nothing when she had been with him, at least as far as worldly possessions went. And the sex was good… not like the night she’d had at the beach with Rhys. But she could live with that.

Things had started to go sideways when Mor had reached out to her about a job; she’d wanted to revamp her entire office and thought custom art pieces in the lobby, hallways, and conference rooms would be a nice way to keep the environment exciting and positive. Feyre had been so excited to tell Tamlin – her fiance of a few months – about the amazing opportunity.

But he’d only frowned and asked if she thought that was a good idea. After all, she had to start planning a wedding, and he had a lot going on at the firm. He’d need her support, when he was available to receive it within the constraints of his increasingly busy schedule.

And not that she’d needed his permission, but she had assured him that she could make it work. She could negotiate a reasonable timeline with Mor that would ensure that she wasn’t frantically working late into the night, and she could do most of that work from home. So she would always be there, in the apartment they shared, when he returned at the end of the day.

Things had only gotten worse from there. It was as if that first pursuit of her own dreams threatened him. He became increasingly controlling, demanding to know what she was doing at all hours of the day and night. If she didn’t answer his texts immediately, though she was often covered in paint, he would call incessantly and send line after line of cruel, pointed words to the tune of the happy chime of her phone. Tamlin knew exactly where to strike, too. He took care of her. She wanted for nothing. Didn’t she remember where she’d come from? How hard it had been to slave away to keep herself and her family housed and fed? Didn’t she understand that he just wanted her to live in comfort and be happy and not have to do that again?

She’d endured it all, had adjusted so many parts of her life, because he had a point. And she believed that somewhere, deep down, he did care. He thought that love meant shielding and protecting and preventing, meant providing ease and comfort. Feyre could understand that – she sometimes wondered why she didn’t feel like that was what she needed – but to her, love was encouragement and a safe place to land, in case the risks you took didn’t pan out. She’d thought she was making it work.

Until he started coming home later, but without the expectation of dinner being ready for him. Until she noticed a sickly floral perfume wafting from his hamper of button-down shirts. Until the red smudges on the collars were too numerous to ignore.

 All of the names he’d called her. All of the insinuations, the anger, the yelling and the deadly silence. Feyre had endured it all, had changed so much about herself and her life and her dreams to try to make it work. Because Tamlin was right, in his way: he took care of her and she should be grateful for that.

But when the towering blonde had just huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head and all but blamed Feyre and her “silly little art projects” for his infidelity, she’d thrown the colossal diamond engagement ring in his face.

And now she was here. On the smooth tile floor of Mor’s apartment, willing any modicum of chill from the stone into her body. Because the air conditioning was still broken after a week.

“Well this is unexpected.”

And just like that, she was frozen. Dread prickled her flesh, the goosebumps rising over her entire body. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath. If she freaked out, he would only respond with that infuriating grin. She couldn’t let Rhysand know that he could get under her tingling skin so easily. So Feyre relaxed, willing her limbs to stay spread wide even though all she wanted to do was cover herself, and sighed.

“I’m not sure why. We’re on the top floor, in the middle of the summer, with no functioning AC. We’re basically next to the sun. Clothes aren’t practical.”

“Indeed.”

With the rustle of fabric that seemed to roar in her ears, Feyre knew she’d made a mistake. Her eyes flew open just in time to find Rhys pulling open the front of his charcoal button-down, revealing a chiseled landscape of abs and pecs and ink. Heat flooded her, and not because of the summer air, as she took him in. His body sure hadn’t gotten any less delectable. Damn him.

“What are you doing?” she asked before she could stop herself. God, she was an idiot.

“You said so, yourself,” he crooned in response, draping his shirt over the back of one of the barstools. “Clothes aren’t practical.” He practically sauntered toward her as her lungs struggled against his attention. The quirk of his lips was so damned sexy that she hated him for it, and she tried to cling to that disdain, even as her insides twisted with a want she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Instead of pouncing on her, Rhys allowed himself to fall into the armchair to her left. Feyre couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. As if he could sense her inner conflict he smirked down at her, violet eyes twinkling like jewels bathing in firelight.

“Ask me why I didn’t take off my pants.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and then willed them shut, trying to calm her racing heart and roaring blood. But her newfound roommate wasn’t content to let her be.

“I didn’t take them off, Feyre darling, because then I’d be completely naked. And I’d hate for you to feel like you’d have to remove those lovely underthings to even the playing field.”

She groaned, doing her best to ignore that he’d just informed her that only a few steps and a thin layer of fabric separated him from her. “Why are you so annoying?”

“You mean undeniably charming? It’s a curse, truly.”

“Yes, you are a curse,” she grumbled back, rubbing her hands over her face. “I think you’ve decided to stay here just to make me miserable.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I told you that there are some major plumbing updates happening in my house. I scheduled it like this because I knew I’d be able to stay here,” he explained.

How convenient for him. On the contrary, it had been a total accident that she’d found herself single and homeless the day Mor had left.

“What?”

Her heart stopped and her eyes burst open, her gaze immediately snaring on his. Rhysand’s jaw had gone slack and disbelief painted the features that were usually so carefully controlled. 

She’d said it aloud. Oh, God, how was that possible?

Feyre scrambled to her feet, desperate to make a run for it, but Rhys met her chest-to-chest in the space between his chair and the couch. And she couldn’t take her eyes off of that broad expanse of tan skin and swirling tattoos, lifting and falling with the breaths that she could feel skating over her disheveled hair. It was fine that she was staring at his bare chest, because that meant she wasn’t looking at his face or into his eyes.

She cursed the world when she felt gentle fingers curl under her chin and lift, forcing her hand. The stare she met was not arrogant or mischievous, nor was it clouded with pity. No, Rhysand’s incredible starlit eyes were dark with intensity. Stormy with something she dared not try to identify.

“Single?” His voice stuttered, as if he could hardly breathe. Feyre gave a half-hearted shrug and jerked away from his hand.

“Tamlin was cheating on me.” Might as well not beat around the bush, though she didn’t feel the need to explain that she’d stuck around for the lies and the name-calling and the snide remarks about her body and her appearance and her work and… everything. Feyre bravely snuck a look back at Rhys, who was still just regarding her intently.

“And homeless?” God, why was he so intent on her laying herself bare at his feet? Didn’t he know how beaten down and humiliated she was already? Her shoulders sagged as she sighed again, her feistiness and annoyance replaced with exhaustion.

“Well, Tamlin’s name is on the lease, so…”

She didn’t have the strength to say anything more. Not to this perfect specimen of a man who could have anything he ever wanted at any time. A man who hadn’t wanted her. All of her bravado had faded away, and she realized that she was practically naked before him, both physically and emotionally. Taking a step back, Feyre folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she whispered, turning to flee.

She’d only made it two steps when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She spun, ready to ask Rhys what the hell he wanted now.

And then his lips were on hers.

Rhysand was kissing her. And she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The hand that had been so forceful, had spun her around, now cupped her nape with such tenderness as his lips and his tongue set her aflame.

No matter how loudly and forcefully her mind screamed that letting this happen was not a good idea, Feyre couldn’t bring herself to care. Not with the warmth of his palm leaving a trail of goosebumps down her back. Not with the way his heaving, muscled chest rose and fell beneath her hands. Not with the way he was kissing her, as if she were his salvation.

