#-of leaving the crown on a villager and letting them wander around

[pjchatters]

An Observation of the Empires Crown Order of Succession (from 1st-5th ruler)

In Season 1:

Jimmy is first owner of the crown

Jimmy dies to an effect (instant damage), Scott takes the crown

Joel steals the crown from Scott

Joel hosts a gameshow, the winner wins the crown after a fight to the death, Lizzie wins

Joey kills (Lizzie’s villager) for the crown and steals it

In Season 2:

Pixlriffs is first owner of the crown

Pixlriffs dies to an effect (wither), Scott takes the crown

Gem steals the crown from Scott

Gem declares a PvP match, the winner wins the crown after a fight to the death, Katherine wins

Fwhip kills (Katherine) for the crown and steals it

Will this chain of events in season 2 continue to mimic season 1? We shall see, when the crown is passed on yet again

[daryascurse]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 | 𝐒𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐔𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐡𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“And I thought you were so hospitable,” Sasuke says.

“You don’t like a little teasing?”

You sit up again, over him, shifting in your state of half-dress. His stare burns, cold moonlight reflected in a prism.

“Who’s really getting strung out?” Sasuke says. His hand closes slowly, hard on the skin, and ending with fabric pinched between his fingers. “You’re wet through your pants, aren’t you?”

It wasn't a question, but the words hang in the air as if expecting an answer. His hand drops to squeeze your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. He squeezes again. His hand rocks hard and hot through the fabric.

“Take them off.”

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ ✧ pov : second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns ✧ tags: time skip, smut, angst, one night stand, teasing, oraI / bj, fingering, love bites, spanking ✧ word count: ~5.5k ✧ ao3 link ✧ recommended mood playlist: almond cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Author's note: an old fic reposted on ao3 a while ago and I thought - might as well repost here for BIRTHDAY! This piece takes place between Shippuden and Boruto; towards the end of Sasuke’s world travels, and obviously before Sakura joins him... using Reader as a sort of stand-in somewhere on that journey. And obviously, at a point that he's an adult in this pre-Boruto time. And I like the idea that while of course he would be known to those who fought in the war, his story has been kept from the spotlight of “common people” so to speak – and he’s happy with it that way.

You spoke to him three times, and it was enough to fall.

The first was but a brief interaction as he crossed into your village. “I’d like to help,” he’d said by means of introduction. And before the elders and leaders had fallen over their own feet in gratitude and lists of chores, you’d sincerely thanked him. In this slowly-healing world, and especially in this small nameless town, everyone needs all the help they can get.

The second was when he stopped you in the street and asked directions to the bakery, clutching a bag of flour so large you worried it would slip from the one-handed grasp to balance it to his chest. In fact, it was so tall it covered his face, leaving only wisps of black hair spiking around the back when he carefully turned down the street you instructed. You’d watched him go with half amusement and half concern, even though he’d proven himself more than capable in the past few days. Watching him pass it to the old baker was when you realized that you’d fallen for him the way you knew, just achingly knew, that girls in his hometown must have.

The third, he almost smiled when you’d brought him a bowl of noodles out by the gardens and apologized for the dull life of this slow village. “Odd jobs don’t offer much glory,” you’d said looking at the row of freshly planted crops, and he shook his head, the soft turn of his lips twisting wryly. Your heart almost burned out of your chest.

“Trust me. I’m not asking for glory.”

The rumor spreads quickly that he’ll leave at the end of the week. So today all the talk is that the elders are planning a banquet, and something in the way he squares his shoulders tells you - no, he’ll slip out tonight, before he can be crowned with any laurels of glory and gratitude. He had refused offers of lodging in favor of setting up a makeshift camp just outside the village. When night falls it’s where you find your feet wandering.

Of course you don’t startle him, he’s far too perceptive. But he lets you approach with only a slight slide glance towards you as he kneels, rustling with a pack in the grass.

“You are leaving,” you say.

“I was just here to help,” he says, giving those same simple words.

“You’ve done so much for a small town. We really are grateful for all you’ve done.”

He makes a sound that would be a laugh, though it seems somewhat out of practice. “It’s not much,” he says.

“But it means a lot to us. I know you don’t want glory or praises, but you have to accept our thanks. My thanks.”

He turns his head away. You wonder if he’s just barely biting back a rude response, but you continue impulsively, speaking to the back of that black hair melting into the darkness.

“You don’t need to stay for the banquet, I understand that. Let me at least offer you a proper bed for one night,” you say. You shift your feet, glancing back at the village. “Please – it would make me feel better, to give just something back for everything you’ve done.”

You’re prepared for your words to be useless. When you turn back to him, you half-expect him to have disappeared into the forests, but he stands with his pack slung over a shoulder. He regards you with a heavy guarded gaze. It gives the courage to press your lips together and try once more.

“Don’t you have – somewhere – people who care about you, people who’d want you looked after, a roof over your head? Just for tonight?”

His mouth twists again, that same sad smile. You wait for his curt refusal, for him to walk into the woods, but his next step is closer to you. He doesn’t say anything. In fact, neither of you say anything as you turn, heart hammering, to lead him back to your humble quarters.

Inside, he lets his pack fall, slipping his sandals from his feet in easy kicks as you flick on the light. You do the same, feeling a gawky lack of grace in comparison to his fluid motions, even in your own home. He reaches with his long slender fingers to unbutton his cloak as you duck your head and walk around him to the sink. The floor barely shakes below your feet as he goes to the bed.

“Here, have some water,” you say.

You sit slowly on the edge of the bed when you cross back. He only nods in thanks. “How long have you been traveling?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond. Drinks deeply.

You look at the floor, then back to him. “By the way, what’s your name?”

He puts the glass down at the side of the table, and after a moment, his eye flits to you, hair falling before his sharp profile. “Sasuke,” he says at last.

Sasuke. Somehow the name sounds almost familiar.

He doesn’t ask you your name. He might not care if you offered it or not. Sasuke’s gaze is still on you – though distracted, as if looking through you. Or seeing something else. Someone else.

You don’t know what possesses you to do, but with that increasingly ghostly stare on you, you lean forward, and kiss him.

Sasuke doesn’t kiss you back at first. His lips are lightly chapped, dry against your skin when you tilt your head away. He blinks, that gaze sliding back into focus. You meet it. When he doesn’t jolt back, doesn’t stand up, you lean forward and kiss his lips again.

This time, his lips move under yours. Your hands come down towards him on the bed, almost crawling closer, and kiss back harder, more fervent. Your heart drums in your ears. Sasuke lets you deepen the kiss, opening his mouth slightly. You turn your head away hesitantly, and he leans with you. When he presses his mouth back to yours his tongue runs along the inside of your lower lip, and you shiver into him.

You draw your feet up, kneeling toward Sasuke. The mattress dips as his legs shift along the bed. His knee knocks into your hand fisted against the bedsheets. You lift it, coming down in a new hold on his thigh. Your bodies push into each other as you begin to follow him down, elbow bent and shoulders hunching when he lies. His hand comes to the small of your back, your knee slides between his. Sasuke bites your lip, and you moan into his mouth. There’s a fire in the kisses now, something unforgiving and rougher coming to the surface.

“Oh,” you breathe sharply when his teeth come around your lip again and he bites harder.

“Sorry,” Sasuke says after a moment, remembering to apologize.

You sit up, blinking, head reeling to take inventory of this new atmosphere. Yes, he’s on his back on the bed. You’re straddling him now as he lies between your legs. And looking down at Sasuke feels somehow strange, vertigo yawning into an abyss of his whirlpool gaze, the light harsh on his face and casting a sickly shade.

You blink again. Your hands press against his chest, and you watch more than feel them move up across draping fabric to the opening. A sliver of pale skin across his chest trembles with the heavy beats of his heart.

“Light,” Sasuke says. The word rasps out, air fluttering in the hollow of his throat.

“Oh,” you say. You shift your weight from one knee to the other. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll turn it off.”

Your breath slips from between your lips as your fingers tense, pushing yourself off Sasuke to climb off the bed. Those steps to the switch feel far. The darkness sweeps harsh before you when you turn to make your way back, some shaking fear within you that he’ll have really disappeared into the night this time.

“I’m here,” Sasuke says as your feet slide slowly across the floor, as if he knows.

Though your room, your bed, is so familiar to you even in swimming darkness, it feels that this space is no longer your own when you stretch your fingers blindly forward to climb back up. Sasuke’s ankle rolls, knocks into your hand, and the mattress shifts beneath your knees as he sits up to meet you. His hand is bracing at the small of your back. It guides you up over his lap, and his thumb spreads up to stroke against your rib and forward. He’s warm to the touch, but you still shiver, hips dropping and knees pressing into the bed to straddle him once more.

Sasuke kisses your mouth again, tongue pressing your bottom lip to beg for access faster this time. His hand skates up, rubbing back and forth across your waist in insistent embrace. When your hips twist closer to him, it moves up, fingers spread across your ribcage and searching up in a flat, firm palm. Your own fingers flex in response. One hand anchored against the bed, pressing fingertips into the sheets, your other fumbles forward blindly for his clothes.

