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lettrespromises · 4 years

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#LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification. ──➤ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋!

─➤ Ushijima Wakatoshi sent you a letter, would you like to read it? #CC of the letter directed to : @babythotshq.

──➤ #𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : angst, song letter. ─➤ #𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 : “When I Was Your Man” by Bruno Mars. ➤ #𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : slight injury.

❝𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞.❞

His orbs never left once the wilted color of the ceiling, nor did he dare to blink, surely because his subconscious had already made him prisoner jailed in his own thoughts. What did he fear by blinking? Did he fear to wake up in trance from this nightmare? Did he fear being left breathless by the umpteenth realization that you were, indeed, not laying next to him? Ushijima Wakatoshi was laying on his bed. His orbs never left once the wilted color of the ceiling. His arms were spread open (but oddly respected the limit of where your body would usually occupy), like a martyr begging for forgiveness and mercy to the higher beings. But his salute never came, his prayers fell in the deaf ears of vacuity. Ushijima Wakatoshi was laying on his bed. And found himself unable to move. And upon lacing his shoe laces to head out and commit to his morning run, despite being three hours late, he threw a last glance at your shared bedroom, which had become singular with time. He felt his own legs attract him to the edge of the bed, like an old habit poisoning his rational thinking and arbitrary, but was rendered weak and let himself be invaded by the toxins secreted by his own body. It was only when his shinbones hit the wooden surface of the bed that he snapped out of his reverie, and realized that the bed was empty. And realized that there was no forehead left to be kissed this morning, again. He stepped back from the bed, his steps were cautious and testified of the fear slowly embedding his actions, now the toxins were spreading onto his bones and muscles, it was no longer a burden on his mind, it had metamorphosed into a metaphorical chain wrapped around his muscles which forbid him from enjoying the liberty of his movements. A shaken step caused his to stumble backwards, knocking the radio throning on the shelf behind him. And when Ushijima’s eardrums were expecting a loud bang, to which he did not even shut his lids in anticipation, he was met with a song. Your song. The shock of the radio against the floor had caused the sudden musical eruption of a song which often throned amongst Ushijima’s happiest memories. Now, upon hearing it, he could barely discern what the words meant. It all sounded like a blur, or rather, as if the musical keys had changed. He even wonder if the singer hadn’t released a new version of the song with new lyrics. Ushijima Wakatoshi didn’t go on his usual morning run on this day, he gave in to the assault of emotions and the whimpers of nostalgia hidden between two words sung by the singer, the pain found comfort in the melody of the song. ❝𝐌𝐦, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝.❞ Each volleyball season ended with a gala organized by the Volleyball Club Association, it was the perfect occasion to give back to charities and at the same time celebrate the victories of this season. Ushijima had the habit of growing oddly quiet whenever this season would arrive, the nerves of knowing whether or not he had been voted as the best performing winged spiker were rendering unable of forming any word.

And like every year, you were accompanying him.

You found yourself to be cherished under the flashes of the photographers, exposing in front of the public eye a relationship which was burning with the fire of a Phoenix. Only, to the private eye, you had doubt regarding the renaissance of your idyl. Your love was burning, indeed, burning amongst the unforgiving inferno of a romance which had turnt into a mere illusion.

Being at a public event, it was common for Wakatoshi to answer the journalists’ question, and being someone quite reserved himself, the preying eyes of the interviewers often gravitated about his private life— who is he dating? Is he single? Does he have someone on his mind?

A journalist gathered enough courage to approach him, and you thought it was your time to affirm yourself— as the galas went by, you and Wakatoshi grew and grew closer, and this year was your first time as his official romantic date. A grin had already bloomed amongst your facial features in anticipations to his answers regarding his private life.

“Ushijima-san, thank you for allowing us to ask you several questions. Now, everyone knows you as this relentless warrior on the court, but do you also happen to have the same success on the court as in your private life?” The journalist asked, a gleam of hope shone in the irises of her eyes.

Ushijima hesitated for a short instant which seemed like an eternity, the metaphorical gears in his head were working with difficulty, and the words connected to one another without ever forming a complete sentence, or at least, one which reflected his thoughts. “No, there is no one in my life except volleyball. And I believe it will always remain this way.” He announced to the journalist in response, despite your obvious presence next to him.

And as the words were drowning in your eardrums, you felt yourself gradually disappear under the haunting sensation of being forgotten. His hold on your hand also seemed to be gradually becoming numb, as if you had truly obtained all the characteristics of a ghost after his reply. After he stated that you meant nothing to him, and will never mean anything.

“Y/N, I’m pleased to see you are happy to be here, should we continue, my love?” His question provoked the rise of a cacophony of miserable whimpers inside your head, not only did Ushijima failed to see you for who you were, but he also failed to perceive your most vivid emotions. ❝𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.❞ You were sitting on the edge of the bed, the back of your calves rocking softly against the wooden surface, your skin had already adopted a spectrum of reddish and purplish tones from all the bruises caused by this constant rocking of your legs against the edge of the bed, you were bruised from waiting for him, you were bruised from loving him.

“Y/N? I ignored you were waiting for me, you should have gone to sleep instead.” Did this tone remind you of your lover’s? Or did it remind you of yet another lecture given by a parental figure? “I tried, trust me I tried, Wakatoshi. But I can’t sleep without you anymore... You’re, you’re always abroad and I can never catch you. It’s like I’m dating someone who only exists through phone calls and texts... It’s like all this time I’ve been dating a ghost.” Your lower lip began to tremble under the heavy weight of the words pouring from your mouth, “I don’t even know if I want you anymore or not. I can’t tell if your presence is hurting me or not, I don’t know who you are anymore to me.” The last words died on your tongue in a shameful whisper, your orbs solely focused on the ground.

Wakatoshi’s hand reached for your shoulder, like a metaphorical saving hand trying to save your from drowning in your most horrible nightmare but as your fingertips were about to touch his and be saved from the misery hovering above you like a sword of Damocles, a sudden sob ripped apart this moment of solace and you felt all alone again, shut away from the world, an exiled soul in a loveless abyss.

Ushijima knew you couldn’t find deliverance in his presence anymore, he knew that in your eyes, he had become a poison you needed to find an antidote for. Each second spent with him felt like pure agony, and he felt eaten alive by his own guilty for having fallen asleep to the sounds of your rocking sobs like the most miserable lullaby.

❝𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧.❞

The absence, the ignorance.

Two cruel elements which, once associated to one another, signed the end of your relationship with Ushijima Wakatoshi. You had left him a letter with your most beautiful calligraphy, soon ruined by the uneven spheres caused by your tears. You even left him a bouquet of flowers, an attention he used to pour a lot of importance in at the beginning of your relationship when it was still blooming. Now your relationship was wilted, colorless, and already falling apart. And just like that, a petal had fallen on the wooden surface of your kitchen counter. His kitchen counter.

Ushijima tried to make up for your absence by concentrating the burning hole in his chest left by your absence by unleashing his frustration in his spikes. At first, he was applauded by his coach, and his performances were worthy of his peers’ praises.

But the same spikes infused with frustration were now infused with a rare kind of genuine hatred when you sent him a text saying you had found someone else, someone who had more time too, but the last straw was that you had apologized.

Said rare kind of genuine hatred wasn’t directed to the person you were dating, even less you. It was directed to himself, Wakatoshi Ushijima, and how in the deafening silence he managed to give birth to the loudest emotions.

And the praises turnt into worry.

Like your compliments turnt into whimpers.

It was the same circular scheme.

During training, as the palm of his calloused hand slapped the leather surface of the ball, picturing his own face on the martyr of a ball, Ushijima cried out in pain.

He ignored if the origin of the pain emanated from the way he had just dislocated his left wrist, or was it coming from the final rupture of his last heartstring as he had witnessed himself coming undone under the weight of his emotions, his memories, his regrets.

And the praises from his coaches regarding his spikes were now made vocal for another player. And the praises, your praises, regarding himself were now made vocal for someone else whose name wasn’t Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Someone who had the luxury of time.

Someone who had the privilege of loving and being able to be loved.

Someone who wasn’t him.

❝𝐃𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧.❞

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #ushijima x reader #wakatoshi x reader #ushijima hcs #ushijima oneshot #hq ushijima #ushiwaka #ushijima #ushijima x you #haikyuu wakatoshi #wakatoshi #hq !! x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

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Watchers in the Shadows

Another plot important story, with the what I am terming the Shadowed Lords. I have also found a solution to the very important question of “How to make sure the Inquisition just doesn’t murder everyone.” I own none of these characters. Enjoy.

“History requires two parties - the historian and their audience. Without that, one is just talking to oneself. So kindly stop screaming and you might learn something.” - Trazyn the Infinite, guiding human guests through the Prismatic Gallery

“It is our duty to protect those who are important to future events, those who might save the face of the galaxy, those chosen by prophecy - blah blah blah. I’m just here to kill things.” -Revenant

Aboard the Novus Galactica

The Watch Fortress was a miracle of human technology and ingenuity. This particular one was mobile, a great boon for its occupants. As soon as diplomats and Inquisitors were dispatched to these strange, newly found galaxies, it had been deemed by the High Lords of Terra that a permanent force of Throne Agents should be stationed in each. Unfortunately for the Imperium of Man, and, perhaps fortunately for everyone else, they were currently only able to transfer a small amount of the resources they wanted to one singular galaxy. At the moment. The time would come when they would fully operate there, the agents of the Imperium hiding in every shadow, behind every crevice, always watching, always waiting. The fight against the xeno, mutaint, and heretic never ended, after all, and these new galaxies provided ample examples of each.

The newly anointed Lady Inquisitor Amberley Vail stood on the tiled stone floor of the Watch Fortress, looking out high cathedral windows into the black void of space. Inquisitors were all technically equals, though in practice some were more equal than others. Senior and powerful Inquisitors were given the honorary prefix Lord or Lady to denote that they were, in fact, just a little more equal than their peers. Since she had been the first to discover, and make contact with these eight new galaxies, it would be her duty to oversee all investigations in them. A great honor.

At the time, though, Vail would just be investigating each one in turn until more Inquisitors could be spared. Already she was given her choice in team, and her retinue was here, with more hand-picked agents to come. And, of course, the operatives the High Lords and Ordo Xenos had seen fit to give her. With the technology found in these new places, she could now contact the High Lords directly, if necessary, and they could monitor her progress. As such, they had seen it fit to grant the Watch Fortress a cadre of Officio Assassinorum operatives, one from each Temple. They were in cryo storage below, except the Vanus operative, currently hard at work gathering every scrap of data she could.

Should she require pure power instead of singular agents, a Kill Team of the dreaded Deathwatch was on hand. They were newly formed and called up, but each member was hand-chosen by the Inquisition, and, if rumors were to be believed, the Custodian Guard themselves. Right now, they were settling into their new home, their weapons drills already ringing through the training spaces. The Kill Team also served a second, more sinister purpose: if Vail was to go rogue for whatever reason, they had orders to hunt her down and destroy her. She harbored no illusions of their ability, and, of course, had no intention of turning traitor. Better had fallen than her, though, so she did appreciate the contingency.

At the moment, more Marine heavy weaponry and armored vehicles were on the way, along with a regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers. More things to be added to the armory of the Imperium in this new galaxy.

Vail paced, then went to her cognator, located next to the Vanus operative, still absorbed in her work. She sat down, and began to type. Secrets would be revealed, and the Inquisition would act upon them.

Unknown Location

The room was dark, as it always was, only illuminated by the blinding glory of a nearby star. No one came here, no one knew of its existence except two organizations. Two organizations that almost none knew of. A massive man, power armored bulk hidden by a simple white robe, sword strapped on to his chest, stood side by side with another individual clad in black armor and greatcoat. A tight fitting black helmet with glowing red lenses covered the second’s face, and as it spoke, the voice that emanated from within was corrupted and rendered untraceable.

“We must begin. Our list is complete.”

“Unorthodox, yes, but it must be this way,” spoke the second, a reverberating deep base echoing from beneath he white hood. “What of Inquisitor Vail? Should she find… certain things, it would not bode well for our plans.”

“I am handling it as we speak. Drake shows promise. It was good to act that quickly, but in the end, the Shadow Broker, the Mechanicus, the Inquisition, the Scoundrels, ONI, the ISB… none of them are good enough to face us. Vail will hear no word of it. Stability will be preserved. Just as we must preserve the Scoundrels themselves.”

“Indeed. It must be restated: they are key to future events. I suggest we get moving.” With a nod to each other, the two figures disappeared into the shadows.

Unknown Planet

The ground was icy and cold, some dead world in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t even have a name, so remote it had never been discovered. Of course, there were those who could find it, should they really wish to. One such individual stood here, examining strange patterns in the snow. Well-groomed black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, held in place by a circlet of gold. Despite the bone-numbing cold, the man did not shiver, black and green tunic still in the frigid air. A heavy crack of displaced air sounded behind him, and the black haired man turned around, smiling softly to himself.

“Ah. Can I help you?” he said in a polite and cultured voice. The two figures, one massive and wearing a white robe, the other of medium height and wearing a black coat, stepped forward. The black haired man stood, noting the weapons, the size, the strangeness of these newcomers.

“Loki of Asgard. We have need of your skills,” responded a metallic and synthesized voice from the black coated silhouette’s mask. This elicited a small, oh-so-sly smile from the black haired man.

“Yes. I’m sure a great many people do. What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price,” came a deep, reverberating voice. Loki thought quietly to himself, then spoke.

“Done,” replied the tall figure.

“Now, what do you need me for?” asked Loki.

Hammond Robotics Lab-77431

A metallic abomination of red and grey stood above Dr. Marshall. It was humanoid, but all metal; unnaturally tall and spindly. He squirmed quietly, inching away from it on the cold surface of the laboratory floor. Blood was splattered messily over the surface of computer banks and grey plastic workstations. Marshall silently prayed that the guards were on their way. He had just enough time to press the panic button as the… thing slaughtered the two guards and his three colleagues. Now it stood over him, head tilted at an unnatural angle.

“No one is coming to save you. No one ever was.” It’s voice was horrible, gravely, and grating. Marshall whimpered. It spoke again. “You can beg for mercy. It won’t help, but go on.”

“Please… please. I don’t even know what you are! Why would you want to kill me?” The thing snarled and pinned Marshall to the wall with one metallic hand.

“You made me a killing machine. Who am I to argue with programming?” The abomination’s synthetic eyes seemed to glow. “Look into my eyes. I want to remember this.”

“No! NO! No-” The begging cut out with a horrifying, gurgling scream as the thing ripped out his throat. It gave a malicious laugh. A new voice spoke.

“Revenant.” It was a statement. “We have need of your services.” Revenant turned around with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with three of the most odd individuals he’d ever seen. A smooth faced, black haired man in a green and black surcoat, smirking at him. A figure in a black coat and black armor, it’s face hidden behind a mask with glowing red lenses. A giant, wearing a white robe, with a sword strapped to its back, its face hidden behind the robe’s cowl.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” sneered Revenant.

“If you can, which I doubt,” replied the black haired man. The figure in the coat held up a gauntleted hand.

“We have need of your services,” it repeated. “As payment, we can fix you or kill you. Your choice. But you must do as we say.” Revenant seemed to consider the deal.

“Done,” he replied eventually.

“Good. Now, there’s work to be done.”

Star Wars Galaxy

Belsavis

Imperial Outpost Planet

The New Republic had, in its infinite wisdom, sent a team of commandos to capture a small Imperial outpost planet in the middle of smack-dab nowhere. Sargent Underwilth was quite displeased by this, as had the entirety of the rest of her commando group, from Private Nikeer all the way up to the Captain. It would be a long, boring, and completely useless mission, and for what purpose? Grab a completely insignificant Imperial fort that could house a battalion and a group of shuttles at the absolute maximum? Why? Send soldiers to die for that? She hated High Command for it. Hate-d. Past tense. At the present moment, she was cursing the name of every single New Republic official she could remember, from the major who had briefed them to Princess Leia herself. Saying things had gotten a bit out of hand would be the understatement of the millenia.

“I need fire at 1-2-7-4! Immediate effect, whatever you’ve got!” screamed the comms chatter. The Imperial stormtroopers crouched next to her looked warily in the direction of the lieutenant whose scream was cut short over the comms. Captain Pai, the commando leader, was dead. Major Vekk, commander of the Imperial garrison, was now in charge of both the stormtrooper and commando contingent. Underwilth had never thought she would be fighting side by side with stormtroopers. They were terrible shots and propaganda-fueled idiots, holding on to the crumbling remnants of a tyrant. Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures. She nodded at her mixed group of Republic and Imperial soldiery, and, as one, they stepped over the ledge of the wall they were crouched behind. A withering storm of blaster bolts rent the air, many going wide as their users panicked. It was enough though.

The bolts slammed into the metal abomination, many ricocheting harmlessly off its bones with high pitched pings! Underwilth had no idea what these things were, or why they were here. The commando team had landed, everything going well, and had infiltrated the fortress, only for an army of metal skeletons to show up. They were spindly and humanoid in appearance, with elongated skulls and arms much thinner than a human. Their odd appearance didn’t matter, though. Horrible weapons had rotated, spitting sickly green beams of light at the now combined defenders. Everything that was touched by those beams died. Captain Pai was disintegrated where he stood. Atomized without a sound.

The defenders had fought back with everything in their arsenal. Blasters didn’t work. Grenades didn’t work. Cryo bombs didn’t work. Only massive, coordinated firepower would stop these undying invaders.

Scorch marks appeared on the metal skeleton that Underwilth’s group drowned in fire. More and more blaster bolts found their mark, staggering it. Underwilth screamed at them to keep firing. Eventually, slowly, it toppled into the dirt. Underwilth’s group let out a great cheer. It died in their throats when they saw what was happening. The metal abomination, light faded from its eyes and limbs blown off, glowed with the same sickly green light as its eyes and weapons. Limbs reattached themselves. Blaster pockmarks faded. Internal wiring affixed itself. It stood, and glowing green eyes snapped on once more.