Rhys moaned against her mouth as he lifted her thighs, sweeping her .up against him and his obvious need without breaking the contact between them. Feyre was too enraptured to even squeak in surprise. And then they were moving, even as their tongues danced and their fingers squeezed. She had the fleeting sensation of a bead of sweat crawling down her spine, but it was quickly replaced by the sudden free fall of Rhys tipping them over onto a bed. The heat of his skin radiated into her, boiling her blood as need roared through her veins and pooled in her core. She was caged beneath him, and in the back of her mind the last crumbling vestiges of her self-preservation were calling out to her, rambling through a list of reasons that this was a mistake that was going to end up with her crushed beneath the weight of this man’s saccharine smile again. But all of that fell away as his open-mouthed kisses started moving up her jaw and then followed the path of her heartbeat down her neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Fuck, she was a goner, for sure.

And so her hands found the ridges of his obliques and trailed over the rippling muscles of his abs and up over his chest. As his mouth moved lower, she wrapped her arms over his broad shoulders and sighed, awash in the sensation of his soft lips on her burning flesh. His journey continued into the hollow between her breasts, still covered by flimsy lace.

“Can we take this off, Feyre, darling?” His question vibrated through her breastbone and sent shivers to the tips of her toes.

Feyre couldn’t recall ever having ripped off an undergarment with such urgency.

And when she was bare beneath him, his eyes had turned dark and stormy and desperate. “Fuck, you’re even more gorgeous than I remembered.” The way he whispered the words was nearly reverent, and they washed over her like a spring morning mist, chasing away the sweltering summer and leaving her skin prickling with anticipation. Rhys lowered his dark head and tongued at one of her nipples, his large palm sliding over her other breast. Feyre arched up into his sensual touch with a stuttered gasp and slid her fingers into his thick, midnight hair. It was so soft, so at odds with his hard body and his wicked mouth.

He sucked her nipple between his teeth and gave her a nip, and she yelped, surprised and delighted at how the short, sharp sting made her inner muscles clench. Soon the infuriating man shifted his attention, laving his tongue and lips over the other nipple whilst gently pinching and pulling at the one that was now standing at attention.

After another playful bite, the wetness of his mouth moved away from her chest, and Feyre felt bereft from the loss. But that trail of fire, ignited by his lips and teeth, moved down her stomach. Lower and lower and lower. Until she felt his fingers curl under the band of her panties. Blinking her eyes open, she lifted her head and gazed up at him, his unspoken question blazing in his starlit eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” she breathed. Rhysand’s lips tilted into a devastating, devilish lopsided grin as he chuckled.

“Nothing at all,” he crooned in response. Then he slowly peeled the veritable scrap of fabric down over her legs, his gaze keeping her pinned and breathless. Feyre could feel the color bloom upon her cheeks the further down he got, until she was fully naked on the bed and he had lifted himself up onto his knees to take her in. 

She couldn’t help but notice the way his slacks were tented in front, the considerable bulge only making her blush more. But she grinned lazily. Satisfied.

Tamlin had been critical of her body, though most of the time not pointedly. But he did love control, and that included watching her like a fucking hawk when they ate meals together. His comments about needing a wife who stays trim – who could easily shop at all the high-end stores that only sold sizes 2-4-6 – had eroded her self-esteem somewhat.

But the way that Rhys was looking at her now made her feel like the sexiest woman on the face of the planet.

“Oh, Feyre, darling. You look absolutely delectable,” he murmured softly, his tilted grin widening into a wicked smile. Rubbing his palms together, he made a show of licking his lips. Feyre would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t been paralyzed by the implication of his words. “I think I’d like a taste.”

Rhys moved with surprising speed, and she barely had enough time to suck in a breath before he pounced on her, quickly hooking his arms under her thighs and diving in to feast upon her.

“Oh, my God!” Feyre gasped, her hands fisting desperately in the sheets. Rhys let out a feral growl that vibrated against her clit and sent her eyes rolling.

His mouth was unrelenting, his attention ferocious. Rhys ran the flat of his tongue over her sex and flicked the tip of it over the tiny bud that was swollen and needy and sensitive. He took his time to pleasure her in every way, plunging his tongue into her and fucking her with it, then pulling out and sucking her clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Feyre’s hurried breaths and gasps had grown into moans and cries and curses, her hands desperately searching for something to hold onto, to keep her grounded. Her fingers would sink into Rhys’s hair, then she would flail and clutch at the sheets, then she would lift her arms and grip the pillow above her head. But nothing could stop the torturous pleasure as her body wound tighter and tighter, this infuriatingly skilled man bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Rhys!” She could barely speak with the way her muscles were clenching and spasming. “Oh, fuck! I –” Her words pulled apart and mixed into an unintelligible scream as her orgasm surged through her. Rhysand’s tongue on her clit sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body, and he kept licking and sucking at her as she fell from the precipice. Feyre wasn’t sure that she could breathe or think as her sight and smell and touch and sound were overwhelmed by the ecstasy that his mouth was wringing from her. 

Her eyes were watering when Rhys finally took mercy on her, her chest heaving with deep, panting breaths. Feyre watched with a bleary gaze as this sex god stepped off the bed and hurriedly removed his pants. When his length sprang free, hard and proud in front of him, she could only manage a fleeting thought that he hadn’t been bluffing before. She must have been staring, because his smug, smooth voice drew her out of her haze.

“Like what you see, Feyre, darling?”

She scowled. “It’s… fine,” she grumbled.

“It’s fine?” Rhys balked. He crawled back onto the mattress and then slowly, languidly prowled over her prone form. When they were face to face, his arms caging her at her shoulders, he lowered his head. His words seared the shell of her ear. “I’m fairly certain that you know that my cock is much more than fine.” He pressed a deceptively chaste kiss against her jaw, then another on her cheek. When his mouth met her lips, he plunged his tongue between them, igniting the passion and desire that was still simmering after her mindblowing climax only minutes before.

Rhys pulled back, breathing hard, and stared into her eyes. “I’m all too happy to remind you how much better than fine it is.” Stars danced in her vision as he thrust into her, seating himself to the hilt. She’d forgotten how big he was, how deliciously he filled her – enough to steal her breath. Her back arched as her lungs kicked back to life, just in time for Rhysand to lift his hips and then push them back against her, burying himself deep inside her again.

And then he unleashed himself upon her.

Feyre’s breathing hitched and her voice cracked as she yelled any number of colorful words and cried his name as he pounded into her, her arms hooking around his neck and clinging to him. Her feet hooked around his thighs, opening herself further to his punishing rhythm. Fuck, she’d missed this: this deep, sensual connection of bodies and pleasure. Tamlin had never been able to make her feel like this. Hell, he’d hardly had the desire to try.

Rhys captured her lips in a hard, searing kiss. He pulled out of her and she whimpered at the emptiness she felt. But it was only long enough for him to grab her legs and bend them back toward her chest, pinning her knees down on either side of her torso. When he plunged into her again her eyes rolled back into her head, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to withstand. Rhys fucked her in deep, long strokes, drawing a tormented wail from her lips at the base of every thrust.