It’s almost hard to think of what to do once you’ve pulled them off, his body silently acquiescing. This was unplanned, getting this far in the first place. You break the kiss with a slight shake of your head. His last breath gasps into the room. The darkness is beginning to take form as your eyes adjust. Moonlight slots through the window, casting a pale shadow across Sasuke’s face. He watches you. As your own hands still, wrists turned over the smooth expanse of abdomen down to the waistband of his pants, his hand stops as well in a gentle cup of your breast right under your thundering heart.

“Is…” you swallow, unsure of what to ask. “Is it okay? Can I touch you?”

Sasuke cranes his neck forward just enough to press his cheek next to yours, and the pulse in his throat is warm against the side of your neck. “I want you to touch me,” he says, but something in the words – again – goes past you.

Not I want you to touch me.

But his muscles tense, coiled and lean below your hands, as he lowers himself again. Your hands follow automatically to grip the waistband, sliding your knees further along his body as you pull. Sasuke’s fingers are pressing against you as if he never stopped, fingers closing around your nipple as he finds and just barely pinches. You go cold right where his touch pauses, pinches once more, arching your back and sighing aloud.

“Touch me,” Sasuke breathes in repetition.

His hand opens again, thumb gliding down to cup you in one more gentle squeeze. He turns, grabbing at the fabric of your own shirt, and you pause to help slide it away in sequence. Your limbs shake as you move faster. Returning to his pants, you tug them down and off with panting breath.

Adjusting your knees brings you back up on either side of his porcelain thighs, shattered pottery with battle-torn scars. Sasuke’s hand comes back to your waist, but this time his stroking, circular motions go up your back as you bend down.

His breath comes short, the guiding motion of his hand coming faster up to your neck. Between your legs, he shifts his own, coming higher and higher as he knocks into your thigh. And your breath is impatiently quick too, anxious to snatch this moment.

Sasuke cants his hips, sliding his leg higher up. You roll against it as you lean forward. He presses back, your muscles tensing when he lowers the leg back to the bed. You rock your hips down into him, forgetting yourself for the moment to grind against him.

“Come on,” he whispers, and the thick grating of his voice makes you want to tighten your muscles, clenching desperately over nothing.

But you bend all the way down and part your lips, your hand opening around the base of his half-hard cock. Your tongue meets the head in a flat, pressing circle, and he jerks up – again, come on, come on. Obediently, you slide your tongue faster around him, dipping down at the vein already coming harder at the underside. You stroke with the side of your thumb, tracing down lightly to soft skin, gripping the sheets with an anchoring second hand just as Sasuke’s hold tightens at the back of your head.

You can’t take him in slowly. He doesn’t allow for it, with his hips curving higher, hand keeping you above him, and your throat tightens. Your lips close around the growing swell of his cock. He’s heady in your mouth, salty enough to coax saliva. Your cheeks hollow and the next slurping breath is a lewd smacking sound.

“Ah…”

Sasuke’s hips shift in restless agitation, coming higher, and your tongue reaches further down along him. Your fingers dance lightly, down to stroke against his balls, heavy and rolling in your palm. Back up to that base your throat can’t quite swallow enough of. You press the underside with your tongue and feel for that hardening line again. It makes your mouth water even more.

You keep your lips together this time; no sharp pop, no burst of wet gasping, just his cock filling your mouth. Heavy on your tongue. Its twisting and lapping grows fainter as the bobbing motions of your head take precedent action. Up and down, up and down, with Sasuke’s fingertips pressing at you. He exhales again, reminding you of your own need to breathe.

Air catches in the back of your throat, thick from your already-running nose. The slick of your own saliva and Sasuke’s precum rises against your curled fingers, and it lets you slide over him more, no longer whispering touches. His hand tenses, and he groans. The fingers press into the back of your head and fall with the insistent scrape of a fingernail running cold as ice down the top of your spine.

Eyes straining and weeping with unbidden tears, you roll your eyes up to him. He’s blue in the night, the moon catching some strands of colour in his hair and ghosting down across his face. His brow is knit, his eyes screwed tight, the shadow of his nose melting into his twitching jaw as his lips part. Sounds die in his throat, his lower lip just barely moving, mouthing words unseen to you.

You moan, the sound husky and muffled over his cock, and more saliva glides from your aching, drooling lips when you pull your head away again.

“Fuck!”

It’s sharply audible. Between your legs, he quivers.

His hand slides further, down your back, and you wash your tongue over him again. Your jaws are spread as wide as you can as the motion slows. With the next upward move, you let him go in a breaking gasp. It’s hard not to heave for air as you release your fist from the anchored hold of the sheets. Fingers trembling, you wipe the back of your mouth and hide a desperate breath.

The sensation of your still partly dressed state comes to you with the acute sensation of your pants, uncomfortably thick, hot, heavy. You roll your hips down against Sasuke’s leg, taking another moment to catch your breath. You stroke his cock. Still wet against your fingers, his hips buck up in shuddering human instinct.

“And I thought you were so hospitable,” Sasuke says above, his voice strained.

“You don’t like a little teasing?”

You sit up again, over him, shifting in your state of half-dress with his cock in your hand, still slowly stroking. His stare burns, cold moonlight reflected in a prism.

“Who’s really getting strung out?” Sasuke says. The bead of sweat running below his jaw betrays the haughty tone, but he grabs your thigh. His hand closes slowly, hard on the skin, and ending with fabric pinched between his fingers. “You’re wet through your pants, aren’t you.”

It wasn't a question, but the words hang in the air as if expecting an answer. His hand drops to squeeze your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. He squeezes again. His hand rocks hard and hot through the fabric.

“Take them off.”

Even sliding off the bed is enough to make your legs shake, that yearning heat between your legs burning as your thigh muscles tense. The clothes practically peel from your skin. The cool air doesn’t help calm. Neither does Sasuke’s gaze, so glassy as you raise a knee to straddle his thighs once again.

Sasuke doesn’t sit up to meet you this time, but he grabs at you, demanding against your back to pull you over him. He kisses you without caring for his taste on your tongue, and he kisses desperately. It’s sloppy now, with his own saliva wetting the corners of his lips. When you lift your head and blink to readjust over him, his eyes are still closed.

“No,” he says, opening his eyes just as you wrap your fingers around his cock again to bring him to you.

“And you were so eager a minute ago,” you say, still on your knees on either side of his hips. You pump your hand up, down slowly, and Sasuke’s stomach rises with a conspicuous breath.

“And you’re so eager now. Your turn to wait.”

He’s at your leg, and the open-palmed squeeze is so much sharper against your bare thigh. Your hand falls open, away from him. It almost brings you down with a whimper as the side of his fingernail grooves along your skin again, and he moves higher, higher. You let out another short gasping whine, feet flexing into the sheets as Sasuke traces your inner thigh right where skin turns to velvet. Your hips shake, forward to meet him, and he draws back, tracing endless circles and invisible sketches.

You open your mouth to protest, and instead judder out a shaking “oh” when his finger skips up and returns in multitudes to stroke you. Reaching backward, you grab your calf, your ankle, in frantic balance as Sasuke caresses your cunt, gathering slick on his fingers and smearing it against you with each movement.

“I knew it,” he says.

All you can force is a sigh that becomes a vocal moan as that scooping, fondling hold moves further back, and one finger slips inside you. Easily.

“Easy,” Sasuke says.

“Oh…”

The first pump is slow, relaxing, teasing, a far cry from his eager motions. Your back is arched into his hand, eyes hazily fixed on the shadows of moonlight on the ceiling, but you swallow, finding the roof of your mouth dry when you look down at him again. Sasuke’s face is placid, lips parted with the puff of his breath, but his neck muscles are strained taunt. Black shadows enunciate the pulse shuddering in his throat, the cut of his jaw. His eyes are beyond you, but at your next moan, he comes back. He slides a second finger inside and spreads you.

“Oh,” comes again in a whine. You let go of your leg to stroke against your own skin, touching your lower belly with delicate fingertips, as he begins to push some electric sensation higher inside you with each curl and pump. He moves no faster, but your hips rock even more urgently, eagerly. “Sasuke…”

He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep with your call of his name, and opens.

Your own chest is heaving hard as his curls come stronger, reaching deep inside you. Your fingers drop lower, finding with natural ease the tense tender nub of your clit. Rubbing yourself feeds some of that desperate, slow agony Sasuke is teasing from you with those strong, slender fingers. When you fix your eyes to him, his own are direct on you, with his chest rising and falling in barely controlled breath.

“Fuck me,” you whisper hoarsely, as you press your hand against your clit in hard circles.

Sasuke curls his fingers into you before withdrawing, cutting your word off in a sharp inhale as the emptiness strikes you. Without his fingers, your hips roll back, knees hard on his thighs, hand falling away. But the next sensation is so promising that your feet shift, toes pointed and pressed hard into the sheets, when the head of his cock slides right against your teased and sore folds. You rock forward to help him guide himself to your entrance.

The moans from both of your lungs hang resonant in the air when you meet, your own body sliding down against his cock just as Sasuke jerks his hip upward. His hand comes to your thigh again and pulls at the back of your leg, squeezing at the muscle to urge you closer, closer.

You can’t move beyond his commanding motions as you clench around him, so tight, so full inside you, even better when you roll circles to grind him against you right at that angle that makes that core at the bottom of your belly go hot.