Beneath the Surface of Belsavis

Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archoevist of Solomance, and Curator of the Prismatic Galleries walked through the underground tomb complex covered by the Imperial outpost. He had come to... acquire the artifacts, weapons, and species in the tomb underneath. Unfortunately, a group of the idiotic humans that inhabited this galaxy had decided to build a fortress right on top of it. He didn’t even spend the processing power wondering about the humans. Mere insects. His soldiers were there to defend his archaeological expedition, and if the humans wanted to attack them, well, that was their problem.

Trazyn was, quite frankly, disappointed over this particular galaxy. It wasn’t that there weren’t ancient and important treasures to plunder: no, far from it. The things he could find here almost rivaled his own galaxy. Almost. It wasn’t that.

It was that the people of this place had absolutely zero appreciation for history. It was utterly infuriating. Trazyn was the historian. The lives of entire species meant nothing to him. He was as old as the stars themselves, able to see eons as they stretched out in front of him. The reason he did any of this in the first place was to preserve history before time or battle erased it. His entire planet was one massive museum, with exhibits stretching back some 60 billion years before the planet Earth even existed. But these people? They didn’t teach history. Didn’t preserve history. To borrow a human expression, didn’t give one singular, flying fuck about it. His mind frowned in distaste over the crude word. It was nevertheless true. The inhabitants of this place had merely forgotten the Old Republic, the government that ruled the galaxy only thirty years ago. The Jedi Knights were myths. The Clone Wars were bedtime legends. Trazyn ground his metal teeth in frustration. Thirty years. That was a microsecond. That was about the time a standard Necron court case lasted. Even the humans, short-lived insects that they were, should remember that long. After all, they usually lived between sixty to a hundred, did they not? Simply no respect for the past here.

The other galaxies were not like this. The humans of one galaxy even remembered events some two thousand years prior. That galaxy was the one with the Makers. A battle between gods and demons. He had already been to a Maker lab, and taken the dark artifact from the homeworld of the Celzex. Along with half the guard on duty at the time. And the throne. They wouldn’t miss it. Probably.

He was getting off track. Despite the idiots of this place not knowing what it was, this place was magnificent. The architecture, the stone, the instriptions and technology… oh, yes. If Trazyn had still possessed a mortal body, he would be grinning like a buffoon now. He wanted everything.

The tomb had once belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire. He sneered at the name.

“There can only be one Infinite, and only one Infinite Empire. And you, my friends, are no longer among the living,” he told a statue. The Empire had, at its apex, controlled a great deal of the galaxy and possessed technologies and ancient wonders not seen since. An entire species, called the Esh-Ka, had been trapped here in status for nigh thirty millenia by the ancient Rakata. Nothing compared to Trazyn, but he appreciated the gesture of the long dead civilization nonetheless. Ancient Rakata warlords, soldiers, status, glyphs, tablets, weapons, enemies, technology… everything. This was a prison world, and the Rakata built it to last. Now, though… now it was Trazyn’s time to shine. He took everything he could, the walls and massive scripts cut away by his personal bodyguard. Everything went into tesseract labyrinths. These were small black cubes, about the size of Trazyn’s fist. They pulsed with darkness, ever wishing to suck things into their voids. These cubes were gateways to pocket dimensions, and Trazyn had long used them to capture specimens from his museum.

He hummed as he worked, nearly giddy with excitement. If there had been any watchers, they would have found the sight of the ancient necron lord almost dancing with exhilaration to be quite funny. As he loaded the last of the Rakata imprisoned within the tomb, there was a flash of green light behind him. It’s coloration was similar to the eyes and weaponry of the necrons, yet only the discharge of his bodyguards’ gauss flayers could have made such a sight, and Trazyn knew for a fact none of them had. He whirled around, only to be met with a very strange sight.

Four individuals stood between him and his guards. One was obviously a synthetic, tall and spindly with red and grey limbs. This one glowered mechnicgly at Trazyn, but he laughed it off. You didn’t know a good glower until you’ve stood on the wrong side of a Star God. The second was human, smirking from behind shoulder length black hair and a black and green tunic. The third waas masked, armored, and coated, and stood at simple attention, unbothered by the necrons that lowered their gauss flayers at its back. The last, though…

“Lord Cypher,” said Trazyn with a bow. The massive man in white noticeably stiffened. “A pleasure to have you here. Ah, yes. I know who you are, of course. Don’t be surprised. You would make a fine addition to my collection,” he mused. Trazyn looked up, noticeably more perky. “Is that why you’re here? Have you come to give yourself up? Ready to be a part of history?” The massive man, Cypher, glared at him.

“We have need of your help, Lord Trazyn. After you are…” he looked around, noticing the completely empty walls of the tomb, “Done here, we wish to speak with you. Your… expertise is necessary.” Trazyn grinned, the necrodermis teeth of his death mask coming together. A necron grinning was a very bizarre sight.

“Ah, you flatter me, Lord Cypher. And from one who has bedeviled the Imperium for ten thousand years and fought the Deceiver himself, such flattery is most appreciated. However,” Trazyn gestured around, “As you can see, my work consumes me. I’m afraid history stops for no one. Except you.” He held out a tesseract labyrinth, his voice flowing with mischief.

“Wait!” replied Cypher. “We have need of your help,” he repeated. “If you do not join us, then events will transpire that will result in the eventual destruction of reality,” he stated calmly, as if he were simply talking about the weather. “It might not happen now, or later, or even in a century, or millenia, but I know for certain it will happen. Everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for over these billions of years, will be gone. If you help us, we will most likely succeed, and in payment we will offer to you the greatest treasures in the universe.” Cypher held out a hand. “So what say you, Trazyn the Infinite? Are you ready to change history for once, instead of just cataloging it?” Trazyn pondered a moment, his neural circuitries firing faster than any mortal could keep up. Eventually, he took the hand.

“I accept.”

And there we are. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me! Wherever you are, have a great day!

#magnificent scoundrels #writing #story #my writing #crossover #warhammer 40k #star wars #crossover story

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thatkindofwoman · 4 years

Text

I’m sweating more than I have in years. It could be the heat. Or the state of these “united” states. It could be my refusal to air condition my apartment. Selfish for that thick air dissipating before a storm comes rolling in. It could be the deep introspection isolation takes, or self education, or the fights I refuse to step back from.

I remember having friends I no longer have.

The light of the hardware store sign across the street just flickered out. Maybe a timer...

I find peace in meditating before bed these days. In personal pleasures. Cold brewed tea. A garden filled with the rewards of my singular labor. Dunking my body into the water trough I asked my mom for, now nestled in my backyard, once used for the since passed horses from the farm.

Remembering. I remember when I did labor for others. So soft, treading carefully to provide for others, then roughly, forgetful, unsure. Those rewards not nearly as sweet. I’ll tell you that.

I do miss the easy physical nature with friends now gone. God damn, what I wouldn’t give for soft affection, or even a crushing hug. I miss slightly sloppy kisses on my cheek, or even a rough harsh SMACK on the ass, and arms thrown around my shoulders. Flipping off a close friend with a grin on my face even seems nostalgic these days. Mirrored in my 20s, now seeking depth and sincerity while being devilish in my 30s.

Intimacy seems to be around the corner on a never ending road. Just ahead. Maybe. Sickly sweet humidity makes me think of the wrestling of making out, roaming hands, exalted breaths from smiling mouths, words off the tongue between me and those caught in my web, me in theirs. Soaking wet, nude dancing in the rain, sharing kisses with a beautiful woman. Drenched after a skinny dipping session filled with me throwing back my head and living as a muse of affection and attraction from the callused hands of men who I’ll never speak to again. My bare shoulders pressed against a building as mouths spoke a wordless language.

What will intimacy look like on the other side of this. Not a question, as you can see by my punctuation.

I see wooing, yes, even in my impatience. And that I am. Impatient. I type that with a sly smile on my face. Oh, how to freely touch someone, reverence and slight belonging. Some of you lucky assholes don’t revel in the intimacy of free and safe touch these days, and I’m here to glare at you with my words. Complain not to me, fuckers.

I am a greedy mother fucker when it comes to the intimacies given to me, allowed to me, gained by me. I am a greedy mother fucker when it comes to the truth syrup of moments made safe. Safe. A laughable word in this current world.

This lack of safety, and lack of physical affections makes me daydream of violence. A double edged sword I will not be shamed of. Accept me, my love, for exactly as I am. I live on the edge of fantasies of breaking bones, and sharp edges.

Take my sweaty, conniving, tempted, argumentative, socially starved ass for what she is. Magnificent, learning, trying, the patron saint of failing. I will kiss your brow, and run my fingers through your hair, only to be pulled away wishing you the best as I’ll never see you again, or maybe just because sleep pulls me from you.

I am finding with myself, moments given and taken away. I am my own keeper these last few years, a pandemic placing even more “responsibility” on my lap, distracted by my own care, I tend to move from here to there with the best of intention. We’ll see how long I can keep keeping. I have faith, but proof comes in reality I made a way too sour bunch of overnight pickles, and mouth puckered I refuse to give up on them. A talent or a torture? Who’s to decide.

I lick my fingers after eating medium rare steak, I slice a lemon in half dunk it in sugar, and suck the sweet and bitter nature of it, no mercy, not even for myself. I pluck sun ripe tomatoes from the vines I planted and pop them in my mouth, braless, short shorts in my garden, dreaming of 15 acres and no visible neighbors.

I dance through this apartment, not another soul stepping foot in residence in 133 days, I watch my 13 year old cat wither away daily, and my 2 year old cat chatter with birds on the other side of the screen window. I weep for the woman my grandmother was when I was 17, and I never knew. I weep for my mother as she gave me every good trait I posses, at the expense of her own path.

I won’t lie to you. I learned how. I promise, I can lie prettier than most. My bottom lip going soft and shoulders dipping just how you’d like. Reading what you most like to hear. But it means nothing anymore, not my lies. They used to comfort. Not anymore. There’s nothing my half-heartedness will give to you that you couldn’t find on some corner of the internet. I won’t even lie to myself anymore, because she really doesn’t need that.

I soak my hands in rain water, I leave those begging too much of a me, they’ll never see beyond their needs.

I look in mirrors and love myself with words, and dance moves. I am training right this very moment for everyday for the rest of my life.

I love myself with my mess, and my talents. The other side of this will surely not distract me from the true lessons learned this time around.

I won’t be small, I won’t be quiet. I won’t be what someone demands of me, what someone desires of me because god fuck, damn, how fucking terrible to be a projection of someone else’s half-formed opinions, or their understanding.

I will be the dark and terrifying thunderstorm rolling in, I am the break in humidity. I am the sweat rolling down your chest. I am the tickled of your hair on your neck. I am the way your ass shakes on a jump and skip. I am the flooded lawn, I am the wasp that sneaks into your open window. I am the corner taken a tad too fast on the backroads. I am the crunch of a garden cucumber in your mouth. I am olive oil, fattening you up, I am the perfect piece of ice on your tongue. I am the slippery grilled corn on the cob you’re delighted to eat. I am the flash floods that you watch cautiously on the road. I am the movie you devour to fill your soul when it feels empty. I am the sunset after a fucked day. I am foremost these things to myself, and I’d like to maybe someday be those things for you. Or maybe just one or two.

#writing #mine #personal #thatkindofwoman #spilled ink #love #summer

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rambles-on-arcana · 3 years

Text

HEADCANON GAME - A TO Z (NSFW)

Featuring non-apprentice OCs ;; Daravin & Zenta, a traveling swordsman and mage that have been working out of Vesuvia.

We were doing this list in Sol’s server, so I now have all these answers. Just compiling them into a singular post.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Daravin will pick up his partner (assuming they're smaller then he is) and carry them to the bath. They're taking a hot bath together. ((Unless they're on the road, then they're taking a cold river bath alsdkjfasdf)) He needs to be clean to sleep. He appreciates cuddling afterwards because he’s tired and it can be nice, but he's not going to be adamant about it.

Zenta is basically clinical about clean up and caring for them and, if she got involved, herself as well. She is surprisingly snuggly afterwards, though, and will request the other person to stay.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Daravin likes his shoulders a lot. He has no illusion how nice they are, not just in breadth but in the muscles from years of swinging the big ass sword. In partners, he likes hands, stomach, and hips. Especially the hips for grabbing.

Zenta could care less about herself, body is a body. But if she's got a partner with a thing about certain body parts/shapes, she might alter her form for them for a time. On others, she likes their skin. She loves smooth skin and blemished skin and freckles and scars and stretch marks and---- she could go on for hours with praise and attention.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Daravin likes creampie giving. If he's receiving, he'd rather outside for easier cleaning up. He likes making his partner come multiple times before he bothers with himself getting there.

Zenta is intrigued (everyone smells and tastes different) but she couldn't really care which way it goes in the end. Her goal will be to wring as many orgasms out of who she's with as they can humanly take. It is not beyond her for them to have to safe word tap out or black out before she'll give them a break.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Daravin doesn't really do secrets but he is curious about being with someone bigger then he is. Cause he's usually the tallest one in the room. But he's never going to admit that.

Zenta doesn't do secrets in this manner because she's down to try anything to see the outcome.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Daravin is like... moderately experienced? He's canoodled more people than both hands together but also he's not like... poking everyone. He has had some flings while on the road but he prefers at least trying to build something at least semi-long term if they’re going to be somewhere for awhile. (No, he's not been stupid enough to try anything with Zenta.)

Zenta has had.... lots.... of time to experience all kinds of stuff. But she likes learning and playing more. She might come off as inexperienced at first just to kind of... lull them into a false sense of security as she learns their preferences and likes and feels them out. And when she’s learned more about them and learned their boundaries and preferences? Then the gloves are off.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Daravin likes mating press and standing and holding them just with his sheer strength. Also partial to pinning them against the wall in basically any way.

Zenta doesn't give a shit;; she's down for whatever drives her partner up a wall.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Daravin is serious but he is easy to draw into a gentle laugh. Like he has a serious face but he can be lighthearted. This is intimate but it's not that serious. You're bumping uglies, you can't be too serious about it.

Zenta is not quite a goof in the normal sense but this is definitely a game for her.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Daravin is neatly trimmed, it's one of the things he's very strict about. Yes carpet matches the drapes, albeit a little darker in color.

Zenta didn't think to have hair so she's hairless down there a;lkskdjfasdf

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Daravin is secretly a romantic but that doesn't always fit into their lifestyle a;sldkjf He wants to be very gentle and intimate but also? He would like to just get lost in things sometimes and emotions are not involved beyond that horny braincell.

Zenta doesn't understand intimacy as;dkljfasdf if someone read too far into what she's doing and is getting lovey and intimate she may just bluescreen for a moment trying to process what weird ritual they're instigating. ((She was just playing what are you doing stop that.))

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Daravin would far rather find a partner for that, he's not really into touching himself so there's not really ever going to be a chance to have someone walk in on him for that. Depending on who he walks in on, he may lean against the door frame and ask if they want some help.

Zenta doesn't feel urges so she doesn't touch herself. Would absolutely ask someone if they want help with that if she walks in on them. Like matter of fact, not trying to be smooth like Daravin was.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

They’re both partial to size differences.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Daravin likes having the privacy of a room but also there's just something about pulling someone into an alcove or alleyway, something kind of public but not really, and pushing them up against a wall for round one. To make the walk back to the room more interesting.

Zenta does not care, it's all basically the same to her tbh this is 100% based on the partner's desire.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Daravin they have to be blatant about "Hey, wanna fucc?" or he'll just write off what's happening. If they’ve been together a lil while? Show off the tummy/hip area. Make a show of bending down to pick stuff up. etc. Especially if they're doing it in public where he can't just pin them against something and has to wait until the opportune time to carry them off discreetly or they get home and then it's on.

Zenta is another one they have to be direct with about it. Unless they’re getting horny first and she smells it on them. Then she's gonna fuck with them and tease them until they beg or are direct.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Daravin doesn't want to hurt them.

Zenta doesn't want to leave permanent damage.

Neither one are into like... blood, scat, urine, etc. Basically food is the only thing allowed to be making a mess.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Daravin has rarely been on the receiving end but he's happy to be giving. Long nimble fingers and a very skilled tongue. He's very good at what he does and it will be one of the ways to wring those multiple orgasms out of them. If they can take his size to the base in their mouth he's gonna fuckin melt he doesn't realize how good it's going to be.

Illia doesn't much care for receiving unless it's how she's riling up her partner. She does like giving, though, because she's controlling what they're feeling. She's good at it and will use magic to augment what she's doing.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Daravin likes both. Something quick and rough to start but he is more into endurance and taking things slow and dragging it out.

Zenta doesn't much like quickies, she wants the time to really tear their ass up.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Daravin only likes quickies as the appetizer. That is not about to be the whole show, abso-fucking-lutely not.

Zenta doesn't even want them as an appetizer. They’re putting time aside for her or they're not getting a damn thing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Daravin isn't much into big risks. He's okay to experiment if his partner wants that, but he's only okay with like. Small risks. Like public stuff. He doesn't want either of you getting hurt.

Zenta is game for basically anything. Her partner has to be the one with sense to not get them in trouble.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Daravin has a lot of stamina. He's in his thirties and has decades of training with a sword, honing his physique, and traveling long distances. He only wants one or two rounds from himself but he's going to make them last and his partner is going to be cumming as many times as he can push them to.

Zenta is a monster in the light of this question a;skdjfasdgjf she can go forever.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Daravin doesn't own any and wouldn't bother to keep any because of traveling so much. But if his partner has one or wants to use one during (either him using it on them or them using it on him) he'll be down for it.