“Fu – uck. You – you’re s-s-so deep,” Feyre stuttered around the impact of his body against hers. Rhys hissed a laugh between clenched teeth.

“And how does it feel, Feyre?” he growled. “Does it feel fine.” He punctuated the abhorrent word with another stroke.

 “Oh, my God!” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, Rhys!”

“Tell me, Feyre. Tell me how it feels.”

Her vision was blurring as he pounded into her, the noises coming from her mouth things she didn’t even recognize. He was driving her mad, keeping her dangling perilously over the cliff’s edge. But the fall was just out of reach.

“Rhys! P-p-please!”

“Tell me how good it feels, Feyre, and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.” Somehow he still crooned the words, as if he were still in full control over his body and his mind. God, the power of his arrogance was truly mythical, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything other than claiming this climax.

“It – it feels – fuck!” She moaned again, desperate to get it out. “It feels… amazing. Rhys, please. Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and with the next surge of his hips he released one leg and circled his thumb around her clit.

Feyre screamed, but it was shredded and raw and broken. Broken like the rest of her shattered mind as everything unraveled and she was carried away in the unstoppable current of her orgasm. She felt Rhys, hard and thick inside her as he plunged in and out a few more times before unleashing with her name on his lips. He fell between her quivering legs, his cheek resting upon one of her breasts as they both came back to earth. In an instant the adrenaline disappeared and her muscles all seemed to fail. Her body went limp as her hand found the soft hair at Rhys’s nape. Her breathing grew deep and her eyelids grew heavy, and then she drifted to sleep.

~~~

When her blue eyes blinked open, Feyre was alone in the bed, and she couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that stabbed her in the gut. But as she blinked at the clock on the opposite nightstand, it read 8:03am, and she leapt from the tangle of sheets.

She was going to be late for work.

Her shower was quick, not allowing any time to ruminate over Rhysand’s departure without so much as a, “Thanks for a good time”. Perhaps, once again, it hadn’t been as meaningful to him as it was to her. It was exactly what her subconscious had tried to tell her the night before, but she was too desperate for him to listen.

Feyre’s sour mood lifted, however, when she finally made it into the kitchen and found a coffee mug – stamped with a scripty Hello, darling – on the counter next to a note:

You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to wake you. Obviously, my FINE cock really tired you out last night.

If you need to stay home, I’ll be glad to inform my cousin that you were simply not ready for my sexual prowess. Just let me know.

I won’t be back until late tonight, but I wouldn’t mind finding you sprawled out on the floor again. Or maybe on the table? My own personal feast, perhaps?

~Rhys

God, he was going to be even more insufferable, now, wasn’t he?

Feyre shook her head, unable to stop herself from snickering, and made herself some coffee and packed her lunch. Then she carefully made her way down the many flights of stairs. If she fell down the steps, Rhys would give her endless grief about not being able to walk the day after they had sex. She was not willing to endure that.

She was breathing hard by the time she made it to the landing and walked out the door, and the summer sun was already beating down on her. Her car was just around the corner, though, and then she would have sweet, sweet AC once more. 

“Feyre.” The voice stopped her in her tracks and stole the air from her already struggling lungs. All she wanted was for her feet to keep moving, but they were frozen in place. When she heard her name again, her body turned in spite of her better judgment. And there, not ten feet away from her, stood a tall, perfectly groomed man with a green sport coat and glossy blond hair. Feyre lifted her chin, determined not to let him see the anxiety that rattled in her bones.

“Tamlin.”

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 15th

 Hi, all! I hope you had a spectacular week. Here’s everything I read this week--enjoy and be sure to leave comments and kudos for your writers! 

~*~ 

love and war by meidui

“Who the hell are you?” Tony demands as Steve stands up and instinctively gets between them, taking him in: Tony’s armour, but in his colours. His shield, but with Tony’s arc reactor in place of his star.

“I’m from Earth-TRN634,” he says. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to stop your Civil War.”

Shakedown by Sineala

The problem is, Captain America won't stop shivering.

Need A Hand? by KandiSheek

An unfortunate hand injury means that Steve can't jerk off for the foreseeable future. Tony is all too happy to lend a hand.

your kind of heaven's (been to hell and back) by complicationstoo 

Contrary to popular belief, Tony hasn’t done this before. He knows his own reputation, has enough self-awareness to recognize that not one single person would be surprised to find out he was doing this tonight, but all of them would be surprised to hear it was the first time. When you build a persona around being the charming playboy, paying for sex doesn’t seem too far off.

It’s definitely not the other guy’s first time being paid for it, though. There’s an easy energy about him as he casually looks around the penthouse between sips of the scotch in his hand. Tony wonders if he’s even drinking it at all, though, because the line of liquid never seems to go down no matter how many times he brings the glass to his lips. Either way he’s good at faking the nonchalance.

believe me by complicationstoo 

“So this is definitely one of the strangest situations I’ve ever been in,” Tony says, plopping down on the hard tile floor.

“One of?” Steve asks with raised eyebrows. “It’s troubling that you can’t lie to me right now, and yet you still aren’t saying it’s the worst.”

“Because it isn’t the worst,” Tony says simply, the honesty spilling out of him so easily even though he hates the way it feels on his tongue. “I wouldn’t even call it one of the worst. Doesn’t even crack the top five on that one, and please, don’t ask, because that’s a list I don’t want to say and you don’t want to hear. But strangest? It’s up there for sure.”

made your mark on me by complicationstoo 

It’s a Thursday, the first time that Tony walks into Steve’s tattoo parlor. Steve is behind the counter, passing the time between appointments by filling his sketchbook with new designs and reworks of older ones. He glances up at the chime on the door and has a welcome greeting on the tip of his tongue that dies at the sight of him.

He’s young, and if Steve had to guess he’s probably never been in a tattoo parlor before today, if the nervous look is anything to go by. His hair is dark and messy, falling in every direction as he takes a knitted hat off of his head and stuffs it in his pocket, while wide brown eyes look around at the designs on the walls.

How to Give the Best Blowjob He's Ever Had by BlossomsintheMist

Steve wants to give Tony as good a blowjob as Tony always gives him. Tony gives him some pointers.

in retrospect by welcoming_disaster 

Fresh out of the ice, Eve Rogers isn't happy about being stuck onto the Ultimates' roster; the team, in her view, is a shameless PR grab with no real talent. Her teammate, Tonya Stark, might change that.

The Fall and the Rise by Sineala

After the Great Society incursion, the Illuminati refuse to destroy another world. When the next incursion looms, they go to await their deaths in peace. Tony ends up on the doorstep of the last man who ever wanted to see him. At least he's going to die at Steve's side.

The Spark That Started the Fire by Sineala 

It started with two men. But it ended with two men, too.

(Or: A quiet evening on Battleworld, in which there are desert islands, campfires, apologies, and proposals. Also nudity.)

Bustin' a Cap by LonghornLetters

Steve and Tony have been together for a minute. Bucky and Rhodey have...concerns.

Body of Work by LonghornLetters 

NFL quarterback Steve Rogers has been invited to appear in ESPN's Body Issue. It's true, you know, every body has a story!

Those Secrets We Hold Dear by KandiSheek

Tony has been on suppressants for as long as he can remember. So when his body goes into an unexpected heat, he's more than a little unprepared. Especially because the person responsible for his body going haywire is halfway across the world and not on speaking terms with him.