Sasuke’s head tilts out of view, but his jaw slacks as his lips part in another groan. His hips rock back, pulling almost completely out of you. When he thrusts up, he’s slick with your own arousal, cold on your skin from the air. His breath is heavy, and your hands climb up across his lean chest for a steady support against pale pectoral muscles.

And he’s deep, he’s fucking you deep as hard and fast as you fuck him right back. You roll your eyes at the sensation, pure pleasure dancing through you and leaving your very skin electric. Your gaze goes up, down at him, and down further, to the flush of his stomach as his own boiling blood rocks new life through him. And lower, to the tremble of his hips twitching off the sheets, to where your cunt is spread swollen over his cock.

“Fuck,” you whimper, the word rising high and jagged out of you as your voice shakes with the movements. His hips roll up, even deeper. Your head snaps back up, and your sigh is a soaring cry.

You ride him with fervent, kneeling muscles, just as much as he lifts to meet you. Each thrust is deep, so fucking deep, that your elbows go weak and you lower yourself to Sasuke’s chest. Rocking back and forth like this – yes, “yes, like this, right there, fuck,” – is that perfect angle. The shivers shooting down your thighs are enough to keep your hips shaking right where he grinds up into you. His hand squeezes, moves up hard against your hip.

His fingers flex, pushing into your skin, grabbing you and letting you go before returning in one sharp, open-palmed slap. Your sigh breaks into a yelp, the breath catching at the back of your throat. He does it again, and the sting radiates from every finger into your skin. You’re completely against his body now, head pressed into the pillow behind him, whimpering as his cock just barely whispers in and out at this angle, clenching your muscles where you feel him.

“Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke,” you moan again and again, the most delicious name on your lips as your mouth rubs on his skin. His shoulder is muscular, the sweat beading from him earthy whiskey against your tongue. You open your mouth with just a little more purpose and close your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks to suck here anew, a ferocious bite.

He gasps, some sound, some word you couldn’t make out getting cut off, and he lifts his hand from your ass to slap you again. You moan into his clavicle.

“Wait,” Sasuke groans, and his heart shudders below you. “Wait, wait – ”

You lower your hips, feeling him swell and throb inside you just as you clench. You whimper into him, gathering strength as he swallows and his skin dips below your lips. He seems on the verge of saying something else –

But he doesn’t know your name, now.

“S…Side,” he whispers. “Turn.. on your side.”

His cock is so heavy, so hard, resting inside you, and you roll in soft circles, not wanting to pull away. Sasuke’s hand rubs right over the smarting skin of your ass and slaps you once more.

“Do it,” he says, his voice tense.

So you do so with a groan, nonverbally voicing the displeasure and discomfort at feeling him slide from you again. You push yourself onto the bed as gracefully as you can, curling your legs up and away. You turn your head up, about to ask, but Sasuke’s knee between your thighs forces your leg straight as he shifts behind you. He presses his chest to your back, a layer of slick sweat keeping your body from sinking into the comforting cuddle of this position.

“Keep your legs apart,” Sasuke says, and his chest breaks away from your body as he rocks onto his shoulder. You curve your hips back, feeling him, resisting the urge to slide your leg down to him and grind over his thigh. He slants forward to meet you, something more teasing than satisfying as you tremble, empty.

“Sasuke!” Your voice breaks as his hand rubs over your ass, the beating, hot skin where he’d spanked you burning under his touch, and even worse when he comes to your overstimulated and sore cunt. He rubs against your slit to find your entrance, leaning fully away.

His cock is hard and wet with you, and he easily slides back inside you with one smooth thrust. Your legs splay, the nudge of his knee keeping your thighs from squeezing together, and the press of his body into yours restricting the motion of your fervently rolling hips. You rut into the mattress and back against him, with a ragged moan coming louder than you expected it to.

In response, Sasuke’s lips find your throat, down into the curve of your shoulder, and scrapes his teeth in a mirroring bite of your own. His tongue runs over your skin so lightly that you shudder. You buck into his body. His hand comes to your waist, pressing you down.

“Fuck,” the breath comes, and it’s him this time, the word hot into your neck.

You groan, letting out another whimper when his tongue brushes over your shoulder again. He tilts his head forward and parts his lips just a little more, enough to make your head writhe and turn back into the pillow when he begins to suck a love bite.

These thrusts are shorter, faster, but as the two of you desperately fuck, it’s perfect, just perfect. The burning flashes of hunger in your kissing and touching and sucking comes to a head here.

Your elbow bends back to let your fingers knot into his hair and tug him closer to you still. Sasuke’s lips move from your throat to your jaw and to your cheek, coaxing your own to meet him in ravenous, loud kisses. His groans mix with yours, and his hand rides down your body with the motion of his thrusts. He rests down, lower on your belly, right where the muscles below your core flutter with each clench and responding stroke of his cock.

“Oh!” You break from his lips, from the twists of his black hair, to moan and clutch at the pillow once more.

And when your agitated shifts against his hand grow too erratic, he pauses, sliding his hips higher up to you as his chest presses hot and sweaty. His cock slams in at a new angle, just as quick and sloppy as his kisses had been. His hand sinks lower still, and while it takes a second to find your clit, his finger presses and rubs with such precision it’s the final push that hotness behind your stomach needed.

“Sasuke - ” you whine again.

“Fuck,” he groans, and as your face presses into the pillow, his lips come right behind your ear, kissing and whispering nonsense as he pushes frantically into you. You reach down to grab at his wrist, and you moan as everything begins to go static.

“I’m – oh – fuck! Coming!”

You come, clenching and weak over his cunt, hips rocking haphazardly into whatever pressure from any angle as you ride the orgasm out. It hits so hard that you feel your pulse behind your eyes, even as you squeeze them shut. Your body shakes with the force of it as everything cramps and releases. Your thighs lose all strength. It rushes, beating slick and throbbing over his cock as Sasuke continues, chasing his own climax down.

His senseless, jagged moans begin to break through your haze, his insistent hand on your clit beginning to feel more painful than pleasurable.

“Sorry.. I’m sorry… I love… I love you.. I’m… so…sorry.”

You tighten your hand on his wrist, about to pull him off, but with a harsh, gasping cry of his own that rocks through your back, Sasuke comes. He lifts his hand and grabs at the sheets, your fingers skating down to close over his fist. His hips crash into yours as he comes, so hard that he almost pushes you onto your stomach. Your ribs contract, the air trapped right in your lungs as he rocks forward, sliding his knee into the back of yours. It beats hot through you, and you automatically feel yourself flutter and tighten around it, weak though the motions are. He sighs, breath hot on your shoulder, the last word of his rambles breaking into something totally unintelligible.

It takes him a moment to relax, for his fingers to flex under the ginger blanket of your own hand. He rolls away, lips just barely wisping off your neck in a motion almost like a kiss, but without the follow through. You raise your hand to the spot, feeling the remnant, tacky stick of his saliva, and trace your fingers down to where the love bite will rise navy blue tomorrow morning.

Sasuke is silent. You turn on your stomach, feeling something drip and dry down to your inner thighs. He’s fallen onto his back, that glazed, half-open stare stuck to the ceiling. You breathe, heavier than you wanted, but he doesn’t shift his gaze to you.

“Um.” You clear your throat, and sit up, stroking gently along his calf as you scoot to the edge of the bed. “Do you want another drink?”

“More water would be a good idea,” Sasuke says after a moment. The “yes, thank you” following feels forced, remembered too late. He’s settling into that distant nature with ease, as the aloof traveler you met and fell in love with only days before.

Your legs shake as you walk to the sink. The only sound is the rustle of the sheets as Sasuke slides them down, making room for the two of you to properly sleep. In the moonlight your body casts a long shadow swallowed by the darkness beyond the window’s frame. The bed and Sasuke are just as hidden, but his pale hand extends for a sip of the glass, a beacon as bright as the moon itself.

Tucked once more into the curve of his body, this time the touch of his chest at your back is soft, gently coming to and against your skin with each settling breath. “When’s the last time you slept in a bed?” you ask drowsily, not expecting an answer. Sasuke doesn’t offer one.

He shifts, arm coming up around you to pull the blanket higher. It slithers over your skin. His fingers drop and drum softly against your arm. Exhaustion begins to melt you into the bed, and you reach, groping in the darkness to find his hand and entwine your fingers in his. You’re overwhelmed with a sudden desire to cry, a pain in your throat dropping to your heart. You close your eyes, turning into the bed, bidding the tears to go, not to spoil these last moments.

“Have a safe journey tomorrow,” you whisper into the silence. You wonder if he’s already asleep, but his fingers flex in your hold, slanting lightly, squeezing you in turn.

“Thank you.”

Sleep comes now, in a spinning hold pressed into you as warm and comforting as his embrace.

When you wake to streaming sunlight, the bed is empty, and Sasuke is gone.

fin.

[quitealotofsodapop]

I wanna introduce y'all to an oc/story concept I've had for a while now.

Oc created using the "Bright's Picrew Hell" since I am terrible at drawing.

Basically its a parody and deconstruction of an Isekai story - aka "character is teleported/reincarnated into another world" (for example KonoSuba, That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Digimon etc.)