Zenta doesn't own them, doesn't need them. Her partner is going to be plenty occupied. magic seggs

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Daravin is not much in teasing his partner outside of just a little messing with them in public to get them started so they're in the mood.

Zenta is a huge tease because she loves to fuck with people. It doesn't help her voice can start to drive them mad if she talks too much so she's going to tease them in basically every other way available. All of them. Constantly. It can be for pushing their buttons until they try to toss her down or while they're doing the do and she's delaying their orgasms.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Daravin is very quiet. He's not super vocal besides some low grunts and growls and the occasional praise.

Zenta is quiet. It's kind of unnerving if her partner has the mental space to realize it. But she's very focused on making them make lots of noise so they're usually not.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Daravin nothing really comes to mind because he's a pretty straightforward kinda guy.

Zenta keeps what looks like a necklace in one of her bags. She may or may not add a jewel for each partner. Good luck seeing it though.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I skipped this one.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Daravin has I guess a moderate one? He'll match his partner but if there's a long time in between he's just eh about it.

Zenta is content with 1-3 times a week (unless there's multiple people, just one person wouldn't survive more than that a;skddjfasdf) but she won't really ache for it or go out of her way too hard for it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Daravin gets into a kind of peaceful calm. He's not sleepy but he's not wired. He's very zen and winding down calm. He'll make sure they're both clean, hydrated, and snuggled up together and then he'll snap out basically immediately because he finally fully relaxed.

Zenta is like bouncing off the walls energetic afterwards because she got all hyped up and had fun. She'll make sure everything's cleaned up and good to go before she snuggles down but the act of snuggling down is like a switch and she fucking dies for the night. Like getting a sugar rush and then a hard crash.

#non apprentice ocs #daravin #zenta #horn knee posting

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brittledame · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Semi Eita/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Mildly Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Scent Marking, Possessive Semi, Claiming, Mention of violence/gore, Alternate Universe, Fantasy AU, Wolf!Semi, Witch!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Summary: After Goshiki and Ushijima are thrown into an alternate universe after getting hit by a truck, they're thrown into a generation-old prophecy to defeat the Demon King that had been terrorizing the land. Joining the whirl-wind adventure, you face off the feared Wolf at a great disadvantage. Prepared to meet your fate in order to protect your team, you never anticipated him making a move on you and for it to end in you promising yourself to him.

Notes: Inspired by chapter 24 of Haikyuu-bu!! I started working on this in the middle of the 2nd installment to ‘Semi’s Blow Blow Up’ which I’m hoping to get out before the end of September. Also, I let Semi keep his ears and tail in this, please don’t send me to hell for that. Other than that, please enjoy!!

When Tsutomu and Ushijima ended up on top of a hill surrounded by acres of green rolling-hills, the younger honestly assumed the worst had happened. The bus had hit him and now he was dead in heaven. Of-course Ushijima would be there with him, he’s probably never made a misdeed in his life, meanwhile Tsutomu was slightly shocked he’d end up in heaven after spitefully cutting his older sister’s hair off when she teased his haircut when he was younger.

No, that can’t be right, he can't be in heaven. Everything felt too real. A breeze tousled his hair and he could smell the dirt under his scuffed runners. He couldn’t be dead, meaning that this place wasn’t heaven or purgatory, but someplace else. From the odd-looking trees sporting large purple leaves and expansive Elysian scenery, Tsutomu couldn’t shoot down the absurd idea that he was in an alternate dimension.

Patting himself down, he knew he was physically fine and felt his heart anxiously pounding away inside his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ushijima standing tall, giving the area around them a surveying glance before his olive eyes landed on his shaky form.

“Goshiki, are you alright?” His deep timbre did calm his frayed nerves, it was hard not to trust his dependable senpai.

Nodding his head, Tsutomu responds with number one question of the day: “Ushijima-senpai, where are we?”

He tried to conceal the fear in his tone, but it would seem that he failed miserably as Ushijima places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“That truck must have hit us quite a fair way away.” Ushijima states, looking nowhere near as panicked as one should in their situation.

Goshiki gives him bewildered look, gesturing to the land in front of them.

“You think we would be fine after getting hit by a truck?” Tsutomu didn’t try to hide his hysteria. “No matter what way you paint it, this place doesn’t look like anywhere in Miyagi!”

“But there’s Shirabu.” Ushijima points somewhere over Tsutomu’s shoulder.

Half scared that he’s going to turn around and it’s some eldritch terror standing behind him, he froze in place. Although Tsutomu knew Ushijima would never put him in danger, Ushijima had no sense of danger; case and point the ghost incident. Gathering his scattered courage, he turns around and is dumbfounded to find Shirabu indeed standing before him, albeit he was now dressed in unusual garments.

“Shirabu?” Tsutomu exclaims, half relived that at least someone with a brain not solely filled with volleyball would see the insanity of their situation.

“Shirabu? No, I am not a Shirabu, I am Elf.” Not-Shirabu responds while pulling his hood off to expose comically long ears. Tsutomu could feel his mind take a temporary holiday, leaving him half-cocked and not nearly prepared enough to deal with this shit.

“We’re in an actual alternate universe…”

A short trek later, Tsutomu found himself being hosted by Not-Shirabu, who was scarily similar to Shirabu - right down to his mannerisms. Tsutomu could’ve sworn that every time he asked a question about this world, Not-Shirabu fought down a grimace, but never failed to give him a short response. He was polite but was obvious about his distaste towards Tsutomu’s inherently curious nature.

“Shirabu, everyone will worry if we do not return to school soon.” Ushijima succinctly summarises their situation.

“It’s Elf,” Not-Shirabu says immediately. “You want to return to your world?”

At their nods, Not-Shirabu slumps in his chair with a hefty sigh.

“I’m afraid there’s an issue with that. I would love to get you back home, but an evil Demon King has taken over this land. I’m afraid to say that going home is out of the question.”

Tsutomu felt his heart sink at the words. They couldn’t return home? What were they going to do here for a living? They could farm, but Tsutomu is nowhere near well-read in that field compared to Ushijima. Even in this dire situation, Tsutomu was reluctant to admit defeat.

“A Demon King?” He queried, obviously fishing for information about this Demon King. Maybe there was a way to convince him to let them home?

“Yes.” Elf drily responded.

Tsutomu could feel his eye twitch at the Shirabu-like response. Even in an alternate universe, his senpai was a short and antagonistic towards Tsutomu.

Only when he was prompted by Ushijima’s nod, did he continue.

“He is a malicious being with the sole incentive is to spread misfortune across the land. It started with small mischievous deeds, such as cutting individual’s hair into odd styles.” Elf pauses here to raise a hand to his fringe and Tsutomu had to smother the laugh that could threaten his life. “Now he has moved onto terrorising villages and increasing tax prices to an unbelievable high.”

“That is no way to run a country.” Ushijima hums in disapproval.

Tsutomu clasped his hands over his head, already feeling a headache coming on. So we’re going to completely ignore that Shirabu’s weird ass fringe was the result of some Demon King that has apparently ravaged the land by hiking up tax prices? And why did this all sound like something Tendou-senpai would do? He felt latent hysteria rise to the surface again.

“I’m sorry that he got you too, Goshiki.” Elf says solemnly.

Head snapping up, Tsutomu felt outraged at the comment. He worked really hard for his fringe to be this straight. Tsutomu would swear up until his deathbed that bowl cuts were cool.

“Hey! My fringe is untouched by the Demon King. This was my choice!” Goshiki defended his hairstyle, patting at the dark strands, making sure there wasn’t any odd fly-aways.

“We can’t go home as long as the demon king reigns?” Ushijima interjects, effectively ending the argument before it started. Ushijima was all too used to being the only one to stop arguments between Goshiki and Shirabu, he knew all the warning signs.

“Yes.” Elf says with an apologetic look. “I’m very sorry. If only the summoning of the ‘Otherworldly Hero’ passed on from past generations had succeeded. They are the sole hope we have.”

A silence envelopes the room, heavy and suffocating.

Tsutomu knew that panicking would do nothing but waste valuable energy, but he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at the insane situation they found themselves in. A niggling thought heaped more anxiety onto him when it raises a good point. What if they were able to go home, what happens if time passes differently here? A day here may be twelve years back home. What would he do if he went back home and all his friends were old, his parents dead and –

Elf startles Tsutomu out of his downward spiral by suddenly jerking back with a gasp, wide eyes focused on Ushijima’s left hand holding a spoon laden with soup. The sudden motion had caused a cup to fall and clatter loudly against the stone flooring, which went widely ignored as Elf raises a trembling finger pointed at the stoic brunette.

“You’re using the spoon with your left hand. Are you –!” He cuts himself off as he rushes over to Ushijima’s side, not quite believing his own eyes. “The Otherworldly Hero!”

Tsutomu could not point out a time he’s ever heard so much emotion poured into Shirabu’s tone, he was almost swept up into Elf’s zeal before his logic kicked back in.

It was that easy?! Tsutomu internally screamed. This was just getting ridiculous at this point, honestly.

After a singular trial of pulling a sword out of stone and Tsutomu embarrassing himself and losing Elf’s respect, they found themselves starting a quest. The fanboy within him was super excited that he was going on an actual quest, exactly like the ones in his RPG campaigns.

“Remind me why we need this witch again?” Tsutomu questions, much to Elf’s evident annoyance.

“We need her to get through the Mystical Woods. It's prowled by one of the Demon King’s acolytes.” Elf slides his eyes to give Tsutomu a warning look, not wanting to answer anymore questions.

Gulping at the intimidating look, Tsutomu waved away the twenty billion other questions that came to mind as they made their way towards a tall stone tower. Tsutomu wonders what the witch would look like. Would she be someone they know, or someone completely new?

At this point in the trip, he silently begging any listening deities that she’s friendly. Ushijima and Shirabu have never been the best talking companions in his world and this trip has highlighted to Tsutomu how much he’d taken Yamagata’s and Reon’s friendly conversations for granted.

The tower ahead of them slowly grew in size until Tsutomu estimated it stood at least 5 stories tall. Following in Elf’s shadow, they pause a few feet away from the base. Looking at the structure, Tsutomu was quick to notice that there was no door present. Maybe they were on the wrong side of the tower?

He was just about to voice this before Elf cups his mouth and proceeds to yell up at one of the open windows.

“Hey Witch, come down! I found the Otherworldly Hero!” He shouts, uncaring at the ruckus he was making.

Tsutomu winces at the volume, shocked at how loud Elf could get. Absent mindedly, he wonders if the Shirabu in his dimension could get that loud too. Looking back up at the window, the youngest saw a head peak out.

“What?!” A familiar voice yells back down. The head disappears out of sight before any of them could respond.

No even a moment later, a dark door appears on the once-blank wall before them. Opening, the door reveals a figure that Tsutomu never thought he’d see. He should've expected it, this situation was crazy enough as it was.

Walking out of the dark room, you come to stand out in the sunlight, confirming your identity. Tsutomu blushed when he noted your attire. You looked exactly how you did before their run, minus the dark blue dress that hugged your curves and loose hair. Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself, he subtly glances to the side to catch Ushijima’s reaction to your appearance.

With his usual neutral expression, he exclaims your name with no more vigour than any other time he’s said it. Tsutomu put too much faith into Ushijima, he should have expected the lack of a reaction as well.

You give Ushijima an odd expression, looking at Elf to explain what was going on.

“Manager-chan?” Goshiki interrupted. Elf shot him a nasty look at the interruption and ended up sighing whilst rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“They've been calling me weird names all afternoon too. Just ignore the short Otherworlder.” Goshiki whines at his harsh words.

You pique an eyebrow at the bowl-cut boy. “So I look like someone you know from your world?”

“Yes,” Ushijima answered monotonously. “You look exactly like our team’s manager.”

You hum as you mull over his words. “Curious. So that would mean you're from a world that is directly parallel to ours, a completely different dimension with shared similarities.” Your tone picked in pace and excitement as you spoke, the end of your sentence becoming a smear to the males around you.

At their collective blank looks you made an odd hand gesture in the air. “Anyway… You found the Hero?” Giving Ushijima a curious look, you completely ignore Tsutomu’s existence.

It kind of hurt for one of his kindest senpai's to outright disregard his presence. Reminding himself of parallel universes, he had to actively tell himself that you weren’t technically you.

Wow, he really hated this alternative universe stuff.

“I’ve been told as such.” Ushijima supplies, not at all weirded out by you invading his personal space to prod at his biceps.

Turning on your heel, you make your way towards Elf and throw a casual arm around his shoulders. Not at all bothered by your antics, Elf stands there as you lean against him. Tsutomu knew in his world that you and Shirabu got along quite well, that must have translated into this universe as well.

“Why are you here instead of saving the lands now that you have the Hero at hand?” Your question is a legitimate one, one that Tsutomu would’ve asked if he wasn’t scared of Shirabu’s infamous back of the knee kicks. If Ushijima was supposedly strong enough to take on the Demon King, surely he'd be able to take on one simple lackey lurking in the woods they needed to cross.

“We’re here to recruit you. You’re the only one I know powerful enough to conceal us to get past the Demon King’s pet monsters.” He patiently explains.

“Aw and here I was thinking it was because you missed me. I missed you, y’know?” You teased. Truly, you did miss Elf and all the shenanigans the two of you would get into, but you would never pass up an opportunity to needle him.

Elf simply rolls his eyes at you and shrugs the arm off of his shoulder.

“I mean it. We need you to get through the Mystical Woods without being detected by Wolf.” You frown at Elf’s serious expression, the reality of the situation dawning upon you.

“You know I’m never going to turn down a quest with you, but his senses are ridiculously enhanced. It’ll take a lot out of me.” Running a hand through your hair, Tsutomu recognised it as your nervous tick. “I won’t be much help during the final battle.”

“Don’t worry about that. You can rely on me.” Ushijima simply states but the effect on you and Elf is immediate.

The Hero’s simple words eviscerated your reservations, the conviction in his tone was all you needed to hear. That paired with the large sacred sword still embedded in stone was all it took to convince you it wasn't a fool's mission.

Agreeing to join their party, you rush to grab your wand and some other resources to assist the party later on in the journey before setting off.

By the time you all stood before the ominous-looking trees of the Mystical Woods, the sun was starting to settle on the horizon, warning you that you had little to no time to make it through before night came along and the true battle began.

“Before we enter, I must tell you all that Wolf’s senses are second to none. He’ll hear a whisper, smell you an acre away, and could destroy you before you could blink.” Your warning only served to scare Goshiki. You rushed to complete your weak pep talk. “But, I’m here so it is very unlikely that he will catch us, much less even be in this neck of the woods.”

Your words did little to soothe the youngest, although he did put a brave face on. You had to stop yourself from cooing at how cute he looked with his chest puffed out and a serious expression adorning his young face.

“Hey, uh, what does this wolf look like? That way if we spot him we can seek some cover.” Goshiki suggests.

Impressed, you gave him an encouraging smile and ignored Elf snorting behind you.

“That’s a brilliant idea, good job Goshiki.” You praised, noticing the way his eyes lit up at it. “Wolf roams around in his human form as far as I’m aware of. He’s taller than Elf but shorter than Hero.”

Elf indignantly huffs at your comment, not all liking your unintentional poke at the sore topic.

“He has pale hair, it almost looks white sometimes. Oh, he also constantly has this really grumpy look on his face.” You continue to list off a series of characteristics that describes Semi to a tee. There was no doubt in Tsutomu’s and Ushijima’s mind about who Wolf was.

“That sounds like Semi.” Goshiki remarked once you finished.

Receiving blank looks from you and Elf, Tsutomu stumbled over his words as he tried to articulate his thoughts.

“Ah, well, the person you just described sounds exactly like my senpai back home called Semi.” Tsutomu let out a small chuckle as he’s hit with a funny nickname for his senpai.

“We’re going to avoid Semi-Wolf so that we can get to the castle, defeat the king and go home, right?” Tsutomu smoothly recovers.

You laugh at the odd nickname Goshiki coined.

“Semi-Wolf you say? I quite like that.” You raise your hand to cover your grin, very amused at how much the ever-serious Wolf would hate it.

Always forced to be the voice of reason, Elf clapped his hands to refocus everyone’s attention.

“We can’t lose focus now. Once we enter these trees we can’t afford to be found by Wolf, even with Witch and Hero on our side, it would be a tiresome battle if he spots us.” His grave tone quickly sobered up the party.

Taking a deep breath, you withdraw your wand, starting to draw out an intricate rune in the air. A familiar tingling sensation overtakes your body as magic begins to flow from the earth up into your fingers and into the wand.

Finishing the last line, a glowing circle with swirling line and sharp strokes stood before you. Fastening the members behind you with a heavy look, you offered them one last chance to back out.

“Are you all ready?”

All three nod back at you, already having steeled themselves whilst you prepared the rune. Turning back to the rune, you finished the casting and walked through it with the three males hot on your tracks. It evaporated as soon as you stepped through it, effectively masking your scents and dampening all sounds. Even Ushijima could sense the tangible weight of the magic casted over his body.

The woods were exactly as you remembered it from when you were a child and wasn’t claimed by the fearsome Wolf. The trees looked the same with rough and peeling bark, along with the ground looking as damp and spongy as the days you ran through it barefooted and free-spirited.

While you didn’t explicitly state that they couldn’t talk, you were secretly glad that they didn’t. It would’ve made your life much more difficult to funnel more energy into the rune to mask them, it was already bad enough that your couldn't completely conceal everyone. Your combined efforts of creeping between the threes on light feet was counteracted by Ushijima nicking every second tree with the sword's sharp blade, creating a trail of bark.

Eyes and ears stayed vigilant even as you noticed a landmark for the half-way point through the forest. You paused at the large outcropping of rocks resembling a sleeping lady and mouth at them that it you were half-way there. Elf and Goshiki looked relieved whilst Ushijima sported the same bland look.