It doesn't help that most of the world assumes that Tony is an alpha.

There is No Place Like Home for the Holidays by Lenalena

Steve is the first to come home to the tower after S.H.I.E.L.D. goes down. Then Natasha and Clint arrive. Tony doesn't mind, really, he's got the space. Except it's December and they insist on doing Christmassy shit. Who the hell has time for that?!?

Christmas 5 - Tony 0

be my best friend (until we grow old) by complicationstoo 

Everything about Steve Rogers is unexpected. How he enters Tony’s life like a cannonball. How he lingers there like he belongs.

It isn’t much of a surprise, though, to fall in love with him.

A companion fic to this is how you fall in love.

in restless silence and waking dreams by Areiton 

Tony trails his fingers over the ice, shivering at the cold that leeches into his hand, and stares at the man his father loved more than him, the man he’s loved and hated his entire life, the man who died to save the world and end the war. 

He sighs and says, softly. “You poor bastard.” 

one true thing by welcoming_disaster

Captain America, Tony has long learned, lives by a set of internal rules so convoluted and esoteric that he himself sometimes gets lost in them.

in my head by brucewaynery

Tony tells Steve about solipsism, the theory that everything is merely a figment of your own imagination, and Steve lets something slip.

for 'college roommates' on iron man bingo

now I worship a celestial sun by haemodye

The thing that gets Tony the most is how long it takes him to notice.

Not Steve, or even the other Avengers, but Tony himself. It takes Tony almost two whole weeks to figure out that he’s unable to disobey a direct order from Steve, which just- what the hell is that? What happened to the days when he flew off the handle, unable to play well with others, a notorious wild card?

“God, don’t tell me I’m getting old and predictable,” he says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. And then, “Fuck.”

  A mostly-comedic farce involving: 1 obedience spell, 2 pining Avengers, 1 long-suffering Sorcerer Supreme, and 1 single, extravagant Saint Patrick's Day float.

[trashbag-baby666]

“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.” with clegan in trans!bucky au or anything you'd like! Thank you!!

Trans!bucky my beloved she’s my fav girl <33 I love all the angst!!! Little bit longer than intended, I hope you enjoy!!

MOTA Masterlist!

The pencil bounced off the wall next to his desk falling onto the cream colored carpet he hated. He checked his watch then glanced at his phone. Bucky usually got home from her dance classes around 8:30 but it was almost nine and there were still no texts. Maybe her phone just died? He tried reasoning with himself in his head. But there was this feeling swimming through him that something wasn’t okay. 

Giving up on his patience he grabbed his phone off the desk and sent her a message. 

Gale: Hey, just wanna make sure you made it home safe. I love you. 

He pocketed his phone and decided to take Meatball out while he waited for her response. But it never came, it was reaching 9:15 he was getting worried yet feeling like he was overreacting. He didn’t want to call her yet just in case everything was fine and he was just acting crazy. 

He leaned against the wall and wrapped his fist against Hazel's door twice. 

“What!?”

“Can I come in?” 

“Sure.” There was rustling then the shorter blonde girl opened the door to her small room. Revealing his panicked face of raised eyebrows and the way his lips seemed to move back and forth on their own.

“Have you heard from Bucky?” He blurted out hoping that she would’ve, if he was mad at her he could take that. 

“No, not since school. Is everything alright?”

He didn’t answer her, he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out fast seeing Bucky's contact flash onto the screen. 

“Hey, everything alright?” His heart shattered as he heard a broken sob on the other end of the phone. 

“No.” Her voice was barely audible to him.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“I…I’m, uh at the school still…practice ran late.” Her words jumbling together through her cries.

“Are you safe?”

“Now I am.” Her words followed with another wet sob, his heart shattering into a million pieces whilst his blood began to boil. Someone must have hurt her and he wasn’t just going to let anyone get away with it.

"Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you." Gale walked back into his room fighting on a pair of converse as fast as he could. 

“No, no it’s okay.” Her voice sounded a little more panicked once he said, “You don’t have to, I'll just call Ma to come get me.”

“Will you stay on the phone with me?” He wasn’t really giving her an option on this. 

“Yeah.” Her breathing seemed to be evening out some more from what he could hear on his end.

“Dad, can I use the truck?” Gale asked, shrugging on his jacket, standing next to the door. His hand about to reach up for the set of keys on the hook. 

“Where ya goin’?”

“Just gotta go pick up Bucky,” He shrugged just hoping his dad would say yes so he didn’t have to ride his bike. Then they would really have to call someone to come pick them up.

“Okay, just be home before 11.” His dad glanced over at Gale by the door then back to his HGTV. Sometimes, he wasn’t the best at being a dad but he tried and Gale and Hazel knew that. 

“Okay, thanks.” Snatching the keys he ran out the door and down the steps of the trailer.

Gales' footsteps echoed again the linoleum tiles of the deserted school. The only other sound being the occasional whir of the night custodian's floor waxing machine. He peeked around the corner of the hall in front of the gym. He didn’t see anyone and continued his fast strides down the dark hall. He pushed the door open to the girls locker room, the silence being filled with the sound of the fluorescent lights and a small whimper.

“Bucky?” He closed the large wood door behind him walking in. 

“Back here.” He followed the voice and the sniffles, there he found her pressed against the corner lockers. Her dance bag pulled to her chest and her head resting on her knees. 

“Sweet girl, what happened?” He got on his knees next to her, his heart stopping momentarily. She looked up at him revealing the bruised, swollen eye.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled and curled into Gale letting out her wet tears into his hoodie. His hands instinctively went around her back and then in her hair holding her close.

“Who did this to you?” He felt like an atomic bomb just went off in his head and now all he was seeing was red. Why would anyone have a reason to attack his girl for just being authentically herself. 

“Some stupid assholes, it doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it does, Bucky.” His voice came out more stern than he intended. In response, Bucky let out another small sound, her tears soaking into her hoodie.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice with you." He ran a hand through her curls placing a kiss on the top of her head. He wanted to stay with her for the night but he already told his dad he'd be home. "We should get you home and ice that shiner."

"I'm gonna get made fun of," Bucky sniffed, taking his hands in hers. He pulled her up off the floor taking the dance bag from her, he put an arm around her waist.

"I think it makes you tough. you already are though." She snickered through her left over tears pushing them away. But he was being so honest with her, he knew that Bucky faced lots of prejudice. Regardless, she still carried herself with the utmost confidence. 

"Thank you, Buck." She stopped a moment in the hallway resting her hand on his chest. Gale wishes these weren't the circumstances but it just was. He cradled her face gently and pulled her in for a long passionate kiss. 

[wh3nturtlesfly]

15 K? Your writing is very good very entertaining:))

Thank you! :)

15, K: Where no one else goes, “Play along or they may take us both.”

CW: Suggestive

Hero ran the mission again through their mind as they fled from the presence of bright lights and pleasant conversation. The masquerade still echoed in full swing from behind them. Seventh room down the hall, brass key in the fourth drawer down, safe hidden away in the closet. It was their last chance, the only lead the agency had and the only hope of keeping the city from falling to shambles. The fate of everything laid on a single manilla folder, and it just so happened that said manilla folder was stashed away at the venue of one of the largest parties of the year.