The main character of this idea is Sekai Ishida; a gloomy shut-in with cerebral palsy and spinal bifida who's dealing with having aged out of the foster system and finding supports for his disability. Sekai was minding his own business going to career training when;

Sekai, being physically disabled, is unable to climb out of the way of a speeding subway car when he stumbles (or was tripped) onto the tracks. He closes his eyes.

He awakens to find himself dumped through a portal to a magical fantasy world.

When the many gods greeting him in the space between worlds ask him if he wishes for a boon to bring with him into this new life; Sekai impulsively replies "Give me back my crutches."

Well shit now he's just some Japanese guy with severe mobility issues in a dnd-inspired medieval kingdom with no fighting experience or magical add-on. What's a guy to do?

Wormwood; an Aberrant demon looking for a host: "

Wormwood: "Hey you wanna-" Sekai, already fed-up: "Whatever, sure." (*shakes hand*) Wormwood: "Damn, ok. Didn't even need a sales pitch." Workwood: (*painfully merges into Sekai's body*) Wormwood: "...damn bitch, you live like this?" Sekai: "Yeah." Wormwood: "I can't even look into parts of your brain." Sekai: "Yeah those don't work." Wormwood: "Screw this, I'm finding another off-worlder for my plans." (*nothing happens*) Wormwood: "...why can't I leave?" Sekai: "HAH! You're trapped in here with me!" Wormwood, tentacles waving frantically: "I can't even move your legs!" Sekai, gestures to crutches, laughing manically: "Neither can I!" Wormwood: "You are evil."

So now Sekai has one thing going for him; an inky symbiote-esque demon thats trapped in his body that's pretty keen on keeping Sekai alive. For now.

Also, you know how the demon mentioned "off-worlders"?

Yeah. Sekai isn't the only one.

It's a frequent phenomena in the magical kingdom, to the point that there are new laws in place to deal with people that fall through.

Notably:

Report immediately to the King.

Surrender all technology and/or organics to the crown.

Any accompanying animals will be quarantined or destroyed.

If it looks like nothing fell out of a portal hole - no it didn't. Evacuate the area immediately.

Off-Worlders should avoid making deals with spirit and/or demons, as they are an untapped source of raw magical life force (Sekai: "Oops"), and can cause the world around them to glitch and break down since they're essentially aliens.

Its not always human either. Dogs, cats, birds, and trilobites frequently wander/fall in. Imagine the utter terror of villagers used to dragon when they see a saltwater crocodile for the first time.

It's not always humans or organic things that fall in though. Like in Digimon where a subway car or a fridge full of eggs would randomly glitch in.

The ultimate common denominator is people and things that have experienced "glitches in the matrix"-style disappearances and have just... disappeared back in their home time/dimension. Oh yeah, people from completely different cultures and universes can fall through too.

Sekai (and his tag-along wormwood) occassionally fall into other universes due to Wormwood's own research into interdimensional travel. It was the very reason he sought out a host - someone proven to be able to handle the trip. Sekai hates this. HATES THIS. Let him have junk food and video games again!

[cam-ryt]

A little fandom crossover but I've been obsessed with the concept of Warlock Darth Vader and Fae Obi-Wan who fall in love with each other 👀 

It's Sunday prompt day !! 🥳

I'm so excited about this new concept and I received very interesting prompts to write about, I can't wait to post them all !

This one was the first I wrote about, thank you for sending it, it gave me so many ideas, I got a little carried away aha. I couldn't write the whole falling in love process or I had to write a whole fic but I hope you'll still enjoy it !! 💕

TW : mention of heavily scarred body (kinda suitless Vader)

___________

When Vader first sets foot on Aldhani, he immediately feels like the atmosphere is different than any other planet he’d ever landed on. And he has visited a lot, conquered a lot.

This one would make no exception.

Stepping off the metallic bridge of his ship, he presses the sole of his boots on the wet ground, tall grass lazily dancing in the wind around his legs.

The view is breathtaking, a soothing break in the dark turmoils of the war.

Framing the valley in which he landed are mountains, rising high enough to be crowned by the clouds. The early morning light is painting them in shades of orange and the only sounds he can hear are the singing of the birds, the light breeze playing with his hair and his own breathing, loud and unnatural.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander, searching for any living presence in the area.

It’s an easy mission, the population being mainly made up of farmers and religious people, none of them bearing any kind of power. That's why he came alone, on the orders of his master, counting on his magic and lightsaber alone to convince them to join the Empire.

When he’s done scanning his surroundings for any advanced intelligent form - he hasn’t found any - he decides that his best chance is to leave his ship behind and to follow the river deeper in the valley until he finds a village.

Before leaving, he decides to change his heavy suit and coat for something lighter and more practical. He adjusts the lightsaber to his tunic belt, wraps himself in a long dark cape and checks that his portable oxygenator is fully charged. Once he’s done making sure it’s carefully strapped to his mouth and nose and working fine, converting the right amount of air into his oxygen needs, he grabs his traveling bag and heads to the river.

The walk is pretty gentle on his mechanic joints, far more comfortable than walking on the rough stone banks of Mustafar or worst, in the sand. Here he doesn’t even think about his next steps as he strolls along the riverside, leaving space for his head to think and his senses to explore.

The Force is strong in here, almost palpable, pure life energy flowing into every being, from the smallest flower to the highest mountain. It’s neither good nor bad he realises. It’s nothing and it’s everything at the same time. It doesn’t care about the war, it doesn’t care about politics, about pain and hope. It exists only to serve a purpose : giving life and keeping the gears of the universe turning.

The thought keeps him wondering for a while.

The sun is high when he’s confronted to a choice. He's deep down in the bottom of the valley and in front of him the river is sinking between trees marking the edges of a forest. He can continue following it or try to avoid the woods in which he might get lost.

He hesitates for a second, deciding to rely on his instincts. The call of the forest is strong, as if the Force is even denser here, flowing through the sap of the old trees and impregnating the very ground. He can almost feel it buzzing around him.

So he follows it.

The cover of the trees is welcomed as the sun starts to hit harder in the middle of the day. He has dropped the cape and rolled up his sleeves, exposing one delicately crafted mechanic arm, the other one being only torn flesh and burned skin. Still functional but painful and unsightly. He doesn't really care, he has learned how to wield his lightsaber with his other hand.

The scars on his body and face are another thing, though. They make him suffer every minute, a painful reminder of what he had to endure to become as powerful as he is today. They took away any sense of comfort he had taken for granted for too long, forcing him to rely on a machine to draw breath after breath and keep himself alive. They also took away the privilege of being perceived as “normal” in other people eyes, not that he seeks any kind of contact with any kind of people, but some looks still hurt, even years later.

He's on the edge of the slippery path to self-loathing when something makes him stops right in his tracks. A feeling.

Looking around, he realises that the river has given life to the beginning of a lake. From where he is, he can see it entirely ; a calm body of water enclosed by ancient trees, their reddish foliage reflecting in the water like a mirror.

For a moment he just stays there, staring at the gorgeous sight. It looks like a dream.

Light pierces through the branches, illuminating the myriad of insects flying over the surface of the lake, diving through the shades of blue to highlight the silver scales of the fish hiding in the shadows.

The Force is so thick in here, bathing every creature in vital energy, he can taste it on the back of his tongue.

And then he realises why he had stopped in the first place. He had felt something. Something bigger than the frogs and the deers wandering around. Something with a consciousness so vast and complex he wonders why he’s only feeling it just now.

It is there, right in the middle of the lake.

Someone.

Vader’s heart misses a beat as he crouches down behind the trunk of an elder tree.

There’s a creature immerged in the deep waters, swimming gracefully between the water lilies. A man, as far as he can tell. The sun, where it pierces through the leaves, is kissing his pale skin and making his wet hair look like a flaming crown.

Vader’s eyes are stuck to his silhouette, and the time seems to stretch out as he follows him slowly getting back to the bank.

And then the man climbs out of the water and he doesn’t know if he’s chocked out by the fact that he’s completely naked or if it’s because of the pair of wings sticking out of his back. His face still heats up all the same.

Saying that this creature is the most beautiful person he’s layed his eyes on is an understatement.

He’s gorgeous, droplets of water running down his skin like little beads of light, bronze hair sticking on the back of his neck, his body lean and strong.

And there’s the wings. Vader still has a hard time believing his own eyes.

They’re tall, rising up a few inches above his head and falling to his bare feet, where he notices a bracelet around one of his ankles.

They look incredibly thin and fragile, for they’re mostly transparent. But when they're playing with the light, they’re suddenly painted in a million color, like a diamond in a beam. He’s never seen something like that before, it’s hypnotizing.

Just when he leans a bit closer on the tree, his scarred hand rips on the bark and he loses his balance, putting a knee on the ground with a loud thud, and the echo of the sound seems to ripple in the Force.

Immediately the man turns his head in his direction, scrutinizing the shadows where he hides.

“Who’s there ?” He asks warily, swiftly picking up a piece of clothes on the ground and putting it on.

Vader feels a tingle of regret when the beige tunic drapes almost all of his body, covering his arms and falling just above his knees. He watches him tighten it at the waist with another blue piece of fabric, and feels his cheeks burning up again when the man picks up a thinner leather belt that he fixes around his thigh, lifting the tunic in the process. He notices the dagger in the sheath just before the piece of clothes falls back again, hiding the pretty thigh and the weapon with it. He’s so fascinated by the whole sight that he needs a second to realise that the wings are gone.