You were tempted to suggest a short rest before continuing through the woods, where Semi-Wolf commonly prowled. The words died on your tongue as you noticed an abnormally thick fog rapidly approach your group. Not even a blink later and the fog had consumed all visibility below the waist.

You’ve spent your whole life surrounded by magic, you knew that this fog came from an unnatural origin. You had hoped that the fog would stay at that height but those were quickly dashed when you saw it slowly creep up your body. It wouldn’t be long before your entire vision was obscured.

This was not good, not good at all.

Whirling around, you went to grab at your team’s clothing to anchor them to you. As your hands cut throw empty air, your fear doubled. You doubted that they abandoned you, it was likely the doing of the magical woods. While you loved to experiment and witness all types of magic, always keen to expand your knowledge, the magic in these woods never failed to unnerve you even as a young child.

Not only was there a predator out here, the woods were also working against you.

Considering your options, you concluded that you were rapidly running out of choices.

Calling out their names was objectively a stupid choice, but it was the best thing you could do with breaking the fragile magic coating them. It was almost a form a self-sacrifice. If you drew enough attention to yourself, they would hopefully find their way to you - or at least something would.

A few tense moments go by, each call answered with dead silence. Not even the insects and birds dared to make a sound.

Casting a tracking spell was completely off the table. Not only was the fog thick enough that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, it would shatter the meagre concealing magic coating them. At least it was something to protect them, it was much better then leaving them completely defenceless.

“Shit.” You hissed. Worriedly, you eye the magical fog that was becoming more oppressive, feeling like a physical weight pressing down on you.

“I didn’t know good witches like yourself cursed. So unladylike.” A deep rumbling voice sounded right next to your ear. It was close enough to for warm breath to caress your cold skin. Your skin immediately breaks into goose bumps.

Freezing, your mind descends into chaos as it crowds with worrying thoughts. The most prominent one pointed out the fact that Wolf was able to get dangerously close to you without your notice, magical fog aside. There was no doubt about who he was, there was no other that claimed the woods like he has.

You whirl around, trying to find the voice’s owner, full well knowing of whom you were seeking out. Fear coiled inside of your gut, trying it’s hardest to paralyse your muscles and haze your mind over in fear at the thought of facing Wolf alone at a disadvantage.

“You speak as if you’re a gentleman yourself, Semi-Wolf. You don’t have much room to condone my language when you have the mouth of a foul-tempered troll.” You rebuked, falsifying the confidence in your tone. Showing an ounce of trepidation in front of him would be deadly.

Eyes frantically flitting about, attempting to catch a glimpse of a shadow or anything that would reveal his whereabouts. Your eyes were met with nothing but swirling white, not a single sign as to where he could be. This whole situation had you on edge.

He chuckles at your weak jab. The sound reverberated off of the trees and felt like it came from all around you, only serving to further confuse you about his whereabouts.

While every drop of mana was precious, you thought it prudent to at least being able to see your enemy. It should at least put you on equal footing with him. Flicking your wand, you cast a spell to temporarily filter out the fog around you, creating a clear bubble around you and the menacing man before you.

Even though he looked just as you had described to your otherworldly companions, viewing Wolf not even two meters away from one’s self was always a different experience. The first feature that caught your attention was his dark eyes, iris colour similar to richly stained wood, secondly was his elongated nails coming to a fatal point. Claws sharp enough to shear through flesh with ease were paired with pointed canines exposed by his predatory smile.

Your heart speeds up as you recognised how doomed you were, armed only with your wand, half of your mana and a pouch of useless herbs. The fluffy white dark-tipped ears sitting atop his head flick at the thundering sound of your palpable fear. Wolf's smile widened at that, tail swishing side-to-side in glee. This was going to be all too easy for him.

“Found you Semi-Wolf” Your white-knuckled grip around your wand belied your light tone.

“Don’t call me that.” He growls out, eyes narrowing at you. He was not impressed at your impertinence.

You would normally roll your eyes at the needless display of anger, but you couldn’t afford to take your eyes off of his intimidating figure slowly walking around you.

“What are you doing in my territory,” he continues. You knew he didn't care about your answer, it was more so to draw this out.

Fine, you’d bite.

“We’re on a quest, so please kindly don’t interfere.” He pauses to the left of you, now not even an arms-length away from you. Your body instinctively tenses at this, acutely aware that he could take you out faster than you could cast at this distance.

“I can’t let my reputation suffer just because you asked politely to cross through. There’s consequences to encroaching my land without permission.” His tone darkens at the end of his sentence, acting as if you personally offended him by doing so.

You knew he wouldn’t let you go so easily but a girl could always dream, right?

Lowering your centre of gravity, you subtly shift your body into a fighting stance and forcibly relax your wrist. A stiff wrist would hinder casting and it would frankly be embarrassing to be taken down so quickly, regardless of Wolf being the second toughest opponent controlled by the Demon King.

His keen eyes catch onto your slight movements and he moves in kind. It appears that you’re confident enough to take him on directly off the bat and not even attempt to run away. Whether this choice was misguided or made by underestimating him, Wolf was going to make you rued the day you thought you stood a chance against him.

Not wanting to wait for him to make the first move, you immediately cast a paralysing spell. The spell missed widely as he simultaneously lunged towards you at that very moment. This back and forth of casting and dodging goes on for a while and it wasn't long before you could physically feel your mana decrease and muscles grow tired. Maybe locking yourself in a tower for months on end didn’t have the best effect on your stamina.

Knowing you didn’t have a chance in hell against him while half-powered thanks to the prior masking spell, you could do nothing but futilely dodge him and cast the occasional fire ball his way. In the back of your mind, you spared a thought to the rest of the party and prayed to the deities that they were making their way out of the woods.

An exposed root caught your foot as you danced out of reach from a swipe of his deadly claws. Time seemed to slow down as your world tilted and the ground rose up to catch your body. Catching yourself on unsteady hands, you hiss as the rough ground scrapes your palms and knees enough to bleed.

Seizing the win, Wolf walks over to your stationary form, savouring the smell of your blood on the air. It smelt sweet, Wolf licked his lips and nudged you onto your back with his foot. He briefly wondered if you would taste just as sweet. You had put up a good fight and Wolf always loved a good challenge.

Semi-Wolf cages your body with his own, his large hands trapping yours above your head, with his legs pinning yours down. At this point, you had resigned yourself to your fate. You never really thought that you’d die like this, a hot guy murdering you was always a bonus you supposed.

Bringing his face towards yours, your breath falters when his lips floats above yours. Eyes wide, you noticed the hunger in his dark eyes, a hunger that you knew yourself all too intimately. Seeing his lips tilt into a dangerous smirk, your eyes lock onto them much to Wolf’s evident amusement. He uses the opportunity of your diverted attention to closely check you out, his eyes sweeping down your form.

He vastly appreciates the simple dark gown you wore. The dress exposed enough cleavage without becoming a disaster and had a leg slit that exposed a fair amount of soft-looking skin. Wetting his lips at the delicious sight you made underneath him, Wolf knows his evaluating looks were far from one sided, he could feel your gaze burn into his skin in kind.

Making eye contact with you, he decided he was going to indulge himself just this once. After weeks of dealing with Demon King’s shenanigans and then having to come back and patrol the woods with nothing in terms of companionship, he was admittedly lonely. He also harboured a lot of frustration and pent-up sexual desires and then there you were, waltzing on in with a form-fitting dress and smelling of ripened strawberries.

Wolf leans down and brings his mouth to your neck. All that filled your mind was the different but all equally as gruesome ideas of how he could kill you in this position. Him tearing out your throat was at the forefront of your mind.

Wolf licks a hot stripe up your throat, tasting your rabbit-like heartbeat. It was almost cute how much he scared you. He was almost tempted to assure you he can be gentle if he’s in the mood for it. From how you reacted to his each and every touch, he knew his self-restraint would truly be tested tonight. He did so love a sensitive lover.

“What are you going to do to me?” Your voice shakes and serves to further spur him on. Temptingly, he brushes his lips against yours, as light as a feather and no where near the pressure you now craved.

This close up you could see the flecks of near obsidian accentuating his mahogany brown irises that swirled with unspoken promises of what he was planning to do to you tonight. He doesn’t answer, choosing to stare instead.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Pushing him probably wasn’t the smartest decision. Then again, you never would have gotten into adventuring if you had all your wits about you.

Again, silence meets your ears as he rolls his eyes at you in response, much to your shock. The action was unexpected, completely out of character for him, judging from the gossip you’ve overheard from the townspeople.

“I’ve got a much better use for that cute little mouth of yours then asking pointless questions.” He purrs into your ear.

You very nearly swallowed your tongue, eyes wide in disbelief. Your mind was still spinning at the sudden turn the night has taken. You were ready to fight for your life, not get pinned down and get propositioned. His actions spoke leagues, he didn’t leave any room for misinterpretation of what he desired from you. As much as that thought should’ve scared you, a thrill of anticipation sparked down your spine.

Noticing your receptiveness, Wolf planned to test how far he could push you before you pulled back. Testing the waters, he bridges the short gap between your mouths and kisses you. To his amusement, you froze for half a breath before reciprocating, soft lips moving skillfully against his.

Deepening the kiss, he doesn’t wait for permission to lick into your mouth, earning him a gasp. You never really spared any thought to him before this day other than reluctant acknowledgement of his strength, that even armed with an arsenal of spells you’d still struggle to defeat him. Never in a hundred years would you think that he was a good kisser and yet here he was doing his best to thoroughly prove you wrong.

Warmth spread through your body as you tried to pay him in kind, but he was intent on dominating the kiss in every way. Your mind wondered over the thought of him dominating you in another way and your heart gave a concerning lurch inside our chest.

Semi-Wolf ends up breaking the kiss to chuckle down at you after a moan escaped. Embarrassed flush tinging your cheeks pink, you use the break to catch the breath he stole from your lungs.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Semi-Wolf.” You whisper against his lips.

“How much more direct do I have to be with you, little witch? Do you want me to say that I want to fuck that cheeky mouth of yours until you cry?” Heart palpitating, your eyes zero in on him wetting his lips, wondering what else his tongue could do. “Or maybe that I’m horny enough to fuck you regardless of your incessant questioning.”

This time you shiver at the way his deep voice seemed elicit lust to cloud your mind. Horny yourself from countless days of self-imposed isolation in your pursuit of knowledge after your last disastrous quest with Elf, you weren’t exactly in the right mind-frame to deny him.

At the same time though, who said you would make it easy for him?

“Even the big bad Wolf gets lonely guarding the creepy woods.” You goad him, eager to get a rise from him.

Rising to the obvious bait, his grip tighten around your wrists enough to hurt. Meeting his scowl with a jovial expression, you inwardly crowed at how easy it was to rile him up.

“You’d be so much cuter if you didn’t open your mouth. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that for you.” He promises darkly. His thumb presses into your bottom lip and urges you to open your mouth.

You do deny yourself the desire to bite down on his thumb, not wanting to truly make him mad. You just wanted him mad enough to take you without holding back.

Releasing your other wrist, he makes quick work of undoing his pants. Enjoying the view, your tongue licked his thumb, drawing his attention for all of a second before he presses his thumb on top of your tongue. You whine around the intrusion, earning an unimpressed look from him as he reveals his sizable length.

He nearly laughs when he hear you audibly gulp as he shucks down his pants one-handed. His slowly filling dick swelled even more at your groan from just witnessing his length. Even at half-mast he was long and girthy enough for you to wonder if he was going to fit in you.

Not liking the way your attention drifted inwards, Wolf gripped himself and gave a few tugs. To both your fascination and horror, you watched as his cock was stroked into full hardness. At this, you swore to yourself to make it fit, no matter what. There was no way you were going to pass up this once in a life-time opportunity.

Wolf considers the position you were both in and decided that it wouldn’t do. Releasing his cock and removing his thumb from your mouth, he grabs you by the shoulders and forcibly moves you into a new position. You relished the way he manhandled you, you elect to make it easy on him and be pliable for him.

Pushing a hand through his wild hair, he looks over at your new placement. Dress strewn around your legs, the side slit now exposing an indecent amount of flesh as you laid out beside him. Once again grasping your shoulder, he moves your upper body to lean over his spread legs, bringing your face towards his rigid length.

You didn’t fight him as he brought your mouth towards his cock, nor did you wait for permission to start. Wrapping your mouth around the leaking tip, you gave a slight suck before trying to take more of him in all while swirling your tongue around him. His hand moves up into your hair as you slowly make your way down his shaft, cute little mouth already stretched wide.

About half-way down your jaw was starting to get sore from how wide you had to keep your mouth from grazing your teeth harshly against him. You weren’t ready to admit defeat yet, you still hadn’t even taken him fully yet. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to take the rest of his cock in all the way, sore throat be damned. You gagged at the feeling of him being shoved down your throat, mouth impossibly full as his hips jolt up and keep himself in as you started to pull back.

A loud groan rumbles through the air, rewarding your efforts. His fingers tighten in your hair, locking your head in place. You fight against his grip and win, coming up with a gasp and a thick strand of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. Giving him a withering glare, you lick up his shaft once, twice, before engulfing him yet again. This was for your benefit, hearing him growl as you sucked him off was just a benefit.

He watched on with delight as you forced yourself to choke on his cock, evidently he was too large for you to handle. Not wanting you to do all the work, he started to slowly roll his hips up and took control of your pace by moving you up and down his member by his grip on your hair.

Unable to take back control, you could do nothing but to let him guide you as he fucks into your mouth. This turned you on incredibly, feeling yourself become wet as he pants and groans into the still air. Distantly, you could hear his tail thump against the ground.

While fucking your willing mouth, he’s struck with a brilliant idea. Wrapping a hand around your throat, he’s now able to feel himself being deepthroated. A rush of blood left him light-headed, absolutely loving the fact that he can feel himself when he shoves his cock even further down your throat, not caring that at how you dug your nails into his hips. Your whines about him taking over only served to arouse him further, feeling the vibrations travel along his length.

He feels himself come close as you swallow around him, tongue rubbing sinuously against all the right spots. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he peaked. While he did have a fast recovery time, he didn’t want to waste a moment of not being buried inside of you. Already the smell your arousal perfumed the air, causing his dick to jump in your mouth at the sudden influx of blood rushing southward. The need to be inside of you trumped the joy he felt from you sucking him off.

Tearing you off of his dick with a slick'pop', you were completely blindsided as he throws you against the ground. His hand grasped your thigh, drawing it up as his other shears the thin fabric of your dress off. Now sitting above mid-thigh, you silently despaired about the destruction of your favourite dress. Uncaring, Wolf impatiently batted the rest of the flowy fabric out of his way, not sparing you a second look at you as he shreds your panties and runs a knuckle down your wet folds.

“I’ve barely touched you and yet you’re this wet,” he muses.

Careful of his nails, he gathers up your liquid arousal on his finger and brings it up to his mouth, tasting you. You clench down on nothing as he closes his eyes to savour your taste with a moan. If he drew this out any longer, you were going to have a spontaneous heart attack.

Squirming under him, you made impatient sound. It didn’t go ignored, grinning down at you, he brings bringing his finger back down to teasingly caress your folds, touches much too light for your taste.

“Aren’t you an impatient little thing,” Semi-Wolf drawled as brushes a knuckle against your hole, pausing over it and slightly dipping in.

A frustrate groan left your lips, tilting your hips up to chase his teasing strokes.

“Please.” You begged as he started again with the feather-light strokes.

Normally you would rather retch than beg for cock, However there was always an exception. That exception being Semi-Wolf's cock. It appeared to be the correct thing to do as his eyes flashed with something sinful, a wild look on his face.

“Since you asked so nicely…” He moves down your body, coming to a stop at the apex of your thighs.

Face so close to your core, his mouth started salivating from how good you smelt. Blowing onto your pussy, he elicits a cute squeal and ended up having to pin your legs down to keep you from kneeing him in the head.

He delivers a long lick between your wet folds and swallows your taste as he prods at your entrance. Judging he had enough fun, he delved straight in. Clawing at the soft ground under you, your chest heaved as his tongue thrus in, swirled around, rubbed against your walls and pulled out. It wasn't long before he had you incoherently begging for something, anything, yet he continued in this fashion until he had your hands tugging at his hair, careful of his furry ears, and writhing on his tongue.

Eating you out like a man starved, he didn’t stop until he felt your thighs tense around his head, signalling how close he brought you with just his tongue. He’d like to think that he wasn’t a cruel man but the nasty look you gave when he pulled away had him second guessing himself.

You were more than ready at this point. Ready to start cursing at him if he didn’t fuck you right now, you opened you mouth for him beat you to the chase. Heaving himself upwards, he presses his chest against yours, inadvertently bringing his hips close enough for his dick to slap against your drenched folds.

Gripping himself, he wordlessly slicks up his length by rubbing it through your juices. Lining up with you entrance, he barely presses in and your hands fly up to dig into his arms. Not minding the bite of pain, Wolf didn’t stop you from digging in your nails as he slowly slid in.

Reminding yourself to breath, you took shallow breaths and forcibly relaxed your muscles to help take him in, ignoring the sharp sting of pain that paired with his girth.

Shoving his engorged cock into your wet hole, he didn’t hesitate to slide down to the root regardless of how tight you were. Tears rise to your eyes unbidden as he pushes his way into you, feeling like his cock alone could split you in half. Muttering a half-assed incantation under your breath, you banished the edge of pain away, unmasking the pleasure at being so completely filled.

His thick cock that filled every space inside of you so well, that you started to believe he was made for you. The same thought went through his mind as he begins to mindlessly pound away into you, loving the way your wet hole takes him so well and tightens perfectly around him every time.