A thin sheen of sweat graced Hero’s brow, though their skin was all chills. They had managed to slip past the crowd after what had been a most exhausting dance, but they only had a few minutes before the hustle of skirts and waistcoats gave way to the Supervillain’s toast. When that came, they would have to be long gone.

The hallway was deserted when Hero stepped inside, no eyes to bear their witness aside from the intricate paintings that hung on the walls. Supervillain sure was one for expensive tastes; much to Hero’s misfortune as they hated the way their collar itched and their toes pinched in shoes much too tight.

It was overwhelming, the swell of bodies. Hero had longed for hours to escape the endless chatter and hands, grasping, pulling. They despised the grip of fingers upon their waist, greedy as several of Supervillain’s guests had paraded them across the dance floor. Only they were required to play along. Their own comfort wasn’t worth risking their cover, the agency had made that quite clear.

Now as their shoes echoed across the tile floors of the dim hallway, Hero took a deep breath. Seventh door down the hall. Hero counted, a breath for each step. They rolled up their cuffs to allow for better movement. One, two, three.

The seventh door was by far the most plain of the corridor. It was as if it were trying to appear unimportant, though its lack of gold detailing and shining brass handles made it stick out like a sore thumb. Hero grinned at the sight of their target, hands already slipping to the lock picking kit they had strategically stowed away.

They made quick work of the door and slipped inside without a word. It took but a moment to scan the area. It was a study of sorts. Books lining the walls, dark cabinets, a closet, and tucked into the corner of the room lay a grand cherrywood desk. The wood grain swirled across the surface, adorned with a gloss finish and several brass knobs.

Feet padding across the carpet, Hero prayed they wouldn’t make a sound. They slipped on a pair of leather gloves, should anyone look for fingerprints they wouldn’t find any. Hand trailing down the drawers, Hero settled on the fourth.

Upon opening the drawer they were greeted with a cloud of dust and the scent of old paper. Their nose was tickled from the dirt and against their greatest efforts Hero sneezed.

“Bless you,” the voice came from seemingly nowhere. Hero flinched and snatched up the key as they whirled around. Sultry eyes met their own and Hero would have reached for their weapon if they hadn’t been so surprised.

In two steps Villain crossed the room. They two were adorned in formal dress, including a black mask that rested just on the bridge of their nose. Sequins fluttered to the floor as they slipped the mask off their face and placed it in their pocket. “If I had known any better, I would say you aren’t supposed to be here.”

Hero’s grip tightened on the key until they could feel the brass biting into their palm. It was cold between their fingers, but a solid weight to remind them of the mission at hand. “It’s not as if you’re welcome here either,” Hero said. “Since when does Supervillain invite you to their parties?”

“They don't, haven’t since I made the last one an absolute spectacle,” Villain stepped closer and the Hero in turn took a step back. The drawer pushed closed behind their knees. “After they took my glory, well… I figured I should take something of theirs.”

Something in Villain’s eyes screamed of revenge. Hero was almost certain the Supervillain had caused more than a little embarrassment over a party. This glory Villain spoke of was hardly broken easily.

Still, Hero was not here to help their enemy redeem their injured pride. The key in their palm was gripped tightly. They slipped it into their pocket, just as Villain’s eyes trailed to their hand.

“You’re trying to hide something from me aren’t you?”

“I’m not hiding it. I’m simply protecting it from you”

That drew a laugh from the Villain, “I see. You want what I do, only you’ll take it for some stupid reason. Saving the world or something hopeless like that.”

“Keeping people alive is not hopeless!” Hero drew the key from their pocket and instead clutched it to their chest. Hidden in the closet. The safe was hidden in the closet. Just a few more steps and they could finish the mission.

“Oh but isn’t it darling?” The pet name spurred Hero from their thoughts. They hadn’t noticed how Villain crept closer, nor the finger that trailed down the desk, a mere inches away from Hero’s form. And yet, not a single fingerprint, Villain had worn gloves of their own to ensure that. Ensure no one would ever know. “You work all day and all night to stop a lot of things my dear. Supervillain, me, do you ever think we’ll stop?” Their breath ghosted the shell of Hero’s ear, “You’re better off just to take care of your pretty self.”

Just then the Hero felt a gentle tug on the key. A flick of their eyes revealed Villain had reached for it during their speech. Now discovered they tried to pull it from Hero’s grip.

It was a dance of sorts. One moment the tension built as the two locked eyes, both of their hands enclosed around the single item of brass. The next was a blur of movement that erupted in something truly musical.

Villain had managed to knock the key from Hero’s fingers and caught it out of the air. Before Hero could grab it back they had jumped away, holding the possession like a prize.

“Such a shame, the Hero wasted all their precious energy in the ballroom.” As if to accentuate their point Villain spun, avoiding the heel of Hero’s boot by an inch.

They locked eyes across the desk, two pairs of hands settled on the table. Only one holding the key. Hero steadied themself. One, two, three…

Hero thrust forward, grasping at the Villain’s wrists. Their feet shuffled towards their nemesis, quick to cover ground. They were inches apart, but a breath between their faces- only to be torn apart again as the Villain stumbled.

That was thanks to Hero who had swept the criminal’s legs from beneath them while they had focused on keeping hold of the key. Now the brass trinket dropped to the ground and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.

Hero lunged for the key, ignoring the sharp burn that came as their skin slid across the floor. Their rolled sleeves threatened to slip down their shoulders and their hair was disheveled. It tumbled in front of their forehead in thick dark curls, nearly covering their icy gaze. They scrambled to their feet just as Villain regained their senses.

The Hero tried to tuck the key into their pocket as they had done before though the Villain clutched the back of their shirt in their fingers, yanking them back. Hero stumbled and banged their hip hard on the corner of the desk. It was sure to leave a bruise in the morning.

On and on they fought, slowly becoming less aware of their surroundings. Carpet twisted under their heels and papers flew from where they had been neatly stacked on the desk. Thrown punches left pens scattered across the floor while well placed dodges made dents appear in places they definitely shouldn’t be.

Hero had nearly reached the closet, key in hand before they felt a pressure around their wrist. It yanked back with a sharp force and they were left pinned against the desk, Villain’s arms bracing either side of their hips.

Neither side had realized how long they had been fighting. It was almost a surprise for Hero to gaze into Villain’s eyes, sweat dripping down their temple. They were panting, cheeks flushed from the fight and yet their eyes still remained intense, trained on the Hero with a fiery gaze. Beneath their rumpled shirt Hero could now catch a glimpse of their collar beneath and the skin that shone with a thin layer of perspiration.

“What do you say we end this game, hm?” Villain’s voice was lower than before. They were utterly still, not so much as a hair shifted as their voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Give me the key.”

Hero tensed, “And if I refuse?” Their fist closed tighter until they could feel the key’s imprint sharp in their palm.

“Well then,” Villain raised a brow, “I suppose I would have to take it from you.” Their hand rose from where it had been braced on the desk. It shot towards Hero where their fingers slid around the crime-fighter's wrist just as the door latch clicked open.

Panic shot through the Villain’s eyes, merely a sliver of fear, before the hand constricting Hero’s wrist shot to the back of their neck and dragged them forward.