“I can feel you.” The man says again, and this time he’s moving in his direction. “Show yourself.”

Vader can understand what he says without any problems. His accent informs him that he’s probably not a native from this planet.

He weights his choices for a while. The stranger doesn't seem to be dangerous, and his weapon is no match again his lightsaber. Maybe he can even lead him to the nearest village.

He steps out of the shadow of the tree with his hands up, showing no sign of hostily.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The man stops in his tracks and his eyes widen when they land on Vader’s face, his lips parting in a horrified grimace.

Vader is used to that kind of reaction, but he can’t help feeling sharply self-conscious about his looks under the creature's gaze. It almost makes him want to hide under his hood.

They stare at each other for a long while, none of them daring to move or to speak. Vader feels like the stranger’s eyes are piercing right through him, dissecting every one of his scars, reading every bad decisions leading to them like an open book. He has to force himself not to squirm under his gaze.

Then the man takes a step closer, reducing the distance between them from another meter. From where he stands Vader can see his face better, he can tell that his eyes are the same color as the lake, fierce and suspicious, or that he looks like he’s in his late thirties. His skin seems as soft as his own is damaged, studded with a galaxy of freckles on his nose and cheeks. A beard is framing his perfect face, sharing bronze and golden hues with the hair falling on his shoulders.

He looks like the Sun personified and Vader cannot take his eyes of him.

“Who are you, stranger ?” The man asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “State your name and business.”

His voice is firmer and colder, but it still sounds like music to Vader’s ears. He sees his hand getting closer to his thigh when he doesn’t answer and decides to speak then.

“I think I’m lost.” He half lies. “My ship crashed half a day of walk from here and I’m looking for the nearest village to repair it.”

The man raises an eyebrow and takes another careful step closer.

“I heard no such thing as the crash of a ship. And you didn’t tell me your name.”

“Is it really that imp-”

Vader cannot end his sentence that a root breaks out from the soil and wraps itself around his legs, pinning him to the ground and growing bigger by the second, curling up around his waist and pressing his arms to his side like one of those snakes he saw once in an archive. The pressure is strong enough to immobilize him but it feels like they could break his bones at any moment. When they reach his throat, the instinctive rush of magic flowing through his body makes his skin tingle, ready to be used at full power to defend himself.

“I can feel the darkness in you.” The man growls.

His dagger is in his hand now, and there’s something irradiating from him in the Force. It takes Vader a second to understand that he’s also using some kind of magic to control the roots. It makes him re-evaluate the situation and his opponent.

“Alright.” He says, struggling as one of the roots wraps itself tighter around his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The man frowns and slides in front of him, close enough for Vader to see every details of his face, like the little mole under his right eye or the pink shade of his lips, twisted in an upset line.

“What are you ?” He enquires, making no move to ease the pressure on the other’s body.

“I’m- I'm a warlock.” Vader decides to reveal. It’s a half-truth, but the stranger doesn't need to know more. He doesn’t need too convinced, though.

“Liar.” He hisses a few inches from his face and Vader can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on as his self-preservation instinct begins to doubt whether he's the predator in this situation. “You reek of the dark side. Why are you here ?”

As he asks questions, the man grabs the sides of his cape and pulls them apart to search him. It doesn’t take long until he finds his lightsaber, that he takes with a disgusted look on his face.

“You’re a Sith.” He growls, narrowing his eyes to look at him more closely, hostility clearly written on his features. “You’re siding with the Empire. You’re here to enslave us.”

Vader doesn’t deny it, there’s no use.

“Don’t kill me.” He just asks softly, and he doesn't even have a good excuse to add.

“And why would I let you live ?” The man snarls. “When you come here bringing chaos, pain and destruction ?”

He takes a step back suddenly, looking around in alert.

“Are there others like you ?”

“I came alone.” Vader replies, he had stopped struggling and the roots had stopped tightening, making it uncomfortable but not impossible to breathe. “I swear.”

“Why should I trust you ?” The man asks again, crossing his arms against his chest.

“I’ll let you read in my mind.” Vader says. “You’ll see I'm telling the truth.”

It’s a risky move. He doesn’t know how powerful the stranger is, and he already made the mistake of underestimating him once. But he doesn't want to engage in a fight.

The man gives him a suspicious look. He has no reason to trust him, but he seems conflicted. Vader can almost hear his thoughts. He’s not sure he’s strong enough to kill him if he tried, but he doesn't want to put his village in danger by bringing him there as a prisoner. It’s a dead end. Maybe he can offer a solution.

“I could… Tell the Empire that I found no-one here.” He says carefully. “That you already fled to another system to seek the help of the rebellion.”

The man's eyebrows shot up at his words.

“And why exactly would you do that ?”

“It would be a waste to destroy a planet like that. Where the Force is so strong and balanced.” Vader replies, and then coughs as his oxygenator finally has a hard time providing enough oxygen in his state.

The man observes him for a while, pondering.

“So you’ll just fly back to your emperor and lie to his face for the sake of one planet out of the hundreds you probably already doomed ? This is absurd.”

“This- This planet is no use for the Empire.” Vader says and, oh, black dots are dancing around his vision now. “I- I can’t breathe.”

He sees the man straighten, peering at him to evaluate if he’s trying to fool him or if he’s really in distress.

That’s when his legs give way under his weight that he has a glimpse of the stranger rushing to him before everything goes black.

When he comes back to his senses, he’s lying on his back on a pile of soft leaves, under the cover of what looks like a weeping willow. It takes a second for his brain to kick in, and when it does his first reflex is to get up. That’s when he realizes that his hands are tied in front of him, and that he’s not alone.

“I thought you were dead for a while.” The man sitting a few meters away from him says.

He’s building a fire camp with dry wood and terse grass. He added another layer on his shoulders and Vader shivers when the chill air of the evening slips under his thin tunic. He must have blacked out for a few hours. Without thinking, he closes his eyes and concentrates on the fire camp. A second later, a spark ignites in his center and flames start to consume the dry wood.

He can’t help but smirk when he hears the man gasp at his little trick.

“What-”

“Relax.” He says, slowly sitting up on the ground. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just cold.”

The stranger makes a face but doesn’t reply. Instead he picks up his dagger and starts to peel some edible roots piled up by his side.

Vader watches him in silence for a while. He’s still as fascinated by the stranger. He wants to know more about him. About his story.

“What’s your name ?” He finally asks, trying to find a more comfortable position for his metallic joints. At least his oxygenator is working fine again.

The man raises his head in his direction, his blue eyes staring at him with a mix of curiosity and defiance.

“You didn’t tell me yours.”

“Ah, fair enough.” Vader replies with a light smile. He hesitates for a millisecond. “Anakin. My name is Anakin.”

“Anakin.” The man repeats, and it’s strange to hear it in the mouth of someone else. To hear it again after such a long time. Maybe it’s not as dead as he thought. “I’m Obi-Wan.”

Vader thinks that it’s a beautiful name for a beautiful man he met on a beautiful planet.

Now he doesn’t have to get back to the emperor just yet, does he ? He can take a few days away from the war, from the horrors and the pain. He can pretend that he’s not a monster for a while. He can bathe in the beauty and the calm of this planet, let it heal him even if he doesn’t deserve it. The best he can do is to avoid corrupting it.

“Obi-Wan.” He tastes the name on his tongue and decides that he likes it. “Tell me more about you.”

[lemonlamblaura]

My Husband is the God of Pestilence - chapter 7

Not too much to say about this chapter, bit I'm excited to get to the next one because we meet Lilybell's parents! Stay tuned!!! 🩷

"M-Mother... Father... I don't feel so good..."

People collapsing all around him.

He was walking. Where was he going?

There was darkness. He wandered into a web.

"You poor thing. Come with me, or you will die soon."

Suddenly warmth.

Kallamar jolted awake. After a few heavy breaths, he realized he was not in Silk Cradle, but in his own room in his own temple. He was wrapped in his silk sheets like a cocoon, suffocating him, and it took a few moments to untangle himself.

He hadn't dreamt of his beginning in years, but it never stopped being so intense. The crown had found him in his sleep, and sat beside him on his pillow until he woke up and put it on, not knowing what it was. He immediately became ill, not knowing how to control its powers. In his stupor, he left the small village he once called home and wandered into Silk Cradle, where Shamura found him and took him in.

The crown sat on his bedside table, staring up at him with its round blue eye, studying him. It didn't react at all as he picked it up and put it on. Shamura said one day it may speak to him. He always wondered what it would say. So far he heard nothing from it. It may as well be just an ordinary hat.

Kallamar made his bed neatly as he always did. Thankfully he didn't need to sleep much anymore. This was the first time he'd slept in over a year. He was surprised the bed didn't have more dust on it when he crawled into it the night before. It didn't see much use, and was more of a couch than anything.

Upon leaving his room, he noticed the light from the windows illuminating the hallway. It must be late. At least his followers had the decency to let him rest, but he felt some alarm rise up in him that no one had even checked up on him. Didn't anyone wonder where he was?