The angle he pummelled into at had you seeing stars. You raise your hips to meet his a few times before he grabs the back of your right knee with one hand, pinning your leg up against your chest. A wrecked moan rattles you as the pose opens you up more, changing the angle and allowing him to hit even deeper inside of you, now experiencing fireworks.

“You like that, huh?” He growls roughly.

You couldn’t spare the breath to answer him back with him fucking the life out of you, instead you nodded helplessly.

A pleased noise rumbled through his chest. You were such a supple little thing, taking every inch of him like you needed it, no matter the pain it initially caused you. Such things stroked his ego, paired with the wrecked expression on your face and the fluttering of your walls around his cock, he was intrigued by you. Being impressed and interested in someone with his possessive nature was never a good combination, and he couldn’t stop himself from becoming enamoured with you while fucking you into the ground.

He litters your neck and chest with kisses, bruises, and bites that you knew would take a while to heal and vanish. The bastard was infamously territorial, you should’ve known that it would also translate into sex as well. Having half the mind to slap him for marking up, you couldn’t deny the way your heart leaped and pussy clenched around him with every rough suck he delivered to your soft skin.

He couldn’t let you go now he’s had a taste of you. He knew you would be perfect in tempering him, weathering his moods and give yourself fully to him like were right now. You already proved yourself worthy by not backing down or running away. Pupils blown wide, possessive thoughts consume his mind, devising different ways he could make you his. From the way you thrashed under him, shaky moans joining the symphony of your bodies colliding together, he conjured a way he could make you his.

Feeling him pull out was nothing of concern to your bliss-filled mind. It was when he didn’t slide back in that raised alarm. Opening your eyes, you blinked away tears from your sight to make out his proud-looking expression. Whining, you raise your hips up to force his tip to slide in further. Semi-Wolf denies you this by pulling his hips back further, removing his cock all together.

“Do you want me to continue fucking your greedy hole?” He says, eyes piercing through your soul.

Showing your frustration, you glare up at him and dig your nails into his arm, making him wince at the strong grip.

“Yes.” You hissed through clenched teeth.

He considers your answer for a short moment before moving his dick again. This time though, he merely sits it between your slick folds and rolls his hips. The position was perfect for his cock to graze against your clit, a moan slipped out before you could suppress it.

“What would you do for it?” He questions, rolling his hips again, putting more force behind it this time.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, the constant stream of stimuli from him rubbing against your sensitive bundle was overwhelming. Seeing that you weren’t listening to him, he stopped his motions and watched as frustrated tears gather in your eyes as he ripped away your building orgasm.

“I said, what will you do for it?” He leans down to your ear, teeth gently tugging at your earlobe.

Existence now solely staked on you reaching your peak, the words rushed out of you without a second thought.

“Anything.”

He smiles at that, a shudder going through your body at the beautiful sight. He flashes his canines at you, happy that you wouldn’t need any convincing.

“I was hoping you would say that.” He presses your mouths together in a relatively chaste kiss. Confused, you kissed him back with vigour and chased his lips when he drew back. “How about becoming mine?”

A flash of heat sears through your body at his question. Mind going in a hundred different directions, it gets thrown around into different scenarios. First you were making out, fucking and now he was asking you to be his? You literally just met the guy. While yes sex with him so far has been immaculate, you couldn’t just swear yourself to him at the drop of hat.

All these thoughts should’ve been enough to deter you, to encourage you to finish yourself off and walk away. Instead, the horny part of you overrode all common sense. A strong, attractive partner by your side with a drool-worthy dick? You didn't need anything more.

Hands cupping his cheeks, you graze your thumb over his bottom lip and pull him closer.

“Yes. Now fuck me before I finish myself off.” His eyes flash at your threat, promising you hell for that.

Sealing your fate, you fasten your mouth over his and slip your tongue into his mouth as he grabs himself and lines up with your entrance and thrusts back in like he never stopped.

Pace faster than before, you arched you back as his cock presses into you, feeling impossibly deep. Unforgiving now in his thrusts, he didn’t hesitate to make himself a place inside of you, needing you to feel him even when he was finished.

It felt like your veins were filled with molten magma as he repeatedly hit all your sweet spots without even trying. All of your arousal and pleasure amassed into a tightly coiled ball that sat low in your gut and grew with every growl and thrust he gave. This time you protected it with all your might, you’d most definitely curse him if he pulled the same stunt twice.

Wolf buried his head into the crook of your neck, panting into your skin as he pistons himself in and out of you, chasing his own orgasm to no end in sight. Scraping his canines along the column of your throat, you shudder around his cock and tantalisingly squeeze him. Rewarding how sensitive you were, he attaches his mouth to you and buries his fangs into your flesh.

It felt like a supernova went off of inside of you the very moment his teeth pierced your flesh, flinging your head back fast enough that you almost knock yourself out as Wolf fucks you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

His hips don’t falter their pistoning as you tighten up immensely, feeling like a second skin from the way you gripped at him. Blood filling his mouth, he greedily swallowed every drop of the sweet substance, not at all surprised that it tasted just as sweet as the strawberries you smelt like.

With one last thrust, he pulls out and gives himself three rough tugs before he finally spilled all over your thighs. He very nearly purrs at how he solidified his claim over you, his scent seeping into your skin strong enough for any non-human person with a decent nose would know exactly who you belonged to.

“Will you grant us passage through your woods now?” You asked, sarcastic words shattering the silent atmosphere that enveloped your bodies as you both recovered.

“Maybe. Depends what you’re scheming.” He glances over at you from the corner of his eye, not bothering to turn over.

“We’re going to take down the Demon King.” Semi-Wolf chokes on mid-air and whirls around to face you, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Are you serious? If you had started with that, I would’ve walked you guys through and joined the fight.” You bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing. This whole time Semi-Wolf wasn’t the dangerous servant of evil you had him pegged for, instead he was begrudgingly guarding these woods. He must being doing it for something, albeit you didn't know what for.

“What did he do to warrant your anger at him.” You were blatantly curious. It wasn’t often that you were wrong in how you perceived someone, plus it was interesting to catch a glimpse into the life of someone who was close to the maleficent Demon King.

“He said my wardrobe was hideous.” Wolf grumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t hear you.” You grin at him while cupping your ear and leaning in close. You had heard him perfectly fine, it was just fun to see this side of him.

Teasing him was much too fun, you were already getting comfortable around him. Who could’ve guessed he would be all soft on the inside? Elf was going to get a kick out hearing that. Whether he’ll believe you or not is entirely another story.

Annoyed, Wolf bats you away as you laughed at the pick blush betraying his stern look.

“Doesn’t matter. There’s no way you could lose with me helping.” A different, more gentle sort of warmth fills you at his claim, no matter how self-assured it may come across to some.

No longer wishing to antagonise him further, you simply hum in response. Not giving it a second thought, you slip your hand into his.

“Ignoring the fact that you destroyed my favourite dress,” Wolf had the common decency to look ashamed, withering under your harsh glare. “Were you serious when you asked –”

“Yes, I was serious.” He cuts you off. A nervous look replaces his serious one, scratching at the back of his head as he contemplated his next words. “Look, it wasn’t a smart move to do that to you in the middle of… yeah. I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of you being someone else's. It's weird how connected I felt with you in that moment."

Looking away from the tree he was studying to avoid your gaze he was met with your stunned face painted a soft pink.

“You’re an idiot.” You say bluntly. Okay, he was definitely not the big monster you were led to believe. You almost felt like a fool for being so scared of him at the start.

“Hey!” He indignantly shouts, squeezing your hand as punishment for your insult.

“I’m joking, I swear it. It was a dick move but I forgive you.” Suddenly feeling shy, you look away from his intense eyes, not liking the way it felt like he could read your very soul. If Elf were here he’d probably scoff at you being demure after -

“Crap, my party! They probably think I’m dead.” You hurriedly get up and brush off the debris from your now short dress. A slight breeze picked up, causing you to shiver at the weird sensation of it caressing your bare legs and reminding you of the cum drying uncomfortably on your skin.

Ripping a piece of your sleeve off, you make quick work of cleaning yourself off as Wolf tugs on his pants. Seeing the way he eyes your legs, you narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head when he feigns an innocent look.

Giving the small glade one last look over, you both set off into the now clear woods. It took what seemed like a short eternity before you broke the tree line of the other side. On the other side, you find a pacing Goshiki, a bored-looking Elf and a peacefully dozing Ushijima.

Looking over at your sudden appearance, it took one sweep of Elf’s perceptive eyes to know what exactly had went down during your disappearance. You blush as he raises an unimpressed brow at you, ignoring Semi-Wolf’s presence by your side out of pure spite.

It took a bit to convince them that he was here to help and help he did. Armed with the scarily one-minded Hero and one pissed of Semi-Wolf, the crimson-haired Demon King didn’t stand a chance against them.

#semi x reader #semi eita x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #semi eita #shiratorizawa #haikyuu-bu!!#alternate universe - fantasy #alternate universe #he has ears and a tail and I was considering I may be furry for writing this rip #haikyuu!! fic #haikyuu!!#reader-insert #I'm probably going to fanfic author hell for writing this

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iamnotsensical · 4 years

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This Air I Can’t Breathe

@cat-clawz said: “Welcome!! If you'd like, you could do something where Jaskier isn't human and uses a glamour to hide his less human traits, but a group of highwaymen rob him and Geralt (and either take the glamour or Jaskier is forced to help out with some very nonhuman reflexes). :) Have fun!”

With this prompt we said ‘Fuck you!’ to everything I know about Jaskier’s backstory, lol. (I usually advocate for BAMF!Jask? But unforeseen circumstances have him relying a little more heavily on Geralt than usual.) I also chose to make some shit up including mythology/biology of mythical creatures, and characters I’m sure do not exist XD. (It also got a little more emotional than I planned. But here we go!)

“No- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!” Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskier’s chest. “Take the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-” He begged.

Geralt’s eyes widened just slightly at the offer. Filivandrel’s lute hadn’t left Jaskier’s side since the mountains, he almost couldn’t believe that Jaskier was so ready to trade it for a necklace. Though, when he came to think of it, Jaskier always wore that necklace. Geralt had just never asked why . . .

They hadn’t been out of the city for long and it wasn’t even dark. Honestly, it was rather ballsy for this particular group of bandits to attack a witcher in broad daylight. Yet they jumped out of the trees and descended on Geralt and Jaskier with a singular intent. Their movements were languid and elegant, they moved almost like dancers. Still, Geralt and Jaskier each held their own fairly well. That is until Roach had been threatened and Jaskier grew distracted.

The bard turned his back on the woman he’d been fighting to throw a dagger at the man who’d reached for Roach’s bags. In his moment of urgency, his opponent managed to grip his wrist as it fell from the throw and use the momentum to twist it behind his back. She dragged her own dagger over one of his thighs, cutting it deeply and continuing to move her hand up. The one fluid movement gave her the position to twist Jaskier to her desire and pull the knife close against his neck. “Enough!” She yelled. In any other moment, Jaskier would have swooned over the rasping alto of her voice, but right now he found himself pissed that such a vile woman possessed such a beautiful tone. The gods always gifted the worst of people. “Put down your weapon, mutant, or I will cut your friend’s throat.”

Geralt slowed to a stop across the clearing, his eyes shooting over to where Jaskier was standing. Jaskier shook his head, a silent ‘Don’t even think about it.’ But the woman twisted his arm more harshly and Jaskier winced, persuading Geralt to toss his sword to the side.

“Godsdamnit, Geralt.” Jaskier breathed.

The woman nodded to two other of her men and they both descended on Roach’s saddlebags. Before they could get there Geralt whistled sharply and Roach kicked the man beside her and took off into the forest. The bandits were fast, but Roach was faster. Geralt suffered a sharp blow to the cheek for it, but Roach escaped mostly untouched.

Much to Jaskier’s dismay that turned the bandits’ to Geralt, and they were certainly not happy. Jaskier knew that Geralt could have defended himself, would have too, if Jaskier were not standing there with a knife against his throat. He tried briefly to struggle free from the woman, but at the cool drip of his own blood down his neck he stilled. “My pack-!” He said suddenly.

The bandits slowly pulled back from Geralt, showing their damage, but giving him a break from the beating. Jaskier swallowed hard and pointed with the hand he had twisted behind his back. “My bag is behind that tree. I’d set it down for a moment.” He admitted. “You’ll find a bag of gold there, please. Take it and go.”

The woman looked over at the same two men from before, both of whom had been taking care of their companion. The one who’d been struck by Roach. She nodded towards the tree and the two walked over to it. They found the bag and subsequently Jaskier’s lute, which he’d been hoping would go unnoticed. They pulled out the small bag of coin, it was all Jaskier had earned at the town they’d been in. She scoffed, “Can you not count? The three men and two women with your friend, the man your horse mauled, and my two partners Jei and Kei. That makes nine of us. You think one bag of coin will satisfy us? You think us too dumb to know that your witcher sent the horse away on purpose?”

Jaskier squirmed, “I think you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to-” He started to bite back. He was cut off by the sound of his own whimper, the knife cutting deeper into his throat.

“A smart ass. How fun.” The woman snapped.

One of her two partners- Kei or Jei, Jaskier didn’t know- walked over, muttering in a language Jaskier did not recognize. The woman laughed in Jaskier’s ear and he felt her nod. “You’re right. He is wearing such pretty clothes.” She said.

Geralt’s eyes shot up, a look of warning in his eyes, “You will not strip him.” The witcher snarled.

The woman merely laughed as the other partner reached out and plucked the chain that rested around Jaskier’s neck. If he wasn’t already tense enough, Jaskier grew stone still as the necklace he always wore hidden behind his clothes was pulled out into the daylight. “No- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!” Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskier’s chest. “Take the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-” He begged.

The necklace was plucked from Jaskier’s neck and pocketed. Almost instantly, Jaskier doubled over. The movement took the woman by surprise and she dropped him to the ground. Jaskier curled up almost pitifully and wrapped his arms around himself. Geralt instantly stood and stepped forward. With the sudden movement, the woman made a sharp yell-like noise and took off. Her group followed her.

When faced with the decision to follow them or to go to Jaskier? Well, Geralt had no choice. He dropped to his knees and looked over Jaskier carefully. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Jaskier’s hair grew darker and his skin developed a sort of bluish tint. It became almost clear and Geralt didn’t need sharp eyes to see the cold veins just below the surface. Sharp dark fingernails grew from the tips of Jaskier’s hands which were quite suddenly webbed. Spiked fins stabbed through Jaskier’s doublet, and protruded down his spine.

Perhaps the biggest surprise was the dark black and blue tail where legs were not moments ago.

Jaskier was shuddering and wincing against the sun, his eyes squeezed shut and expression contrite. One of his webbed hands was holding the side of his tail. The cut landed to his thigh now oozed an almost black blood, but looked dried and cracked. Actually, nearly every bit of him seemed to be cracking.

Geralt’s eyes darted around to the ransacked bag that the bandits had left behind when they’d run. They took Jaskier’s necklace and his coin, but they were otherwise fairly unsuccessful at doing much more than causing chaos. Geralt pulled a flask of water from Jaskier’s bag and a blanket, dumping the water over the cloth and then carefully wrapping the cloth around the most of Jaskier’s tail that he could reach.

Jaskier had a tail.

Geralt stared at his bard, expression tight and confused. “How-” He started before realizing that the necklace had to have been some kind of glamour. “When-” Surely Jaskier had to have revealed himself some times? When did he do so to keep it from Geralt? . . . Probably when Geralt was away on a hunt. They almost always made certain to have a room with a tub, Geralt had thought that Jaskier wanted to treat him after a stubborn contract, but clearly it served more than one purpose. “Why-” That was a stupid question. Why would Jaskier tell Geralt? Geralt’s entire life was devoted to killing monsters. Jaskier would have had to have been insane or suicidal to share this with Geralt. He was neither. “What-” Another stupid question. Clearly a siren. Mermaids could not breathe above water and Jaskier was breathing right now . . . not to mention the singing. Melitelle, the singing. Geralt should have figured that out sooner.

Jaskier took a labored breath, but the damp blanket was clearly helping. He tried to push himself up. He braced himself against a tree and winced as he squished his back fins. He brought trembling hands back to the gash in his tail and made a small pained noise.

Geralt noticed the very careful way in which Jaskier’s face remained guarded, and his eyes avoided contact. “If you aren’t going to slit my throat would you mind calling Roach back? I’ve got another flask of water packed on her and- I’m feeling rather parched.” Jaskier requested. Though his tone was decidedly light, it came across as airy and strained rather than it’s regular carefree disposition.

Geralt nodded silently and whistled again. In the distance he heard the horse turn around and start back their way. He carefully returned his attention to Jaskier and cleared his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He assured him quietly. “I’m never going to hurt you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes, somehow even bluer in his true form than when glamoured, met Geralt’s. He regarded him suspiciously. The pain, both physical and emotional, sat just beneath the surface of Jaskier’s gaze. “I’m a siren. I’ve seen you kill more than one of us.” He said skeptically.

Geralt looked solemn, but assented. “You have. But you’ve also seen me spare sirens. Just like every other creature I’ve dealt with. I only kill what will not stop hurting others . . . I don’t believe that you can hurt others. It is not your nature.” He said quietly.

Geralt wanted to argue more, but when it came to words he was aware that no sentence he could structure would be clever enough to fight whatever arguments Jaskier’s mind was constructing. Action it would have to be.

Roach came into the clearing and Geralt got up, walking over to the horse and pulling both his own waterskin and Jaskier’s. He returned and knelt beside the bard- the siren? The- . . .Jaskier. He knelt beside Jaskier and extended one skin while slowly pouring splashes of the others into his palm. He knew his hands were calloused, but he was careful to gently massage the water into the fins on Jaskier’s sides and back, he gently pulled each of Jaskier’s arms forward and poured some of the water on Jaskier’s hands. He gently patted it against the gills that flayed the sides of Jaskier’s neck.