Their lips collided, Villain suddenly feverish as they trailed kisses across the Hero’s face. Hero didn���t have time to think, though everything erupted around them, a swirl of emotions. They tried to pull away, this was wrong, this was so very wrong- Villain’s grip was like a vice, keeping them pinned in place. Their mouth drifted, brushing lips along Hero’s jaw, “Play along or they might take us both,” they breathed.

Hero obeyed, arms slipping down from where they had pushed against the Villain’s chest and instead settling on their hips. From the corner of their eye Hero caught a face, pale white as it observed from the doorway, but still present. That just wouldn’t do.

Without warning, Hero fisted the front of Villain’s shirt and deepened the kiss. Villain gasped and Hero captured it, smirking a little as they did so.

Though it had seemed to be ages, the door finally clicked shut and the two nemeses were left alone again.

Hero broke away first, hands slipping back tightly to their sides. The key was still in their palm, they had refused to let go no matter what. When Villain gained their bearings, they almost seemed shocked. If they had looked even a bit presentable before then they sure didn’t anymore. Eyes widened, their face was a deep crimson, though now Hero believed it wasn’t just from the fight.

“You never told me you could do that,” Villain breathed.

“Pardon?” Hero had the nerve to look surprised. Of all people to say such things, it had never crossed their mind that Villain-

The hands returned to the sides of the desk and Hero was again trapped. Something yearning resided in Villain’s gaze, though with it there was also a hint of curiosity. “Did you mean it?”

“What? The kiss?” Villain nodded slightly and Hero nearly exploded. “You told me to play along! If anything I saved us from getting caught!”

“Oh we were caught, just not in the way you may have intended.” As Villain spoke, Hero's eyes swept across the floor. Flung papers and toppled items- oh god, what they must have thought the two were doing-

Villain’s hand caught Hero’s chin, drawing their gaze up, “Don’t look so frightened, you’ll spoil that pretty blush on your cheeks, unless of course it was a lie all along and that passion I felt from you was nothing more than a falsehood.”

“I-” The Hero was speechless. Of course it was a lie, they had panicked. It had been the only way, the only chance of not getting spotted. There were no other options, nothing Hero could have done-

And yet as Hero gazed into the eyes of their enemy they felt something flutter within their chest. Maybe they had felt something, a fleeting sensation just as they always seemed to fluster around the Villain. The same way the banter they shared brought a heat to Hero’s cheeks. Normal, it was completely normal for their ears to redden at the sight of Villain’s face or for their gaze to linger just a second longer on the curve of their jaw.

“Your silence concerns me,” Villain leaned close, “Almost as if you’re questioning yourself.”

“I’m not, I would never. You’re evil.” Hero tried to look away, to think about anything else.They had to get to the safe. Supervillain’s secrets, they had a mission to uphold.

The hand gripping their chin slid down their neck and settled on Hero’s shoulders. It drew a gasp from them as they felt the leather of Villain’s glove against their skin, circling where their collar had become undone. “With the display you just put on my dear, I believe you’re just as capable of doing evil things.”

The words were stolen from Hero’s throat. This was treachery, against everything they had lived for. Even the mere mention of such things had to be some kind of crime. They needed the Villain to stop talking. They did so the only way they could think of.

Their lips crashed together and for a moment Villain was shocked, though they soon understood. It was intoxicating. Villain’s hands had started on the corners of the desk though they didn’t stay there for long. One tangled in Hero’s hair, playing with the curls and jerking their head back so they could trail kisses down their throat. Everything about this screamed wrong, though Hero couldn’t find the motivation to stop.

Their own fingers gripped the Villain’s forearms, thumbs brushing delicately over the skin on the inside of their wrists. It left the Villain in ruins, so much that they ducked away for a moment only to tug at their gloves. The key was long forgotten, falling to the floor without so much as a second glance.

“Villain- fingerprints,” Hero whispered.

“Who’s to say I don’t want Supervillain to know we were here?” Villain murmured against the shell of their ear just as their hands slid down Hero’s waist, cool to the touch. It made Hero shiver. “I say it's about time this party became interesting.”

Villain was silenced as Hero kissed them deeper and they were left within the shadows of the study. The mission drifted to the back of Hero’s mind, an afterthought. As the night drew on they drank in the feeling of Villain. It was likely that they would never feel such a thing again. It was quite forbidden after all.

Only as the sounds of distant chatter faded did they begin to separate. Still, each inch apart was compensated by a gentle press of lips, an embrace that lingered a moment longer, hands that squeezed tightly, a goodbye with a promise that maybe- just maybe it wouldn’t be the last. Hero sure hoped such things were true.

In the morning, Supervillain would come to find the room unlocked. They would frantically rush to their safe and find that too had been opened, the manilla folder inside nothing more than a memory. And on the floor would be a single brass key, glimmering beneath the cherrywood desk, which after rounds of testing would reveal two sets of fingerprints and a very infuriated Supervillain.

[flecks-of-stardust]

what are those mods that were cooler than MSC? if they're that good i have to try them out

So upon further thought of this topic, I think i’m misrepresenting my thoughts on my enjoyment of MSC. A more accurate way to put it would be that I had more fun with a lot of other mods. However, I don’t think it’s necessarily fair to compare MSC to them, because the goals of MSC are different from that of other smaller mods. I guess this counts as an analysis post; this will be long.

TLDR: I had more fun with a number of region mods and I think some modcats are cool, but Rain World’s design makes having a DLC that stays true to its core ethos difficult, so I find it hard to really blame the MSC team for MSC being a lackluster DLC.

Regions

When I say that I enjoyed other mods more than MSC, I think a lot of it is in the level editing (ie, lediting), in the sense that region mods have consistently wowed me far more than MSC’s regions ever did. Conceptually, the regions that it added were incredible; I loved seeing Moon as close to her prime as she could ever be shown in Spearmaster’s time (ie LTTM the region; DM), but also finding her ruined structure (MS) as Rivulet, and the idea behind Silent Construct (CL) is also fantastic. But gameplay wise? I didn’t particularly enjoy any of these regions, especially not CL. I hated the spider clogs that I had no way of dealing with, and overall I really just bumrushed it and cheated to get to the story. Metropolis (LC) and Outer Expanse were okay in terms of gameplay, but LC’s tiling and geometry is just kind of boring, if I had to be honest. It’s quite repetitive and not particularly unique, except for maybe Atop the Tallest Tower at a stretch. OE was fine by virtue of not really having another region to compare it to and also being comparatively more plant focused, but honestly, other mods have still wowed me more. So I dunno.

Like when it comes to having regions that feel interesting to explore and are also nice to look at, there’s always Pilgrims’ Ascent and Scorched District, both by Myrmice, and these two also fit so well with vanilla Rain World’s vibe to me. These two, along with the Mast from Snoodle, are all but canon to vanilla to me, because they just fit so well and add to vanilla while still maintaining their own identities as regions. And even beyond having to feel vanilla necessarily, because that’s not always the point of mods, there’s regions like Stormy Coast, Coral Caves, Howling Rift, more that I won’t list because of how long the list will get, but the point is that all of these regions give me more engaging gameplay and paths for exploration than I felt I got for any MSC added region. Granted it’s been a while since I played MSC’s content in full, and my memory of this stuff is generally poor, but I’d rather explore Aqueducts (OA) again than do MS. OA was big and I kept getting lost even with a map, but it was big and disorienting in a way that just felt better to me than MS. The same goes for Deserted Wastelands and CL, personally.