He made his way down the hall to Lilybell's room. Surely she must be up by now. He knocked on the door.

"Lilybell?" He asked. "Are you awake?"

Not hearing an answer, he continued on, figuring he would see her somewhere around the temple. A few followers met him on his walk, and he nodded politely as they greeted him. Eventually he made his way to the dining hall, where he was surprised to find a large number of people. They came up to him, clamoring about something, but he took a quick look among them and didn't see Lilybell, so he ignored them. He peeked into the kitchen and finally saw her, standing with Trenaty at one of the counters, cutting vegetables.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked curiously.

Lilybell heard his voice and turned to him, and her face instantly brightened. "Good morning, Lord Kallamar!"

"Why are you cooking? You don't work in here anymore and today is a holiday."

Trenaty raised her hand. "My lord, if I may speak? There was no food prepared for breakfast."

Kallamar stared at her blankly.

"My lord, when you declared today a holiday, you did not tell us your plans for cooking. No one has done anything since last night."

Finally it kicked in, and he slapped a hand to his face in embarrassment. He was so high on pride at how yesterday's sermon had gone, the holiday was announced in the spur of the moment and he never even considered how things would work today.

"It's okay, Lord Kallamar," Lilybell said, stepping forward with a soft smile. "Everybody makes mistakes. I made more than a hundred here already! Trenaty is helping me cook for everyone so we'll be okay! See? The rice is already boiling in the hearth!"

"We will handle everything, Lord Kallamar. You can attend to your own affairs."

Lilybell and Trenaty returned to their work and conversation as Kallamar watched them work. He really did feel quite stupid. The other followers were gathered around the door, watching them. They must have felt he was quite stupid too. What kind of God doesn't provide food for his own people? He needed to repair his image right away or else people would lose faith in him.

"Um," he mumbled, and the women looked up at him expectantly, "may I, uh... what would you-"

"Oh, Lord Kallamar! Do you want to help?" Lilybell asked excitedly.

All he could do was nod, not looking at them.

"Can you help us with the fish? We're almost done with the vegetables so we need to skin and clean them!"

He just nodded quickly again, greatful they seem to be judging him. The other followers watched in surprise from the doorway. Lord Kallamar was actually going to cook for them! Hopefully no one became gravely ill.

*

Over the next few days, Lilybell came to the realization that she wasn't doing very much as Kallamar's assistant.

She helped him write letters and accompanied him through the temple on his duties, but the most she was doing was talking to him and keeping him company. He'd had a small staircase installed on the side of his desk so she could climb up to it without him having to lift her up all the time. She even had a neat, soft blue cushion to sit on while she talked to him.

The second thing she realized was that the other followers had begun to treat her differently. It varied between people, but usually went in one of two directions: either they were keeping their distance from her as much as possible, or they were sucking up to her like there was no tomorrow. Some turned an ran at the sight of her. A few people had complimented her on her wool and her robes (despite the fact they all wore the same robes), and even tried to give her presents. But Kallamar always gave the best presents, of course. It seemed like he gave her something every other day. One present was a soft purple handkerchief with scalloped edges. Another was a silk head scarf for her to wear when they went out, to keep her wool clean from stray sand.

She also had the strong suspicion that he was drawing her. One time after a particularly restless night, she nodded off on her cushion, and when she came to he was hurriedly stuffing some papers away into a desk drawer and wouldn't tell her what they were about. So she decided to play a trick on him to find out once and for all. She pretended to fall asleep, and heard the rustling of papers and the scratching of a quill. After a few moments she peeked one eye open, and had her answer.

"AH-HA!" She yelled suddenly leaping forward, causing Kallamar to let out a shriek and grab the paper to his chest, crumpling it and staining it with ink. "You are drawing me!"

"I-I thought you were asleep!" Kallamar cried, wrenching the paper away from her as she tried to grab it. "Don't!"

"Oh, please, Lord Kallamar! Please let me see!" She made the biggest pout she could muster, looking up at him with big wet eyes. "Why can't you show me? I bet they're really good!" Her lip quivered pathetically, well practiced.

Kallamar waited, seeing if a few seconds would sway her into leaving it alone, but she didn't relent, so he sighed and laid the paper on his desk, using a hand to smooth out the wrinkles. She crawled onto the paper and saw herself on it, sleeping soundly.

She cooed in admiration. "It's me!"

"You suggested I get a hobby," Kallamar explained. "When I was younger I enjoyed drawing. My mother told me I was good at it."

"I love it," she looked up at him with her usual smile. "But you don't have to wait until I'm asleep. You can draw me anytime!"

Kallamar smiled back, "I'm glad you like it."

*

That night, a follower knocked on Lilybell's door and handed her a letter. She recognized the handwriting instantly, having known it all her life. She hesitated opening it. She had no ties to her village anymore. She certainly didn't want to hear anymore from her mother. What could she possibly have to say? Would she beg her to come home?

She tried to go to bed, the letter unopened on her dresser, but anticipation and dread kept her awake and she knew she couldn't put off the inevitable. She opened the letter, her heart hammering in her chest.

*

"What's wrong, dear? You've hardly said a word all morning."

Lilybell stopped writing Kallamar's letter to Silk Cradle and pursed her lips. She didn't know what to do. Would he even let her go?

"Lord Kallamar, last night I received a letter from my village," she put her quill down, not looking up at him. "My father is very sick. He may die soon."

"I see..." Kallamar's eyed drifted away from her. No wonder she had been so quiet. He remembered his own father, and his frail constitution. He had no idea what happened to him after he became a god.

"Lord Kallamar," Lilybell said quietly, leaving her cushion and crawling over to him, grasping one of his large hands, "I know I promised I would stay and help you, but my father was always so good to me. He always believed in me when my mother didn't. I want to see him to say goodbye, but I'm scared to see her again."

"Is she really so terrible?" He asked. "You make her seem like a monster."

Lilybell nodded, but there was a hopeless look in her eyes. "You don't know her like I do. She never gave me a chance to do anything I really wanted. She never gave me a chance to do anything. When the other kids were out exploring I had to stay behind because she always thought I would get in trouble or get hurt. She never trusted me to be an adult. That's why I snuck away to come to Anchordeep. The morning the group was leaving, I told my mother I was going, and I thought she would let me because I'm an adult now. But she still wouldn't let me go. So I ran away because I was so upset. I don't want to see her anymore."

Kallamar listened with sadness in his heart. No wonder she was so immature and excitable. She was never given the opportunity to grow up. Now that witch was keeping her away from the only person from her village that believed she could be better.

"I will go with you," Kallamar said, petting her hair gently. "You will say goodbye to your father. I won't let her mistreat you. And then you can come home. To your real home."

Lilybell's eyes glistened with tears as she leaned into his touch. She grabbed his hand and rubbed her face against it, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Thank you."

[ruiniel]

To be free - II

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 1.6k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Angst, Adrian has 0 idea what to do with this, Context of battle, Mention of death, resolved emotional tension, arguing, Alucard POV

Summary:

The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa, and a friend of her son.

Here's the last part of this ask. All characters depicted are 18+

II.

He removes his vambraces, the last piece, after trying an armor crafted from a surprisingly light and resistant alloy. It was commissioned some time ago, but as efforts were mainly poured into the forging of weapons for the larger host, it was only finished today. His eyes skim over the simple, practical design. He’ll weather it during the fight, but he tried movement, both armed and unarmed, and all flows unhindered. The blade slides in its gilded scabbard and is set on an empty stand.

His gaze sweeps beyond the tall windows towards the valley. Sleepy forests and restless life melt into dark blue as evening falls in layers. The scene depicts the darkening of the light in thin strips of yellow across the sky, grazing the peaks of mountains.

Adrian closes his eyes to the remnants of the day and lets his mind wander; the silence is eerie, even to his hearing. Outside, a strong wind threatens to lash and rainfall soon pelts the castle, creating a murmur of white noise against his mind, disentangling it like ribbons. A great stream hastens and time plies in on itself, rebounding in endless circles; the face that refuses to leave his mind’s eye is yours, and with regret clenched between his teeth he wills it away (if only it were that easy).

A few broken knocks on the door derail his streaming thoughts. A human heartbeat—such a rare thing here.

You look weary as you stare up at him when Adrian opens the door, appearing startled only for a moment. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, and he’s too stunned to prevent you from stepping past him. Adrian closes the door behind his unsought visitor and crosses his arms. “Why are you here?”

But inside? The pulsing thrill he feels makes him sick.

He cannot read the reason on your face, finding nothing in the beat of your heart; you’d learned to control that around him better than he thought. His hands curl and uncurl at his sides as Adrian waits for you to answer. “Well?”

You send him a furtive glance, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth through the room. You stop before a window, out of place with the peaceful valley crowning your tension. “You could have supported me, earlier,” you seethe, shoulders tensed and hunched together, your head bowed between them.

Ah, here is your reason. Adrian seeks your gaze. “That was your fight, not mine.”

Your eyes hastily lock on his. Your request to join on the front to offer medical aid had been, understandably, denied. “I’ve walked these lands with you. I came here to be useful, to be of aid,” you insist.

“… with the understanding that you'd profess your trade after you finish your apprenticeship; not before.”