“Can you survive out of the water for long? Without that pendant?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s tail curled up in a slightly defensive manner. “Are you hoping the answer is no, and nature will do your job for you?” He retorted.

Geralt sighed softly, “No. I’m trying to figure out if it would be better to get you to the nearest body of water or to a mage who could make you another pendant . . . if you want, of course.” He explained.

Jaskier huffed with wise resignation he rarely showed, “I don’t have the money for that, Geralt. Why do you think I was willing to trade anything not to lose that one? They’re expensive. I wouldn’t even know where to find another.”

The witcher shook his head. “Jaskier. Can you survive out of the water without magic?”

“I- Yes. So long as I don’t dry out . . . the uh- the wet cloth was a stroke of genius. It is helping quite a bit.” He admitted quietly.

Geralt nodded. “Good. Then we’ll find a mage.”

Jaskier’s eyes once again found Geralt’s, and Geralt once again saw that suspicion lurking. He wrapped his arms over his own chest, “Who’s going to pay for it? Those fiends took all of my money. I couldn’t earn that back in one stay, let alone the more I would need for a mage’s help.” He said curtly, clearly frustrated with Geralt.

Geralt shook his head. “I have savings. And I know a few mages who owe me.” He said evenly. “I can make it happen.” He said and carefully hooked his hand under the bend of Jaskier’s tail and behind his back. “You’ll have to hold onto Roach tightly-”

Jaskier sputtered indignantly, but gave in and held onto Geralt’s chest. “Geralt.”

“You will also have to let me know when you’re getting too dry-”

“Geralt.”

“It’s the summer months, so the sun will bake you if we aren’t careful-”

“Geralt!” Jaskier finally huffed, exasperated, even as Geralt was carefully setting him on top of Roach. “Doesn’t this seem like exactly the opportunity you were waiting for? I can’t keep up, now is the time to leave. I wouldn’t be able to follow you-” He said, voice tight and low.

Geralt’s heart seemed to stop. “What-?” He breathed in confusion. “Why the fuck would I leave you?”

Jaskier stared at him sort of incredulously and then dropped his gaze. Despite towering over Geralt from his position on the horse, Jaskier looked . . . smaller. Definitely smaller than usual. Geralt regarded him in confusion as Jaskier cleared his throat. “You’ve made your position quite clear. We are not friends. I am only still around because I’m persistent, of all of the times you’ve up and left in the middle of nights, it only makes sense that you’d- . . . Well. Seize this situation for what it is . . . a chance to leave.” Jaskier gripped tightly onto Roach’s reins, Geralt could see that the webbing on his hands was already drying and cracking again. “I’m no longer just a nuisance. Not even just- a creature you should kill. But past all of that, a hindrance preventing you from continuing on the path, I don’t understand why you’d- . . . help me.”

Geralt stood still, his hands still holding Jaskier up on the horse. One on his hip, one where Jaskier’s knee would be. He couldn’t quite believe the words the bard was saying. Did he truly believe all of that? Geralt had thought- it was all just- banter, wasn’t it? “It seems . . . I owe you an apology, my friend. I- thought we operated with an understanding. I thought that- well, that you knew . . . my sentiments for you.” He explained quietly.

Jaskier slowly looked up. “Sentiments?”

Geralt nodded, “I do not think of you as any of those things . . . You are my closest friend. At times my only. I- . . .” Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly. “I care a lot about you.” He admitted.

And if in that moment, Jaskier was bursting with relief and affection? He settled it all down into a small smile so as not to overwhelm his witcher. He took a slow breath and gently covered Geralt’s hand on his knee with a cold webbed hand of his own. “Oh . . . well. In that case. I suppose we should find one of those mages you spoke of . . .”

#witcher fic #my witcher fic tag #my prompts #geralt x dandelion #geralt of rivera #geraskier #jaskier #siren jaskier #i made some shit up about sirens #(i don't know how to tag things)#creature jaskier

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her0brine · 3 years

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Here’s the final part to my little three piece fic about Steve and Alex meeting each other, I genuinely had a great time writing this down and thanks to the peeps who liked it as well!!!

As daylight breaks across the horizon, it makes it’s way into the large window that encompasses Alex’s new makeshift bedroom, the gentle warmth of the sun soon awakening Alex from their slumber. It took them some time to fall asleep from their tumultuous night, from their surreal first meeting with Steve and enduring the pain from drinking that potion to heal their relatively intense wounds. As they gently writhed in bed, their green eyes blearily look towards the newly crafted nightstand adjacent to their bed, spotting a bundle with a note pinned underneath it.

They push themselves up, now more fully awake as they tussle their hair back into its proper place as they grab the bundle and note with their other hand. Before opening up the bundle, they begin to read aloud the note, noticing however it seems to be pretty fresh as the charcoal writing on it has begun to rub off on their fingers.

“‘Good morning. By the time you wake up, I should be outside tending to my livestock. This is my daily routine, so don’t be scared if I’m not inside right now. The entrance to my farm is right in the kitchen, to the singular door in it. I also went ahead and washed and mended your clothes. Apologies in advance if you think this was a bit rude as I had to go into your room to get your clothes, and I swear I did not even look at you as I took them off the floor. I also made you a new sword. I made two of them just in case, one out of gold and another out of netherite. I wasn’t sure if you liked welding netherite items so I made a gold one to replace your own gold sword, since I couldn’t go back and get the pieces of your original gold sword. It was just too dangerous to go out again. I hope it’ll be at least a decent replacement before I can go back there later to pick the pieces up to rebuild your original one. Please let me know if you need anything else. Just shout at me outside for what you’d like for breakfast if you want, I’m willing to serve you for as long as you stay here.’................... Netherite?..... They had a pickaxe made out of that........”

Alex now looks down at the bundle in their lap, slowly nudging at its string. Netherite was quite the incredibly rare material, but Steve is making it sound like it was as common as iron. Alex gently pulls at the string, as the bundle suddenly spills out what Steve wrote about in the note. Alex’s once bloodied clothes were now perfectly clean and fully mended, alongside the two swords. Alex looks on in awe at the craftsmanship, as the two swords boldly gleamed in the morning sunlight.

Alex did like their own gold sword, but this new one essentially blew it out of water. It looked somewhat even more sturdy and there was intricate carvings within it’s handle, all cubic-like patterns merging together to wrap around the handle. The netherite sword was also equally stunning, as the odd sheen of the dark material made it look incredibly lustrous. Alex mumbles to themselves, wondering how Steve seemed to cram day’s worth of work into two swords, in just a few hours. Then again, this was the person who gave them a bedroom that was overflowing with different shulker boxes, each filled with rows of bundles that were each filled with a singular type of item, so Alex could only assume it was possibly a set of spares they had lying around.

They began to get out of bed, now putting on their clothes, and seemingly was shocked at how fresh they felt. Not even when they mended their outfit from damage during their own various explorations, it never really felt this smooth and comfortable. It felt like when they made their outfit on their own for the first time ages ago.

It really does seem like anything Steve touches has this surreally excellent degree of craftsmanship, and Alex definitely wanted to achieve such a skill set like that.

Alex soon opens up their room’s door to see the living room, which still was a marvelous sight to see, and even more so in the day. As they walk across it to the kitchen, they can already hear the gentle clucking of chickens emanating from the door there. As they make their way to it, they pass where they once sat in the kitchen table’s singular chair, noticing now the bloodstains they left behind on the floor were now gone, as if nothing occurred at all there.

As they crack open the door, the smell of fresh air and grass hits them, as the bleats of sheep and the soft mooing of cows soon follows. Alex smiles as they walk past the various pens, watching as the animals look towards them, some even being excited by their presence and walking up to the posts, wanted to be petted. They stop to pet a sheep a sheep that was dyed blue, as it gleefully bleats as Alex rubs their head. The whine of a horse suddenly catches their attention though, and Alex looks past the pens to spot a small stable, as a lone chestnut colored horse was attached to it. It looked directly at Alex, before whining again but strangely not in a aggravated way. Alex soon felt like every animal there was oddly gravitating towards them, as if they’ve never seen another person other than Steve and was begging for new attention.

Before Alex can continue to dwell on this, a small yelp rings out, as a flurry of bawks and chirps follows it. Alex whips their head around to see the cause of this commotion, to see Steve kneeling in a nearby pen full of chickens, as they all surround them, flapping feathers all around and some attempting to climb on top of them. In Steve’s hands are some freshly harvested eggs, which is probably the reason why these chickens suddenly got into such a fuss.

Alex giggles to themselves, seeing Steve be overwhelmed by such a relatively harmless swarm of poultry. Some feathers have gotten tangled up in their short brown hair, and various seeds were scattered across their pants, as they used them to try luring the chickens away from their eggs. Their giggles wanes though when Steve finally stands up from the pen’s floor, and notices Alex directly staring at them once again.

“hhgGhh!!......hhHhellloo!-oh! oh...........”

“Oh uh good morning to ya Steve! I see you were uh, kinda preoccupied there. I didn’t want to make more of a mess though so uh, I didn’t go inside there. Uhhhh.... Ah! Are those eggs for breakfast? Since I know you uh, said you can make me breakfast today. I can make it myself though!! You don’t have to cook for me, I’m feeling much better now!”

Steve eyebrows fly up, as they now gesture towards Alex that they’re fine with cooking breakfast, but it just comes out as a flurry of erratic hand waves.

“No no it’s okay Steve! You were kind enough to let me stay over and to even fix my clothes, and to add on top of that, you just gifted me TWO swords! Please, let me just do this for you, I don’t want to be more of a bother.”

“AHHH!!! N-NO PRO-PROBLLEEMM!!!” Steve suddenly shouted, before once again going into a coughing fit. Alex could only watch on once again as Steve struggles to catch their breath, but luckily they did not crush the eggs that were still in their grasp this whole time.

Still wheezing, they make their way out of the chicken pen and goes on a beeline towards the kitchen door, as Alex quickly runs behind them, still willing to cook for themselves. As the two of them go through the kitchen door, Steve once more waves towards Alex, but to make them sit down on the single chair in the room. Alex eventually agrees to this, but clearly looks a bit concerned when looking at Steve.

They seem to have deep grey circles underneath their indigo eyes, and even though they look like they bathed and put on a fresh set of clothes, Steve still looked on edge and exhausted. They proceed to go to a red shulker box, reaching into it and pulling out different cuts of raw meat, looking back at Alex to see their response.

“Oh. Uh..... d-do you have uh pork? Bacon and eggs is great, but if you don’t I would still eat anything you serve! Again I don’t want to make a fuss out of this!!”

Steve seems to physically wince at hearing that last part, as they quickly turn around and store the other cuts of meat that weren’t pork. They turn their smoker on, as they proceed to prepare the breakfast meal.

Alex sits alone at the table, now intrigued by the carvings on it’s sides. It seems similar to the same engravings on the swords they were given. As they look around the kitchen, it seems like this cubic motif is all around them, in both the wooden furniture and walls. Before they can ask Steve if they did all of this on their own, the sound of a plate clicking against a table snapped them back to reality. It was a large plate absolutely filled to the brim with large cuts of bacon, along side four cooked eggs that were begging to be cut into.

As Alex says thank you, Steve shyly turns around to get the utensils, alongside a cup of milk to go along with the meal. They place those next to the plate, as Alex proceeds to dig in. While they chow down on the plate, Steve begins to walk towards the door again, before Alex stops them dead in their tracks.

“Wait, why are you leaving? Come on, stay here! See if you can build a new chair real quick, I want to chat with you! Well, you kinda know what I mean by ‘chat’, like I’ll just uh, ask you some yes and no kinda questions to pass the time. Will ya?”

Alex smiles towards Steve, as they slowly walk back towards the table, arms deep in their pockets as they proceed to pull out some wood blocks to quickly assemble a chair. As they sit down, Steve keeps their eyes glued to the floor, murmuring to themselves as Alex begins to send a barrage of questions towards them.

“Do you live alone? This house is like, absolutely MASSIVE, and yet I kind of feel like you only live here?”

“....... y...yea........”

“Okay, how about pets then? Do you have any at all? I have a tamed wolf back at my home, along with some tropical fish! I know those don’t really do anything, but I think they’re pretty to look at!”

Steve seems to recede deeply in their chair at hearing the pet question, before slowly shaking their head side to side.

“Ah. Well. Damn. Well do you have livestock, and a lot of it! They’re kinda pets I guess, and they’re so cute!! Maybe try telling me about them?”

Steve seems to be more interested in this question, as they straighten themselves up on the chair, and begins to write on a spare note they had.

By the time the duo finished ‘chatting’, it was way past noon and Alex’s plate was wiped clean, and there was a large pile of notes in the middle of the table. Both Alex and Steve were giggling like mad, delirious from learning and laughing at each other’s experiences and various misadventures. Steve also seemed to finally soften up fully towards Alex as well, as their on-edge and morose appearance soon melted away, to reveal that they’re actually quite gleeful. They still had those grey circles though, and soon asked Alex if it was okay for them to leave and rest up, as they genuinely did not sleep at all during the night.

Essentially owing so much to Steve right now, they of course said yes, as it was the least they could do for them. As Steve proceeds to leaves the kitchen, Alex stands up as well to go wash their plate and utensils in the sink. As they wash off the grease on them, they could hear a loud thud, followed by some guttural sound.

Alex soon rushes out of the kitchen, fearing that something bad might have suddenly happened to Steve, before immediately seeing them lying face flat on a nearby couch, snoring loudly. Alex could only assume that Steve was really fatigued from one lost night of sleep, and walked around the sofa to sit in a cushioned chair near to it. As they stare up towards the glass ceiling, they begin to reflect on their surreal luck with stumbling across a seemingly perfect benignant human being. They have lived on their own as well for some time, traveling from village to village and rarely stayed at one place for too long. They’ve barely stayed at their original home for some time, and hasn’t checked up on their tamed wolf either, just relying on their villager neighbor to look after their pet.

Perhaps, they should stay a bit longer, to see if they can pick up some skills from Steve such as how they managed to amass such a large amount of raw material and finalized goods on their own, and why their craftsmanship is so incredibly good. As they think about this to themselves, Steve is in a deep state of sleep, wondering if they should tell Alex to stay over for some more time as well........ they don’t want them to see them leave so soon..........

#I MIGHT attempt to turn some of this into a animatic one day but I first need to find a actual good animation program to do that :’)#steve #alex #minecraft #mineblr #⬜️

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fuzzyporcupine · 3 years

Text

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 6

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

rating: explicit

word count: 13,130

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 6:

The knock at the door had woken him with a start, loud and forceful as it echoed through the tiny room. The light shining in from the singular window blinded his sight, straining the already sleep-addled eyes. It couldn’t have been soon after dawn, and he had no idea who could possibly need to disturb him this early. Levi grumbled lowly as he sat up in the bed, throwing the furs to the side. Bare feet slid onto the stone floor, pale toes flexing on the ground. Dressed in only a thin white shift to cover his nakedness, Levi stepped to the large door. He unlocked it with quick, deft fingers, sliding the thick iron rod out of the latch.

The hinges squeaked painfully as he tugged the entrance open. Levi expected to be greeted by an annoyed Petra, maybe even the frightened servant girl, though the latter seemed highly unlikely given the fright he had caused her. However, neither was standing beyond the entryway. The only people meeting his gaze were the goddamned Royal Guard.

A cold sweat began to form on the back of his neck as a twitchy thumb tucked into a sweaty palm. The men were decorated with fine golden armor and a green silken cloak that wrapped around their wide shoulders. The uniform was customary of the Royal Guard and signified their importance to the court. His eyes flicked down to the long silver swords and black slender rifles strapped menacingly to the soldiers’ sides and backs. Swallowing hard, Levi lifted his gaze back to brave the stone-faced men. He didn’t know what could have possibly warranted the Royal Guard to arrive at his doorstep. Perhaps Eren did tell his father of Levi’s disrespect inside the studio. Perhaps this was a reckoning.

The thought had Levi’s throat tightening.

Regardless, Levi refused to be afraid. Fear was a terrible emotion. One that never seemed to do anything but scramble the brain and cause unneeded anxiety. He’d boarded that feeling up long ago and would be damned if he let it boil back up again.

One of the guards shuffled. “His Majesty requests your presence.” That sounded ominous.

He steeled himself, a pointed chin turned upwards, almost mocking. “May I be dressed or does His Majesty wish to see me prance about in my bedclothes?” If they were going to make an example of him, he’d rather it not be with his cock out.

The man’s gaze narrowed then drifted down to Levi’s bare legs. “Make haste. His Majesty does not like to wait.”

Levi grunted, quietly closing the door behind him as the guards moved to stand against the wall.

Well, wasn’t this just a right old mess?

A thought of jumping out the window and making a run for it briefly fluttered through his mind before he disregarded the idea entirely. He had no notion if the king intended something sinister or just wanted to chat. Levi decided it was not worth snapping his ankles over.

Pulling the shift over his head, Levi made quick work of getting dressed. If the king was truly impatient as the Royal Guard stated, then it was in his best interest to not dawdle.

The men were still standing outside when he exited the room. However, now he appeared to them much more decent - a linen shirt tucked nicely beneath the waist of his darkened breeches.

Without so much as a verbal cue, the Royal Guard began to march towards where Levi assumed the king was residing. He found it a good sign that the men were not dragging him along by the backs of his arms. At least they weren’t yet, anyway.

The grounds were ghostly as he was led through. Empty except for a few soldiers and a murder of crows squawking a venomous tune atop the ramparts. Leather boots sunk deep into the mud, the morning dew softening up the already well-trodden soil. It was impossible to tell which direction the guards were taking him based on the prints left in the dirt. There were so many of them, abandoned from weary horses being led to the stables and drunken soldiers stumbling in late from the tavern. Reminded him of a certain soaked fool whispering vulgar obscenities into his ear.