MSC regions feel very vanilla-like to me, in that they’re kind of easy to filter out of your conscious processing so you can focus on other things. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, but for the price that you have to pay for Downpour, I think it falls a little short. The thing is that MSC is very much story-focused, putting more emphasis on the slugcats you play as and their stories rather than the lediting of the regions exclusive to them (in my opinion anyways. I ain’t a leditor). Which brings me to my next point:

Modcats and Story

This might be a bit of a hot take, but I think Rain World is inherently a gameplay focused game that doesn’t support much overt story or plot. The lore in all three vanilla campaigns is entirely optional, and if you kill Moon? Fuck you! No lore for you! And even if you wanted the lore, you have to figure out that pearls have to be taken to her to be read, and that the colored ones have unique lore, and you have to find them and hope the scavs don’t take the pearl first. Even with Hunter, you can choose to toss the green neuron and do your own thing. It doesn’t even stop you from ascending either. The story is entirely optional in Rain World. So then to add any story focused campaign at all inherently takes it away from Rain World’s initial design. And on top of that, you’re playing as a slugcat. It’s really hard to add any sort of story in Rain World that doesn’t circle back to iterators in some way. But then what else do you do besides ascend? Eat a few specific types of food? Gourmand does that. Kill a specific creature? That’s Artificer’s thing. Talk to all the echoes? That’s Saint, and kind of Hunter in a way. What else can you do without radically changing the structure of Rain World itself? And to that end, would that still be Rain World? I’m not saying it’s impossible to have a story based campaign that doesn’t involve iterators, but I do think that it’s really difficult to have them be completely irrelevant to the story and still have an engaging story, because Rain World itself is so not story focused. But if you don’t add story, then what do you do in the campaign that doesn’t make it just a rehashed version of Survivor’s campaign?

So like. I can’t really take issue with MSC’s story based focus that much, because genuinely, what else do you do? And basically any modded slugcat available in 1.9 that I think is worth trying falls into the same category. I think Pitch Black is really promising, but it introduces A Lot of changes to the world, and there’s currently almost no story. Vinki isn’t iterator focused necessarily, but their story still hinges on pissing Pebbles off and is overall very silly (not in a bad way! But it doesn’t fit the vibe of Rain World). And Gravel Eater,, you can’t get more intertwined with iterators than with GE’s story, but they’re still my favorite modcat because of how detailed their story is and how interesting their mechanics are. And if you just have a scug with abilities and no story, that’s… not really interesting to play, because then it’s essentially just Survivor, but you’re able to like, say, make spore puffs for free.

Maybe I’m just not creative enough in this aspect, idk. But genuinely I can’t think of much else to do in this game that doesn’t involve iterators in some way. If you know me, you’d know I’m Iterators McGee who has written 70k+ words about a character who has literally no canon dialogue. I fucking love iterators, but I think their stories should be separate from that of slugcats, but in game, just. How? I genuinely don’t know.

Other Thoughts

I think in some ways I view MSC as more of a framework that has allowed other people to build their own stories off of it. The only other mod that has a scale even remotely comparable to MSC is Drought, which is also iterator centric in story. I can’t speak to its lediting since I haven’t played Drought myself (but I’ve heard the quality… fluctuates?), but story wise… yeah. I don’t know. I just don’t think Rain World can really have a DLC that doesn’t pull it away from its original ethos in some way. I would not want Drought to be a DLC either, as cool as I think it is, and I still value a lot of things about MSC. It’s lackluster as a DLC because again, what sort of campaign can you add that doesn’t add a story that isn’t iterator related in any way?

I guess the way to summarize this is that I think MSC tells some really interesting stories through its gameplay. Even the parts I hated are part of the story it’s trying to tell, and on that front I think it does well. But by virtue of being story focused (and, by virtue of story in this game being very iterator centric), it doesn’t feel as much like Rain World, and so it’s not as good as a DLC as it would have been as just a mod. And now that it exists and is widely used, other people have been spurred to make their own ideas and show their creativity, going bigger and bolder than MSC in some aspects. And regarding me enjoying region mods more than MSC’s lediting, I think enjoying the region for being a region is kind of the fucking point of playing a region mod, whereas that isn’t exactly MSC’s focus. So some things are hard to compare.

This is kind of an incoherent ramble but I hope I got the main points across. I still like MSC and I won’t tolerate anyone bashing it here. You will get blocked.

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Desert Rain

post-overblot not-therapy-session with jamil and azul.

cw: none besides jamil's sailor mouth

also on ao3

gift for @basuralindo 🐙🐍

Kalim and his fucking parties.

Jamil had a half a mind to let Kalim get poisoned if it meant he’d never have another extravagant event dumped in his lap. Maybe he could fake his own death while was at it. Should it wait until after he finished college, or would it matter? Maybe he could enroll at another school under an assumed name.

Couldn’t be that hard. He’d been invisible his whole fucking life, after all.

“Still sulking?”

Jamil scowled, though only the shifting, moonlit sands could see it. “Leave me alone.”

Words had never stopped the approach of Insufferable Azul™️ before, and they didn’t stop him now. His cane pinged on the tile in time with the snap of his expensive shoes. Jamil wondered how bad it would be if he pitched forward from his perch on the window ledge just to escape this conversation. He could catch himself with wind magic. Probably.

He cringed at his own suggestion. He could still taste the bitter ink in his mouth. Forget magic. He should drop out, disappear, and take up underwater basket-weaving.

Azul had the sense to maintain a safe-ish distance and looked out at the desert below. “I was going to let you know there is plenty of food, but I suppose you would know, since you made most of it.”

Any other time, Jamil might have been able to mask his emotions. Instead, he snapped like the snake that carried his family name. “How about leave me the fuck alone, then? Need me to translate it into Fish while I’m at it?”

Azul gave a light, insufferable chuckle and rested his elbows on the ledge. “At least you are expressing yourself this time.”

Jamil gave a low growl, but he didn’t feel like engaging with this bastard, now or ever. Looking at landscapes was supposed to calm a person down, but all he could see was how the moon’s glow reflected on the pools and puddles glinting in the valleys of the dunes. Even now, he couldn’t escape Kalim.

He hated himself for being this dramatic about it.

“I wouldn’t expect a rich bitch like you to understand,” he said flatly.

Azul snickered. “Clever. I admire that.”

“Could you just go away?” Jamil’s anger was now fizzling into defeated exhaustion. He needed a vacation at any time, but now, more than ever, the fatigue was settling into his bones. It felt like someone had yanked away the stick propping him up and was now beating him with it. “I don’t have the energy for this.” Wow, another honest statement. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d tasted lies for so long that the truth had become a foreign language.

“I do not completely understand,” Azul said. “You are correct about that.” He shrugged. “But I have gathered enough information to support a hypothesis, if you’ll allow me.”

Back to being annoyed. “It’s a free country,” Jamil grumbled.