This is achingly difficult, more than he thought it would ever be; fighting you, truly fighting you when he wants to… he craves to…

“I’m ready and you know there is demand for it! We have human allies protecting their own villages out there. You need more hands, Adrian.”

Your determination should annoy him, it’s late, and he hasn’t the time for this. The way you’re looking at him does not help; neither does the rush of your blood or the fact that he’s leaving and you’re staying, and there’s not a thing he can or would do about it if that means you’re safe. “You still haven’t revealed why you’re here.”

“Stop it! You could have spoken up to your father and vouched for me, but you didn’t. How am I to learn, Adrian, if you stand in my way?”

Adrian breathes once, deeply. His frustration sinks, but something more perilous takes its place. “Because I know it was a rushed decision on your part. You never mentioned joining the defense effort to me before.” He's right, it's the truth and you know it. Stubborn, precious creature.

Your gaze snaps his way, lit with fuming resent, but you say nothing though your mouth coils like a snake. You lower your head again as if in shame and loathing, fingers clutching and worrying at the folds of your dress. “I worry something might happen to you.”

The sharp cry of a great eagle tears through the twilight, floods the chamber from afar. Adrian wallows in the guilty pleasure taking him at your words, at the way your heart speeds as you say them, drowning his mind in its hot toil. He’s tried to keep away, did a terrible job of it so far because look at him, falling apart like a poorly knit doll. And now, you give him this. “Do you not see how ridiculous that is? I do have advantages.”

“So do they.”

Adrian glances at you. He says nothing as you bring a palm to his chest, run it down his torso; your fingers burn through his tunic.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Anguish coats your words and your forehead falls against him, a hand clutching his arm.

“Neither do I. But you… I…” Adrian draws back, wanting and weary. There is something desperate and hollow in your stare, and in sudden realization he regrets having allowed you so close. Your gaze roams across his features, settling on his mouth.

Eyes widening, Adrian aims to stand down but a damnable need holds him prisoner, unable to move even if his life depended on it. He feels a gentle pull on his hair and sees your dress drawn tight around your hips as you rise to him, and the tension in him snaps into myriads of flickers when your warm mouth finds his.

At first, he can neither push you away nor respond. His heartbeat says the war has already begun, nearly collapsing at your needy sigh against his lips. He’s caught in the strongest stir, feels himself hardening, and his head spins with a constant churn. Heat. You ask for so little, but it’s not his place, not you—heavens, most surely not you, anyone but you. He’s never felt so deep an urge to seize and crush you to him, to see all of you and feel the pressure of your skin everywhere, your fingers playing in his hair and not the hollow wind. But the stab of guilt as his desire melds with emotion and consequences is sharp and so his hand, already reaching to cradle your head and deepen the kiss, instead settles on your arm.

“You’re in my chambers,” Adrian says, prying your hands from around his neck even as you suck on his lip, “… you can’t be in my—”

“Don’t overthink this,” you murmur, teasing his mouth one last time even as Adrian holds you back by your shoulders, thankfully met with little resistance.

“It is you,” you say, words rushed, your expression lost. Your hair is ruffled and loose and falling into your face, and stray strands caught on your lips. “It has always been you.”

Adrian looks down between you, keeping you at a distance by your arms. He knows. He’s known for so long, and you're a constant reminder, but it still floors him to hear it. “I cannot give you what you seek,” he says. “Anything else. Ask for anything else.”

You look away and your face twists, in anguish or ire he can barely tell, your lip curling. “We may not see each other again for a long, long time.”

“That is a slight probability.” Poorly done as words of comfort go.

“But a real one.” You struggle out of his hold. “Why do you always push me away?”

At first, he doesn’t know how to react, how to face your longing. His mind fires warnings in a torrent. He can still taste you on his tongue. His voice grows all the more serious and brittle, all tenderness wrung from it. “Will you make me repeat the same, for you to understand, you speak as if you do, but—”

“No, I don’t understand,” you reach around his neck. Adrian does nothing to stop you, the mild disapproval frozen on his face. “And you know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s something for nothing.”

“What of your goal to become a doctor?”

“What of it?”

Adrian groans. “You need to be alive for that.”

“And you worry too much,” you say, raising your head until your nose is pressed to his jaw.

A shudder—his. The tension drains from him at the tenderness of your palm, gliding along his back. Without ceremony Adrian brings you to him; panting, slow, he meets your eyes, the languid, needy stare that melts his knees, and tilts your chin up.

This time, he closes his eyes when you kiss him, sighs in relief at the softness and cannot push you away, close to losing himself as your hips come slotted against his; he turns with you, hands grasping your rear and walking you to his bed where he brings you down into his lap.

You both still, settling against each other. Adrian stares at you, drunk on your life before you lick along his hard jaw as his hands glide in a slow, insistent path along your thighs, up and down; he can't stop touching you, feeling you, kneading into you. “It is you,” he repeats your words from earlier, smiling bitterly. “... my greatest weakness,” his hold turns vice-like.

You press into him, setting him to flame with a slow, shivering kiss, tugging at his bottom lip and moaning so softly it kills him.

“I’ll take it.”

[perexcri]

go out in the world to start over again and again (as many times as you can) [byler week 2023 - day 1]

title from: heaven’s gate by fall out boy

dedicated to: @cherryisgone for writing in the comments of the truth beneath the rose that Mike should kiss Will’s magic-warmed fingers and infecting me with that image :) thank you friend i have not known peace since :)

here’s a short ficlet for my fantasy au A Flower That Resembles You!! it can be reasonably read on its own without having read the original fic, though i do think that would remove some context for it,,,either way, it’s all going under the cut in case people are concerned about potential spoilers~

A breeze rolls down the cliff face, rustling its fingers through their hair as they’re both preoccupied with their tasks: plucking weeds, sifting through the soil, carefully shaking seeds out of jars and into pockets of dirt to be covered up. In rhythmic intervals, one scoops dirt over seeds while the other sprinkles water upon the fresh mound, over and over, all throughout the land that surrounds their new home.

And that’s not even to mention their neighbors–lovely people, of course, and the houses in this coastal village are spread out enough so that nobody’s toes get stepped on, but after nearly a year left to themselves in a shack on the western coast, pinned between the sea and the citadel, they’re still growing used to the idea that people are nearby, that eyes wander, and that ears, of course, can hear.

Regardless, nobody stops them now as they work the land behind their new home. The people of the village wander back to their abodes in their close-knit families, dangling off the arms of lovers or else pulled by the eager hands of children. Their murmurs mix with the chirp of cicadas and crickets to create a sweet song of spring, nature and people alike heralding the advent of warmer temperatures and brighter days.

They’d talked about a fence when they’d first arrived, but, tired from their journey and trying to acclimate to their new surroundings, neither had gotten around to the task, and neither seemed to particularly care. As such, there are no clear demarcations for where their new garden will end and the empty grasses of the land surrounding them will begin.

Neither of them say a word, but their gazes occasionally snag on each other, or else one’s eyes catch the other’s wandering towards the other villagers or the distant line of pine trees which house the unruly insects and perfume the air with the sharp musk of their needles.

“I think that’s it,” Will finally says, the first to break the serene silence that had settled over their humble plot of land. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt just over his elbows from where they’d fallen, and when he swipes his arm against his forehead, it leaves a light streak of dirt that the blue hour nearly makes fade into his skin.

The jars filled with the seeds they’d taken with them sit empty on the stoop, but Mike knows better. Sure, he’d loved hearing about the flora from Will–distinguishing between blanket flower or lavender seeds, how much water to grace each one with, and, please, if you have any questions, either ask Will or consult the book–but there’s only one flower he ever had any intention of planting when Will had mentioned beginning the garden sometime last week.

Mike had no choice but to heartily agree–how could he not? Will asks for so little and gives all too much–planting a garden together at their new home, where the sun rains freely upon the lands unshackled from the domineering shadows of the citadel’s walls, is the least they can do. Hell, Mike had even encouraged him to ask for more: they’re free and they’re together, and what’s to hold them back from taking hold of the whole world?

Just a garden would be nice, Will had said as he’d traced a fine ribbon of light between their entwined fingers, let it tickle at Mike’s nose and send that pleasant warmth of magic trickling from the crown of his head to where their ankles locked together beneath the quilt of their bed.

And now, they've done it.

Well, with two exceptions, the first being that, technically, they simply had a bunch of seeds in the ground, though the garden will surely come given enough care, patience, and time.

The second, of course, is the glaring absence of the only flower Mike had ever cared about for more than just the light Will coaxes from their starlit cores, or how their scents elicit memories of summer evenings, secrets withheld, and some heady blur of necklace cords, salt-slick tears on cheeks, and the crunch of an apple between his teeth. It’s an odd mixture, to be sure: when he thinks about their floral perfumes, he can’t discern whether it’s wholly good or wholly bad, for all he can discern is that it’s simply overwhelming.

So, in the few heartbeats of silence that pass between them, Mike lets a wry grin twist at his mouth, and he gently reaches forward to smudge the dirt away from Will’s forehead, which earns him a playful smack against his arm. “No, oh wise one. This garden is far from complete.”

“If you’re referring to the lack of flowers currently, I can assure you that I can’t make them grow any faster.”