“I would teach you. If you begged.”

Just the memory of the words had Levi’s jaw clenching. He’d never begged for anything in his life. Not when there had been a knife pressed flush against his throat. Not when a stingy noble threatened to dock his pay. Not even when he watched the colors of Shiganshina toss flames onto everything he loved. Shit would sooner rain from the sky before Levi Ackerman begged of anything from that bastard.

“Through the door and up the stairs.” They’d stopped in front of one of the vast spherical towers attached to the curtain wall. Like a dark cloud on a stormy day, the structure cast a leaden shadow over Levi and the surrounding mud. He was close enough to the stone that if he looked up only brick and mortar would catch his gaze. Attached to the tower was a wooden door. Though not near as strong as the immense iron gate separating the village from the castle grounds, the entrance felt just as menacing. With a jaw still tightened, Levi strode forward and threw open the flimsy door with a hard tug.

The spiral staircase greeted him immediately, grey stone steps coated with a layer of dust and debris. Soft footsteps echoed as he advanced upward, almost loud enough to drown out the obnoxious beating in his chest. By the time he reached the top of the tower, his thighs were burning fiercely and an unattractive sweat had formed above his brow. The men below did not tell Levi where he should head once reaching the top, but it was not hard to decipher. A trio of Royal Guard stood behind the king as the slouching man observed the dwindling village from atop the wall. Levi approached carefully, still unsure if the encounter would end with him thrown from the battlements.

“I see the men have escorted you well.” The king continued to stare off into the distance as he spoke, voice mimicking the tiredness that dragged on the man’s expression. In the morning light, Levi saw the streaks of grey reflecting brightly against the dull brown on top of the king’s head. The war had aged the man, as most wars tended to do.

“They have, Your Majesty,” Levi confirmed.

The king hummed, thin hands gripping tightly around the stone. “I understand my son has proven to be quite difficult to work with.” Levi remained stone-faced and silent. He had no inkling of how to respond to such a loaded question. Should he remain quiet or let the king know how much of a complete idiot the prince was? Either choice seemed likely to offend. “Shall I find someone else more competent?” So, this was why the king sent for him. Not to toss him off the side of the wall or to swing a sword through his neck. But to humiliate him.

Rage rose in him like a tide receding from the shore, thumbnail digging an angry crescent into his palm. Levi’s skill had proven him to be more than competent as an artist. His portfolio saw proof of that. What he wasn’t, however, was a goddamned babysitter, especially to an overgrown child such as the prince.

“No,” he bit out dangerously. The king turned to face him then. “I’m the best damned painter in this entire bloody kingdom. By three months’ end, you’ll be able to see that for yourself.”

Are you fucking delirious?

That timeframe was impossible. Even with the best of clients, Levi typically wouldn’t have the piece delivered in under six months. And to cut that time in half? He had to be absolutely insane. That had to be it. Or maybe he just longed for death and wanted to feel the cool slice of a blade against his skin. Which might actually happen sooner rather than later. In his anger, Levi had taken several steps closer, prompting the Royal Guard to grab hold of the weapon hilts. The sight doused his anger like water over a fire. “Your Majesty,” he added quietly in the hopes that the soldiers would release their swords with the two words.

The king looked him up and down, an unimpressed stare settled within the wrinkles on the worn face. A hand was lifted and the sound of sheathed steel cut sharply through the air.

“By three months’ end,” the king said firmly. Goddammit, Ackerman. Levi nodded once, fist unclenching by his side. “You may leave.” He bowed his head, turning quickly on a booted heel. Before Levi could reach the archway, the king regarded him again. “And painter?” Levi cast a wary glance over his shoulder to find the man gazing back out again over the village. “Disrespect me again and I’ll have you flayed and dragged through the streets.”

Levi let out a nervous breath.

Of that, he had no doubt.

_______________________

Levi had not been waiting in the studio long before Petra arrived. She brought with her a remorseful expression and news that the young prince was suffering an unfortunate bout of nausea and would not be attending the session.

Like hell he wouldn’t, Levi thought as his feet marched him closer to Petra.

“Take me to his room,” he insisted, voice unyielding as the stone walls surrounding him.

“But, sir, the prince is-”

“Sleeping?” Levi interrupted. “It’s nearly midday, Ms. Ral.”

“Yes, I understand, but-”

“If the prince is well and truly ill I shall send for a doctor. Now, please.” He looked at her expectantly, watching the way a plump bottom lip wiggled in between her teeth. The woman could easily refuse him. He had not been hired to snoop into the prince’s room. Levi was there to paint, and Petra surely realized this. However, he had only a limited amount of time to complete what was seemingly an impossible portrait. One that he was certain would get him killed if it was not finished on time. He couldn’t allow Eren’s wankered morning after to place any undue setbacks on the schedule.

A tight sigh broke across her lips as she murmured, “Right this way, sir.” Levi’s shoulders relaxed as he followed the woman down the winding staircase. Her pace was brisk, hardly allowing him the opportunity to analyze the route they were taking. She said nothing as they ascended the great set of stairs in the foyer. Just continued marching until they had finally made it to a fine wooden door. “The prince is inside.”

His eyes fell to the small iron handle of the entrance and then to the golden keyhole. “Is it locked?”

Petra shook her head. “No, sir. His young Majesty only locks the door when…” She trailed off, cheeks flaring pink. Ah, Levi understood.

“Of course,” he muttered. Levi silently wondered why Eren would even bother with locks considering the scene he witnessed the night prior. “Thank you for the escort.” He raised a fist to the door, giving it two sharp knocks before closing his hand around the handle. Hopefully, the warning would be able to warn the prince of his arrival. If not, well, Levi wouldn’t necessarily be surprised.

“I shall let the guards know to ignore any screaming.”

Levi thanked her with a slight upturn of the lips as he pulled the door open and entered the bedroom.

The chambers were coated in a shadowy grey, the light from the window being held back by a thick curtain. A small table stood off to the side, a basket of uneaten fruit and a bronze pitcher sitting on top of the surface. A writing desk with a battered leg took up residence against the same wall. Miscellaneous papers were scattered everywhere atop the desk, leaving nary space vacant. Across the room, a large bed, about twice the size of his own, was fixed upon a risen platform of solid stone. Green silk cascaded around the poles holding up the canopy. Bundled in the middle amidst a pile of blankets and furs nestled the prince, a mess of brown hair sticking out from the depths of the sheets.

“Gods be kind, Petra. I said leave me be.” The voice didn’t hold quite the bite that he’s sure Eren was hoping, overly raspy from the man’s rambunctious night. Levi stepped closer to the talking lump, boots echoing off the stone floor as he went. He took in the figure moving slightly beneath the sheets, the gentle breathing causing the blankets to rise and fall in a steady motion. With swift hands, Levi gripped the coverings and ripped them from the bed, exposing the body beneath.

“Are you completely mad, you daft wench?!” Eren screamed, hands reaching out to recover the lost warmth. They paused, though, when the prince noticed who exactly had pulled the silken linens from the bed. “What are you doing here?” Eren asked, wincing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position against the plush pillows. “Come to ravage me in my bed chambers?”

“Get up,” he stated plainly, not in the mood for the prince’s teasing.

“Oh, I am up, artist.” Levi resisted the urge to strangle the bastard, biting the inside of his cheek as he marched over to the curtained window. The fabric was pulled back, and Eren threw up a quick hand against the light. “Gods, you’re fucking cruel.”

“Get up,” Levi reiterated, voice almost a growl as it snuck between clenched teeth. He felt like punching something, preferably the prince’s stupid, smug face.

“My, you are feisty today.” Eren grinned up wolfishly at Levi. “Did my father order you to speak so openly to me?”

“Your father ordered me to paint your portrait, Your Highness.” In only three months, he reminded himself. Though that fault fell on Levi’s own shoulders.

Eren yawned loudly, arms stretching high up into the air. The movement caused the man’s nightclothes to shift up, exposing thick, tan thighs. Levi tore his eyes away, a red heat tickling his neck. He silently cursed his embarrassment. Levi had seen a man naked before. Many men in fact. The communal baths were not exactly the place one would go expecting modesty. So, to have such a reaction to this complete pig of a man was humiliating. “I told you,” the prince said in between yawns, “that I would be bedridden today.”

Levi scoffed, mortification long forgotten as he stomped over to the edge of the bed. “I have promised your father a complete portrait in three fucking months. I do not intend to disappoint him.” His tone was dangerously deadly, causing Eren to nervously drop outstretched arms in a covered lap. “I expect you in the studio within the hour, Your Highness.” He turned away, leaving the prince momentarily speechless. Upon reaching the doorway, Levi paused, looking back over his shoulder to find Eren staring back in his direction with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“You’re the Prince of Shiganshina. Act like it.”

#ereri fanfic #ereri #fic: lead me with your hands tied #thespazzbot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot #attack on titan

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mcgrillzdumpinc · 4 years

Text

Further Ahead - a Madame Lan fic

Summary: Lan Chunhua became wife to Qingheng-jun through no will of her own. She bore his children and held her own against the strict Lan sect. In her time spent in the Gentian House, she planned an escape that would allow her to leave with her sons. Little did she know that she would find herself thirty years into the future.

Word count: 5517

Rating: T

ao3 link

Inspired by an idea from fallenwithstyle!

She wakes up with a gasp. Ripples of energy pulse through her body, unyielding and nauseating. She nearly falls over, catches herself with her hands, resists the urge to empty her stomach as she breathes and calculates and settles herself.

Did it work?

She looks around the room. It is almost the same as the one she started in. Spacious, barely decorated, every bit a Lan house. Except the flowers are different. Instead of spring annuals, there are winter flowers in the vases. A light coat of dust covers every surface. Her working desk is empty of any of her documents.

The ritual worked.

~~~

Fu Chunhua was just past seventeen years of age when she decided to visit Caiyi Town. She had heard many things about Gusu, about the canals and the resplendent beauty of the Lan sect. As a rogue cultivator from a border town far north, she carried little care for a monastic order turned cultivation sect. Her interests lay purely in travel, in the ways she could help as a singular woman, values that had been passed to her by her late parents. So she joined a caravan of merchants on the promise of pay for her protection of them.

In some stories, she would have felt dread upon entering Caiyi. Something would have told her to turn away. But this is no such story. Nothing was amiss during her few days stay. She rested, stocked up on her supplies, and was about to leave for another destination when she collided with a young man.

He was a fine young thing, even when disheveled upon the ground. He truly appeared like a being made out of finest of jade, ethereal like falling snow and more beautiful than the rising sun. Like the moon had blessed him and his stark white robes.

“Are you hurt?” he immediately asked, scrambling to his feet to help her up.

“I am uninjured,” she replied as she took his hands.

“I apologize for not seeing you sooner,” the stranger said, releasing her hands to bow to her. “And…forgive me for asking so soon, but what is your name, young madame?” he asked her. There were stars forming in his dark brown eyes.

Fu Chunhua knew this dance. A young man, struck by her loveliness, jumping to conclusions within seconds of knowing her. It had happened so many times before, and she expected it would happen so many times again. She introduced herself, and he introduced himself in turn. Qingheng-jun, they called him. Lan Guoliang, sect leader of the Gusu Lan.

“I didn’t expect I would be meeting an esteemed sect leader on this day,” Fu Chunhua said, even though she was ready to leave. She couldn’t be rude to someone of such high status, especially in his own territory.

“It must be an auspicious day,” Lan Guoliang replied, “since I am meeting a beauty such as yourself.”

“Ah… I am not so beautiful, Qingheng-jun. I am certain there are much more resplendent beauties within your sect.”

“But none who can match you.”

“…Thank you. If you’ll forgive my absence, I must hurry to my next location.”

Then she tried to leave. She was successful, for a time. She managed to reach the city gates, was about to mount her sword, was about to escape yet another hopeless romantic, when suddenly Qingheng-jun grabbed her by her arm.

“I am so sorry, Fu-xiaojie. I am stubborn to a fault. Please offer me a chance to prove myself.”

The persistent type, then. Well, nothing she hadn’t handled before. She offered for him to join her on a night hunt. So many had lost interest once they saw her fighting style—barbaric, they called it. In truth, they could not imagine a woman stronger than them, one who could hold her own against a hundred beasts and not care for the blood spilt on her robes. She doubted this Lan Guoliang would be any different.

Except, he would. After the monster was vanquished, she found herself stone still before the bowing young man, who begged for her hand. ‘Love at first sight,’ he called it. ‘A love made for the gods,’ he claimed. He called her the perfect wife for him, without once asking if she cared a drop for him.

She refused. Of course she did. Without a thought towards his heartbroken tears, Fu Chunhua mounted her sword and left him behind. That should have been the last of it. Nobody in their right mind would chase such a harsh woman.

She should have known, though. She really should have known.

He found her less than a month later. Another town, not far from Gusu but closer to Yunmeng territory. She could easily chalk it up to coincidence. There was significant ghost activity, enough to warrant the attention of a major cultivation sect. But she still kept her distance, best she could, even though he would search her out in crowds and kept close during night hunts. She could tolerate it. Just until the all ghosts were vanquished. Then maybe she would visit lands outside of imperial bounds. For a year, at the very least. Surely he would lose interest by then.

But she would not get the chance to escape. One night, the cultivators that had gathered agreed to split up, take up investigation on their own terms and then reconvene by dawn. They all had signal flares on hand in case they ran into trouble. Fu Chunhua took her own route, as she was wont to do. The silence of the woods was a welcome respite. So welcome, in fact, that she failed to notice her company.

The man who had followed her was a Lan, but was not Qingheng-jun. He was one of Lan Guoliang’s teachers, apparently. Lan Lijun. A much older fellow, not nearly as strong as his pupil or even Fu Chunhua. But he was gentler than a spring breeze in the way he spoke. Sweeter than a plum in the way he carried himself. So all her walls were down when he drew his sword on her.

He called her a curse. A temptation that drew Qingheng-jun from his studies, from his duties as a righteous sect leader. As the old man shouted and slashed, he made it blindingly clear that nothing short of her death would serve to save Qingheng-jun from the plight of her mere existence.

Fu Chunhua fought back. Fu Chunhua killed the old man. Fu Chunhua did the right thing and turned herself in.

Then she became Lan Chunhua. Married to protect her life. Kept captive in a scenic prison. When her husband came to her, she surrendered. She allowed him her body, however long or often he wanted. Despite how much she cried, or how much she ached for any form of freedom, she did not kill the spawn of their union. Not the first, nor the second. She did not fight when they took the children from her. She did not argue for the right to see them more often. She mothered from a distance, paid her wifely dues, and planned her escape in secret.

There was a maid. A young, bright thing. Lan Meilin. Besides Xichen and Wangji, Lan Meilin was the brightest part of Lan Chunhua’s poor excuse for a life. She was not like most Lans—her voice was always an octave too loud, her posture slacked when no one was looking, she actually talked to Lan Chunhua for more than necessity. When she could get permission, they would talk about everything and nothing for hours into the night. She was a wonder. And she was more than willing to help Lan Chunhua. In fact, the escape plan was hers and hers alone.

“You’re quite a skilled cultivator, aren’t you, Lan-furen?”

“My older brother gained access to the secret rooms in the Library Pavilion! There are all sorts of techniques stashed there! Shhh, but don’t tell anyone I told you, okay? He only told me because I wouldn’t stop pestering him!”

“Lan-furen… my brother found research on time travel. I don’t know how to tell him not to think too much into it. It’s impossible, right?”

“Lan-furen. This may not be for me to speak of… But I heard of a story, recently. A captive woman who found freedom. They say a dragon saved her. Others say she rescued herself. Would you like to hear the story?”

“Lan-furen… I’m sorry to scare you, I know it’s late. But I’m sure it won’t be long until they find out. I snuck into the Library Pavilion. I copied down everything I could about transportation, even those studies on time travel. Please, use them. It is the last thing this young fool will be able to do for you.”

Lan Chunhua did not hear a thing about Lan Meilin after that night. Any questions were met with silence and avoidance. Dead, alive, punished—she would never know her maid’s fate. But there was one truth she could know, and that was how to leave her cage.

But she couldn’t leave without her sons. Regardless of their parentage, Xichen and Wangji were her little treasures. Xichen with his unrelenting kindness and emotional insight. Wangji with his hilariously withdrawn nature and stubborn loyalty. She couldn’t leave them behind, not for the world and all its riches.

But there was no transportation talisman that would allow her to transport all three of them, not without giving up her whole golden core and perhaps even her life. And there was no guarantee they would go with her, or that they wouldn’t be caught. The only way was forward. The only way was forward.

So she took the way forward. She studied and experimented and improved. And then, one night, it wasn’t a flower or a vial that was put in the middle of the array. It was her, and she was ready.

~~~

Now the only trouble is moving. Much as Lan Chunhua tries, she cannot find her footing, let alone sit up. The best she can do is drag herself by her arms. But that will not get her anywhere quick, least of all surreptitiously.

So focused she is on gathering her strength at least enough to hide herself, she does not notice that company has arrived on her doorstep. She’s a far distance from the closest adjoining room when the door to her cottage opens. Her guest is a young man, much to her surprise. Has so much time passed that the Lan sect has done away with separation of sexes? She doubts it—an entire century could pass before a single elder would consider altering a single rule. What’s more, despite the blue and white Lan robes the young man wears, he isn’t wearing a headband. The only decoration to his hair is a bright red ribbon. A guest cultivator, then. One that is doubtlessly trespassing.

Well, if she needed someone who wouldn’t dare to cause a ruckus and would have good reason to be furtive, she certainly wouldn’t be able to find someone better than him.

“You!” she exclaims, pointing at him.

He furrows his brows, pointing at himself. His back bends with the motion. “Me…?”