Azul turned around and leaned back against the wall so he could look sideways at Jamil, who was suddenly fascinated with the stitching on the inside of his hoodie and furiously avoiding eye contact. “You feel that Kalim has been holding you back,” he began. “With his status and incompetence, certainly - but even if he were capable of independence, you would be in the same situation, yes?”

Jamil didn’t answer that.

“Personally, I’ve found it a more constructive use of my time and energy to…make use of such people, if you will.”

“Good for you. I have not enjoyed this lesson on Bullshit 101. One star.”

Azul outright laughed. “See? It feels better to be yourself, doesn’t it?”

Jamil sighed. “What do you want, Azul?”

Azul tilted his head and flicked his gaze to the ceiling as if itemizing the answers. “Mmm, well, if we’re being specific-”

“From me.”

Azul’s eyes rolled over to look at him. “Would you believe I wanted to make sure you were alright?”

Jamil turned sideways on the white stone so he could lean back against the window frame and pull his knees to his chest. “I would believe you wanted to make sure there was something left to wring out of me.”

“Ehh, why bother?” Azul said dismissively. “You already know my weaknesses, and now I know yours. We’re even.” He shrugged again. “I also know what you’re capable of.”

Jamil gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, see? I was right. Pay up.”

Azul took to examining the brilliant diamond in the head of his cane. All too recently, it had been the same burnt, oil-slick black as Jamil’s own magestone, but looking at it now revealed no trace of that. “We have a fair bit in common, like it or not. Feeling isolated, desperate…betrayed…” He sighed deeply. “The worst combination that can be imagined, in my opinion.”

There was little point in arguing.

“I am not going to offer you any hollow sentiments, Jamil. I merely wanted to ensure you were alright.”

“Yeah. You said.”

It got quiet. Jamil looked out at the desert again and saw less moonlight than before. Clouds were gathering and growing thick. No thunder, but he smelled the oncoming rain. Real weather, or real enough in their little dimension. Not the water Kalim managed to conjure up.

“What was it like?”

This time it was Azul to glance curiously at a question. Jamil looked contemplative. “What was what like?”

“Swimming through the desert.”

Certainly not the question Azul expected. “Unusual. Something I never would have thought possible. And something I will likely never experience again.”

“Mm.”

Jamil felt weird. Not really tongue-tied. More like all the knots had come untied and he didn’t know how to talk anymore. “Are there any stuffed dates left?” he asked awkwardly.

Azul squinted in the direction of the banquet tables. “No, it looks like Kalim ate them all. Why, did you want one?”

“No, I hate looking at them.”

Azul was surprised when Jamil laughed with him.

“What’s so funny?” Jamil asked through a smile he was trying desperately to conceal.

“I hate them, too.”

“Ha, I didn’t think you’d ever eaten anything but sushi and vegetables.”

Azul smiled slyly. “Perhaps I have the upper hand for the moment, then, if I know more about you than you about me.”

“Yeah, well, I know what foods those weirdos that follow you around happen to like, too.”

Azul was no longer smiling. “Really,” he said.

Jamil shrugged and looked out at the sprinkle of rain. It was making the low-lying pools glitter in what moonlight filtered down through the clouds. “Sure. The other day, Jade asked me if I had a recipe for octopus curry.”

[courtleymanor]

[id: new scene, indoors, day. wide shot of one of the uniformly off-white colored hospital-like tiled hallways of 200 road to nowhere as jaina and gilda round a corner. a narrow floor-to-ceiling window without curtains in the background floods the hallway with sunlight, the beige desert plains and clear blue skies of strangetown visible through its panes, the ground appearing to be two or three stories below. “i hate the way that damn elevator shakes,” says the medium-skinned soldier in desert camo. “let’s take the stairs next time, okay?” “i’d rather not waste any more time and energy than is necessary,” replies the green-skinned antennaed gynoid in yellow scrubs and white sneakers. “and hopefully there won’t be a next time.” /end id]

[roving-boi]

Dear Diary,

My dad pressured me the other day about career/school, because I don’t know what I want to do after school. He wants me to go to some sort of technical school or I dunno, get some sort of education so I’m not stuck making minimum wage. But no field really sounds good to me. Everything, all of my options just sound miserable. I’m scared to even find a career in writing or art because I know people will have expectations for me and when that happens I’m stuck fearing that I won’t satisfy anyone. I’m not really a magic machine that can write and or create the best piece of fiction ever out of thin air. I mean I guess that’s sort of how it works, but on short notice I should say. Everything that comes to me just comes to me on its own, and I take forever to actually get it down on paper. I’m not even anywhere near done my novel that I started like 2 months ago.

In other news, my mom bought a house (well it’s more of a mortgage), and it’s going to be ready to be moved into soon. It has 3 bedrooms, one for me, my brother, and my mom (and unfortunately my ex-step dad that she got back together with for some fucking reason. God I hate that guy). My mom wants me to move back in with her and be a family again. Though she wants me to graduate high school where I’m at currently and then make the choice to come live with her. Now here is the problem, my dad is quite unaware of all of this and telling him is going to cause arguments and other discourse I don’t really wanna deal with.

My aunt told me I should do whatever I want, and not worry about pleasing or hurting others. And I think it’s something I’m gonna do. I need my own space, and it lets me live somewhere more free, and much closer to work. Where my dad lives, is quite literally out in the desert in the middle of nowhere. There’s no opportunity here, there’s no work, there’s nothing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do anything here.

I was looking at comments on an Instagram reel about people getting rejected from jobs. Like Walmart and food jobs. The basic crap. It kind of started stressing me out. I don’t plan to go to college and I don’t know what I’m going to do for money when I leave this place. I have no idea what I’m doing I’ll be honest. And I’m scared I’ll never really make enough to keep myself afloat. There’s nothing at college I even want. And the ONE thing I’m passionate about, fucking jay told me she wants to go to college and get a degree in. Ugh. Fucking great.

I’ve been having nightmares about jay. I had about 4 in a row almost. In one of them I remember driving away and driving and driving until I reached this little food area in the middle of nowhere. It had a sushi restaurant right next to a Mexican restaurant. Really weird but I stopped by and went into the Mexican restaurant. Things were peaceful for a good few minutes I think until I saw jay roll up with her stupid friends. They were going to head into the sushi restaurant but she noticed me sitting at the Mexican restaurant and decided to come in. She walked up to me and I just lost it. I grabbed her by the hair and threw her on the floor, and I started slamming her face onto the tile floor. But she wouldn’t react to it. It was if it wasn’t even hurting her. It started freaking me out and I think screamed for her to shut up because she wouldn’t stop talking. I kept slamming her head into the floor until I guess I got tired and stopped. I don’t remember how to dream ends but it was so freaky. I wanted her to stay down. She wouldn’t.

I don’t wanna see her face at school. She’s dead to me now but, I’d probably just get so angry. I’m so stressed. In other news I got a new friend group and they live really close by. Remember that boy I met at the fair in real life? He let me join his friend group and it’s been great. We voice chat together and play video games together and they make me feel included. They ask me questions, joke with me, ask for my opinion on stuff, they share stuff with me. They just make me feel like I’ve always been apart of their group. My friends at school never did that. I’ve only been hanging out with my new friends for like over a week and already it’s been a better experience than my stupid fake friend group at school.