“You will help me!” she commands, dragging herself however lamely in his direction.

He raises his hands and takes a step back. “I don’t know how much help I could be. Who are you, anyway? What are you doing in Lan-furen’s quarters?”

“I can ask you the same thing.”

A quip is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it and reconsiders. A tilt of his head to the left, then the right, then he says, “That’s fair. Here, let’s start with introductions, then! My name is Wei Wuxian, husband to the standing sect leader, Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangi! Her stoic, warm, darling Wangji, married? To a man who carries himself like he has the sun at his back! Lan Chunhua must restrain the tears that prick at her eyes. She has so many questions and just as many felicitations to wish, but there is time yet for those. Surely, the appearance of her Wangji’s husband as her savior must be the will of the heavens.

“And you are?” Wei Wuxian asks with a welcoming, close-lipped smile.

“…Lan Chunhua,” she answers truthfully. “Your husband’s mother. Please, if you can—” Before she can finish her sentence, an implication catches her. And it settles in her like a tiger’s maw on her heart. “You said standing sect leader… What happened to Lan Huan? Lan Xichen? What has happened to my son, nuzu?”

He blinks at her, face and shoulders and arms falling like weights are attached to his skin. “You…? Lan Zhan’s mother? That’s not possible!”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. There’s much more pressing matters at hand. “You do not have to believe me when I say I traveled through time. But I assure you, I am very much A-Zhan’s mother. Do you need me to prove it? Check all you like, but you must bring me to my children.”

“I—” He looks around, finger pointed upwards at nothing in particular. “Hold on!”

He runs rather fast, she has to say. If worry for her Xichen wasn’t weighing on her so heavily, she might just laugh at the character her Wangji decided to marry. He must be so terribly happy, she realizes with a wistful sigh.

~~~

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!”

Normally, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t interrupt training, least of all when his wonderful husband is the teacher of the day. Lan Wangi has more than enough troubles on his mind, as Wei Wuxian often has to remind him when sect leader duties leave him weary to the bone. As his husband (and as part of proving that he’s ‘rehabilitated’, as Nie Huaisang likes to call it), Wei Wuxian does what he can to keep the Cloud Recesses running. Repairs and construction jobs, maintaining some trade negotiations, entertaining the more restless of the disciples—Wei Wuxian does what he can to lighten the load.

That’s why, today, he snuck into the late Lan-furen’s quarters. He was hoping to find something to brighten Lan Wangji’s mood, which has been truly dismal ever since Lan Xichen started turning away his own brother. What he found instead, well, he can only hope it will turn out for the better.

He jumps towards Lan Wangji. Without even looking away from the disciples, Lan Wangji catches him with one arm. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats, circling his arms around his husband’s neck, “I have something important to show you! It can’t wait!”

Lan Wangi glances at him with the slightest hint of a smile. He calls over a nearby senior disciple to take over then walks the same direction Wei Wuxian came. Wei Wuxian has to kick his legs to convince Lan Wangji to let him down, but he keeps a hand against his husband’s back as they walk together.

“So,” Wei Wuxian starts, “I came across a big surprise today.”

“What is it?” Lan Wangji asks, smiling down at him indulgently.

“Guess!” Wei Wuxian replies with doe eyes.

Lan Wangji considers for a long time. They’re already nearing the Gentian House when he replies, “You found a mate for Lil’ Apple?”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “Is that the best you could come up with?! So unimaginative, Lan-er-gege.”

A familiar hunger ignites in Lan Wangji’s eyes. Before he can be pulled aside for some truly ancestor-shaming activities, Wei Wuxian grabs his husband’s wrist and pulls him to their destination. “No, it’s something much more dramatic.” They reach the steps and Lan Wangji’s posture shifts immediately—shoulders tense, eyes focused. Wei Wuxian slides his hand down to intertwine his fingers with Lan Wangji’s. “I know I’m not allowed here, but I wanted to find a present for you. But I found something else. There’s a woman in there, she claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, Lan Wangji’s eyes widen. He looks between Wei Wuxian, then to the entrance door. Back to Wei Wuxian, then he very nearly runs inside.

~~~

The doors open with force. Lan Chunhua looks up. There’s another man standing in the entryway and he looks so much like Qingheng-jun that she nearly throws a vase at him. But quickly she realizes his eyes match hers—golden. He is slimmer than his father, his face more delicate in features, and she recognizes those heavy set of brows that pull his expressions into stone.

“A-Zhan!” she cries. She reaches out her arms, begging, desperate, joyful. “Mama,” he replies as he sinks into her embrace. His voice is so much deeper now, his arms can wrap around her entire torso now, he’s so much stronger now. But there is gentleness and anxiety in his hug, like when he was a child and feared the second he would be taken from her. She holds him all the tighter for it.

“I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive your Mama for disappearing from you.”

There is a wetness pooling on her shoulder. She cards her fingers through his hair, lets him cry without acknowledgment, as she looks up at her savior, Wei Wuxian. ‘Thank you’, she mouths to him, and he smiles and bows in return.

“Why did you go…?” she hears her son mutter.

She shushes him and begins to rock side to side, just as he liked as a child. “I had to leave, baobei. A bird cannot survive for long in a cage.”

He seems to take that for a satisfactory answer. Wei Wuxian closes the doors and settles to Wangji’s right. His eyes are trained entirely on Wangji, a loving warmth in his smile, and Lan Chunhua once again finds herself thankful that her son found such a perfect husband.

Lan Chunhua does not realize she fell asleep in her Wangji’s hold until she comes to in his lap. The sunlight filtering through the windows is a deep orange—the afternoon has come and gone and the dusk is nearly upon them.

“It seems I must apologize to you again, A-Zhan. I was more tired than I realized.”

“Mn,” is his reply. Lan Chunhua nearly laughs at the familiarity. “You were low on spiritual power. Wei Ying is working on getting you food now.”

She looks down at where Wangji’s fingers are pressed to her wrist pulse. “You must have cultivated a truly strong golden core to feed me for so long. Thank you, baobei.”

The tips of his ears turn pink. This time, she does laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so shy!” She reaches up and pats his cheek twice. “So many years, and you’re still the same.”

“…I am not the same,” he argues, somewhat lamely.

Lan Chunhua laughs again. “I guess you are right. I certainly could not imagine my little A-Zhan marrying such a lively man.” She sits up and catches his smile. “Tell me, A-Zhan, how did you meet him?”

“We met during the yearly lessons. He was a nuisance.”

“That’s what drew you to him, isn’t it? You always loved the brightest things. What sect did he belong to?”

Something unpleasant crosses Wangji’s expression, but it quickly dissipates. “The Yunmeng Jiang. He was their head disciple.”

Lan Chunhua’s memories of the Yunmeng Jiang are few. She never lingered anywhere long enough to meet most of the cultivation world’s sect leaders, so the majority of her memories from Yunmeng are of the territory itself and not the sect that called it home. But she can recall seeing Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan on a few night hunts. One was too placid, the other too fiery. She cannot imagine their head disciple would have lived in a pleasant environment.

“Is he happy here?” she asks as she takes her son’s hand. “This sect does not stifle him?”

“Nobody can stifle him,” Wangji answers, threading his long fingers with hers. “I would not let them. He can only be happy.”

So her son has become the type who would sooner break the world than let his loved one suffer. “I am proud of you. I left you so early but still you became such a good man.”

He smiles. “I am glad you have returned. I have missed you.”

The door opens. Wei Wuxian has arrived with dinner for all three of them. She dare not think of how he must have wheedled so much food from the chefs, let alone managed to transport all of it to her house without being noticed. She can only be thankful for his incredible sense of timing, for she’s certain she would have fallen asleep again if he had taken another minute.

They eat steadily and quietly. Shamelessly, Wangji and Wei Wuxian sit glued to each other’s side. Lan Chunhua decides to not comment and waits until they finish dinner to answer their questions about how she traveled. Then, she asks something that has been buzzing persistently at the back of her mind.

“A-Zhan, tell me about A-Huan. Wuxian called you the standing sect leader… What happened to A-Huan? Shouldn’t he be the sect leader? Or…” She steels herself for this thought, “is your father still breathing, while A-Huan is not?”

A chill sweeps through the room. Before her nerves can jump to the worst conclusion, Wei Wuxian answers. “Qingheng-jun passed away many years ago. Your son, Lan Xichen, became sect leader. He was very capable and truly an exemplary sect leader, but…”

“Tragedy struck him,” Wangji continues. He does not meet Lan Chunhua’s eyes as he says, “A friend betrayed him and killed someone he cared deeply for. Brother has gone into seclusion while I handle the sect in his stead.”

The irony does not go unnoticed. The story is so similar to her own circumstances, at least in summary. She knows well that Lan Qiren ran the sect while his brother secluded himself. She knows well that her first son might be following in his father’s footsteps despite her best wishes.

“It is best you hear the story from him,” Wangji finishes. “Will you meet with him tonight?”

~~~

As usual, the Cloud Recesses falls into an almost complete slumber at nine that night. They wait an extra thirty minutes before leaving the cabin and hurrying to Lan Huan’s quarters.

Before going in, however, Wangji pulls Lan Chunhua aside while Wei Wuxian keeps a lookout. “He is not well, mother. He has begun to turn everyone away. Please do not judge him if he is harsh to you.”

Lan Chunhua cups her youngest son’s cheek, rubbing away his worry with her thumb. “I could never judge him, A-Zhan. He is my firstborn.”

Wangji nods, minutely, before hugging her. He lets go before she can return the embrace. Then he hurries inside to wake his brother. She gives Wei Wuxian a squeeze to the arm as thanks before following Wangji inside.

Xichen’s quarters are spacious, much more than her own. It occurs to her that these must have been his father’s, but she does not see a touch of Qingheng-jun anywhere. All of Xichen’s favorite things—instruments, books of poetry, scrolls of art, among other things—dot the walls. She sees his work desk, where a xiao she recognizes as Liebing sits. Worryingly, on the desk as well are several unclean dishes, as though he had failed to bring them to his door to be taken away by the servants. Or, worse, has refused to let anyone move for him. Before she can follow the instinct to clean them up, she hears Wangji wake his brother farther into the room. She moves towards her youngest son’s voice into a partitioned-off part of the room, behind which lays a bed.

The area here is in a much worse state than the rest of his quarters. Where everything else was mostly clean, here paper is strewn across the floor. Even in the dim light, she can see sword slashes on the mat. The bed is in equal disarray and the man who sits upon it has lost any light in his eyes.

Lan Chunhua’s stomach sinks. Her son did not become his father. Rather, he became her.

“Brother,” Wangji begins, “I am sorry for waking you, but someone important has come to see us.”

Xichen rubs at his eyes, chasing away the last of his sleep with a yawn. “Who is it, Wangji?”

Lan Chunhua holds her breath when her firstborn looks up and meets her eyes. Silence engulfs the room, suffocating in its stillness. She is thankful when he speaks.

“…Mother?” he whispers. He leaves the bed, stumbles just slightly, and creeps towards her. He reaches out his hand, stops himself just short of her face.

“I am real, A-Huan,” she promises. “I am real.”

He cups her cheek. His hand is large enough to cover her entire face. She holds his arm with both her hands, leans into the touch. “Why are you here? You are supposed to be dead.”

“She traveled,” Wangji explains in her stead. He walks over to her left side and stares, quite intensely, at her. Deliberating, Lan Chunhua realizes after a second. “She never died.”

“How?” Xichen immediately asks without breaking eye contact with her. Then, as though a string finally broke, tears begin to fall from his eyes, quickly and without any restraint as his face scrunches up. He curls into himself, curls over her, and Lan Chunhua is quick to pull him to her, hugging her son who is now twice her size. “Why weren’t you here?” he asks through a broken voice.

“I couldn’t stay,” she answers again. She traces the tips of her fingernails up and down his back, creating patterns for his nerves to follow. “A tiger belongs in the wild.”

Xichen grips her, tight, almost enough to hurt. Wangji, apparently done deliberating, pulls them both into a hug.

“Why weren’t you here sooner?” Xichen asks. “You should have been here sooner.”

“I know,” Lan Chunhua replies. She holds him tighter. “I wish I had come back sooner.” She sighs, threads her fingers into his hair to cup the back of his head. “You both grew up without me. I am ashamed to call myself your mother when I failed to raise you.”

“Do not,” Wangji interrupts. He rests his cheek on top of her head. “You are here now. That is what matters most.”

That statement alone fills her chest with warmth. “Thank you, my son. I am here now, and I have no intention of leaving you again.”

Xichen breaks into a wail. He begins to fall, and both she and Wangji steadily sink to the ground with him. Xichen shifts his grip so he has a hand on Wangji’s waist while the other is pressed against Lan Chunhua’s back. “I have made so many mistakes. I am ashamed to call myself your son!”

Lan Chunhua shushes him. “Breathe first, A-Huan. Breathe first, then think.”

He follows her instructions. It takes several starts and stops and more than one instance of pulling him back when he tries to pull away. But he gets there, eventually. By then, Wangji has had to take a break outside, only to return some minutes later with Wei Wuxian in tow.

Now the four of them are sitting at Xichen’s working desk. Wei Wuxian has prepared tea while Wangji works on cleaning up his elder brother’s face. Xichen sits opposite Lan Chunhua, cradling his cup of tea and leaning into the warmth.

“…I must apologize for my earlier state,” Xichen starts. “I should have greeted you with more composure.”

Lan Chunhua clicks her tongue. “There is no such thing as composure around your mother,” she scolds. “You could have come to me with the air of a god and I would still see my little A-Huan.”

He smiles, just slightly, at that. She hears Wei Wuxian snicker. Wangji starts to undo his brother’s sleeping braid as Xichen continues speaking. “Even still…” He pauses, putting his words in order. “Despite my earlier discomposure, I must admit there was some truth to my words.” He meets Lan Chunhua’s eyes with intensity. “Why are you here now, mother?”

“I do not know,” she admits easily. “The array I used was purely experimental. I had hoped I would skip to when you and A-Zhan were at least ten years old, just old enough to escape with me. You were too young when I put the array to use. I did not expect I would return when you were adults.”

Xichen tightens his grip on his teacup. Wangji starts to comb his brother’s hair. “So it was an escape plan, then.” There are more words on his tongue, Lan Chunhua can tell, by the way he swallows and carefully puts his teacup down. He hasn’t taken a sip of tea.

“I do not plan to leave now,” she tells him. “You both have your places here—”

“So you will leave us behind again?” Xichen interrupts.

“Brother,” Wangji gently scolds. He stops combing in order to rub a hand up and down Xichen’s back. Wei Wuxian shifts so that he is sitting closer to his husband.

“I know,” Xichen responds. “I know…” A deep breath, and he crumples into himself again.

“…You’ve been hurt,” Lan Chunhua observes. “Quite deeply, it seems.”

“I have,” Xichen says. “There… There were two men I cared deeply for.” He grabs the teacup again, quickly empties it. Wei Wuxian immediately refills it. Xichen bends over the heat. “They held my heart in equal amounts. But I did not believe one, while I blindly believed the other. It cost many, many lives, including both of their own. In your absence, I have failed so many.”

She realizes something in the hunch of his shoulders. “Do you expect me to scold you? Hate you?”

His silence is all the answer she needs.

“A-Huan,” she reproaches. “I could never hate you. Look at me.”

With much reluctance, he complies. Wangji begins to redo his sleeping braid.

“You were my firstborn. There were many before you who did not make it. To me, you are a precious existence. You could fall into the deepest depths of sin and still I would love you. That is my duty and my joy as your mother. And never again shall I abandon you and your brother. I am here to stay.”

“Mother…” Xichen whispers. He and his brother share the same teary eyes.

With no more time she is willing to waste, Lan Chunhua stands up and crosses to the other side of the table. She pulls her sons of blood and marriage into a hug, holding them all as tight as her small arms will allow.

“I will stay here,” she promises. “For as long as the heavens allow.”

~~~

It takes another year for Xichen to leave seclusion. Time, Lan Chunhua must remind Wangji and Wuxian, he needs to take his time. But on the meritorious day he announces his seclusion done, Xichen looks ten times stronger than the night of their reunion. Lan Chunhua is there to greet her son and sect leader with a smile.

The period of her readjustment and reintroduction is not an easy one. The elders still remember her, still scream for her banishment just as strongly as the day Qingheng-jun brought her here. But her sons protect her and vouch for her. To her great surprise, Lan Qiren eventually, though reluctantly, takes her side as well. “The boys have suffered enough,” he tells her in private. “I would not take their happiness from them again.”

What comes as the biggest surprise is meeting Wangji and Wuxian’s son. Lan Sizhui is a perfect angel with a backbone to rival his fathers’. He comes a set pair, as well, apparently. Lan Chunhua rarely sees him without his friend, Lan Jingyi, who is truly the loudest and most boisterous boy the Lans could have possibly produced. Lan Chunhua loves them both instantly. And it comes as little surprise to her, in the end, when she finally learns who Jingyi’s mother is.

(“Lan-furen, it is a pleasure to see you again. No words can describe the joy of knowing our plan worked.”)

Lan Chunhua learns in time of Wuxian’s past transgressions. Through that, she learns of the men who broke Xichen’s heart in three. She aches relentlessly for them both. And when finally she meets Wen Ning, she is sure to gift him with robes she crafted herself.

There are days still when her bones ache for her to run. Escape the Lans, escape Gusu, escape to the border town she once called home. Sometimes she catches glares that make her wish to scream. But she settles herself in her new home, far from the gentians, attended upon by those Wangji ensured would not hurt her. She will travel again one day, she is sure. A dragon must soar, unbidden by earthly needs. But, for now, this is enough. Seeing her sons smile again is more than enough.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan xichen #lan wangji #wei wuxian #madame lan #wwx #lwj #lxc #sometimes i write

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