Mike rolls his eyes and gently knocks his head against Will’s. “Well, perhaps if you’d been a better minister.”

“I was never a minister, and even if I was, I’d be an even worse one now since I’m here with you.”

“But then you’d have nobody to grow the flowers for! See, it all works out–balance for the divine which lives in all, or whatever those old men used to preach about.”

Will wraps his finger around one of Mike’s stray curls and gives it a gentle tug. “You’re fresh on your way to being taken back to the arms of the universe earlier than planned.”

Mike reaches up again and pads the last bits of dirt away from Will’s forehead. “Then let me make it up to you?”

Will tilts his head back to consider the dusky sky, dragging Mike’s eyes up his neck, the curve of his jaw, the messy strands of hair ruffled around his head. The last stains of magenta sunlight melt against the blue of the sky overtaking the world in this quiet hour, and Mike’s eyes are drawn up to the pinpricks of stars which, if he squints at just a little harder, seem to be glowing brighter.

“Make it up to me how?”

“However you’d prefer.”

Will’s eyes cut back down to him, narrowing slightly. “You have a plan.”

“I do not!”

“You never concede that early. You already have something planned.”

Mike gives an exaggerated scoff. Then, under the weight of Will’s scrutiny, slowly drags his arms away from where they’d begun to encircle his love. He crosses them over his chest instead, hunching his shoulders as if to shield himself from a chill that isn’t there. “I do not. You just like to pretend like you know everything, and you like being mysterious–you know, I have my theories, and I think it’s all that tea those damned ministers made you drink since you were, what, a baby? It must’ve done something to your brain chemistry.”

Will shoots him a glare, and it speaks loudly enough on its own as to not require any further explanation.

Several more heartbeats pass, the scars on Mike’s chest begin to prickle, and with Will’s eyes turning dark in the evening’s blue hour, Mike finally concedes; his arms fall to his sides, he spins on his heels, and he makes it to the back door of their house in just a few strides, huffing a sarcastic Fine over his shoulder.

And when he comes back out, his hands behind his back and trying not to slip against the object he cradles so carefully, he catches Will’s mouth curved into a warm grin.

“What?” Mike asks, fingers already fumbling against the jar. He winces as he tries to pull the door closed, some last whiffs of woodsmoke and heat from the hearth escaping out into the night and sticking against his back.

“You just look nice in the firelight,” Will notes, his voice simple and earnest in that way Mike has always loved.

And it’s been months now–almost a full year–and yet, Mike still feels his face begin to glow, as if it was the precious object pressing into his back at this moment.

“You also look nice against the light of the flower,” Will notes with a more playful grin.

Mike looks down, notices the glows of blue and lilac against his clothes and skin, how they shift and sheen like the face of the sea in sunlight, and he groans. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“You thought I wouldn’t feel the light?”

“Not all of us are magical healer prodigies and artful manipulators of the divine which lives in all like you, oh wise one.” Mike crosses the distance now, and he holds the jar between them. He’s not sure if it’s the darkening sky or Will’s magic, but its petals seem to bloom more in the dusk, its colors to shine more brightly in the air between them. Mike’s fingers feel clammy against the jar, his hands shaking slightly from overuse and hunger, though they finally still when Will’s fingers reach over them, careful and calloused and warm from magic. His thumb rubs small circles against Mike’s hand.

“We should plant it,” Mike says, tilting his forehead down to lean against Will’s, letting his magic’s warmth coat his face, for it to fill his lungs and tug him just a bit closer to the one person he’s unwilling to let go of again.

And how could Will devise an argument against such a proposition?

They fall into their previous rhythm, one last time for the season: it’s as if they’d both already thought of a spot for the flower, its precious blue petals handspun by Will out of starlight, kept alive by Mike’s refusal to lose hope. Mike’s knees press into the dirt near the window as he leans over, digs through the soil, and tries his best to make room for the flower and the roots which sit tightly bunched against the confines of the jar. Will crouches next to him, his leg pressed against Mike’s. His fingers play with the remaining well water in the bucket, ready to soften the soil with its nourishment.

His other hand reaches out, though, and as their fingers brush together, Mike realizes Will is helping him make room for the flower, too.

And make room they do. The flower’s stem is strong enough to let it stand upright without the support of the jar, its roots taking well to the soft soil on this cliffside. They bury them beneath more overturned soil, and just as the last vein of roots disappears, as Mike rests his hand against the flower and in the dirt, Will’s reaches across, their fingers nearly threaded together around the flower’s stem.

The action brings to mind hazy images of a life now long left behind. There had been a minister, yes, and the girl, and a flame that violently seared against his wrist, leaving a trail of welts and blisters across his skin that had seemed to spell out the word liar.

He shakes his head to rid himself of clanging bells and flower petals crushed underfoot; he focuses his eyes on the reality in front of him instead, of being with his best friend and love in a garden of their own making, proof of their devotion blooming right between their hands beneath the moonlight.

“Now is it a garden?” Will asks, voice only half-teasing. He’s watching Mike with careful eyes, studying him as if for a charcoal drawing.

Mike meets his gaze, the corners of his mouth poking up. “Only by your magic’s touch.”

And as they remove their hands, in the light of the flower as it burns nearly incandescent, Mike takes Will’s hand and connects their fingers again, refusing to let go. When he presses a kiss to the back of Will’s hand, it glows with the warmth of his magic, though it’s no match for the light contained in the shape of Will’s smile, in the fondness of eyes, in the way he pulls Mike’s hand towards him and presses a kiss right back.

[lightning-of-farosh]

Incurable Homesickness

AU: Marin wished the world of BOTW into existence

A fox appeared to a woman in a dream.

I am a spirit of the magic that resides within this land, they told her. An echo of things that were, that are, and that could be.

You must go to the mountain where the lights of the night come from the earth instead of the sky. Climb to the praying peak to the pond that holds an ever-blossoming tree.

The woman held everything and nothing close for she could fit her whole world in her dream-hands even though they stayed empty. What about my son? What about our lives? We have a home, here. We have a future.

Black eyes looked up at her and the edges of the fox’s body swirled away into soft, crimson smoke. It was whisked away by darkness and the faint, kind melody of an ocarina. Trees passed by in her mind’s eye; tall ones with broad, sliced leaves and ones with heavy branches baring round, red apples. They were swallowed up by the sea, by a storm, by a crack of lightning and the massive shadow of a beast she couldn’t see.

The woman woke to the cry of a seagull and clutched her blanket to her chest. The wind howled against the stone walls, battering at the wooden shutters and the frame of the door. Rain pattered against the roof and she could feel the humidity sticking to her shoulders and neck even as she wound her long, red hair into a bun.

Beside her—curled up on a bedroll of reeds and feather down—a boy slept through the rumbling thunder.

oOo

It did not rain the day they left their home behind. The woman managed to gather enough rupees by selling herbs and insects and uncut gems scavenged from the cliffs to get enough funds for a single, old horse. A few people stopped by—but only a few. She was on the outskirts of the village, a stranger to most and an outsider to even more with her long, red hair and freckled, pale skin.

With a small goodbye to their neighbours, they were off on an adventure; the woman, her boy, and their horse.

oOo

A campfire crackled beneath the moon, sparks rising from the wood to become small, glimmering stars before they vanished into nothing. Sitting beside it was a young woman who was on her way to find answers to questions she didn’t know she had. In her lap was a small boy. He had been wrapped in various blankets to keep him warm in the stray night chill and keep his arms pinned at his sides. It didn’t seem necessary as he sat still without complaint, letting deft fingers braid wildflowers into his almost-gold blonde hair. Together, the boy and his mother hummed a song that had been lost to the ocean’s waves; one of shipwrecks and storms, of dreams and wishes.

Wandering through the trees, their horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Rain had left the dirt soft and there were tracks from beasts peppering the woodland trails.

“Mama?” The boy leaned his head back to look up at the woman. Petals drifted from his makeshift crown with the movement: one even slid down his nose, fluttering on his breath.

“Yes, Link?”

He curled against her. Various birds cawed in the trees as insects buzzed and sang in the underbrush. “Can you tell me a story?”

“A story?” She tapped a finger against her chin and tilted her eyes to the sky, pretending to be in deep thought. Stars winked between the leaves, watching them with billion-year amusement. “It’s very late,” Her voice was soft. “And you told me you were so tired that you couldn’t move another muscle.”

“But I won’t be moving, Mama,” Link grinned at her with a small, impish smile that made the corners of his eyes squint and his nose crinkle. “You’d be the one telling the story!”

The woman laughed in surprised delight, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I suppose that’s true,” she said and wrapped her arms around his little torso, holding him close to her chest. “What type of story would you like to hear?”

Link leaned up, lowering his voice to a whisper-that-wasn’t. “The one about the seagull and the island,” he said, eyes wide and reflecting the amber of the fire. “Please?”

“Again?” His mother gasped, ruffling his hair and sending petals flying everywhere. He giggled, unable to squirm away from her hold as they toppled backward onto their bedroll. “I suppose I could tell it again.” One hand ran down the boy’s back, counting his breaths as he wiggled closer, pressing against her ribs as if he could curl up next to her heart.

Silver moonlight dripped through the leaves, trickling down the jagged, arching trunks of durian and palm trees. The sounds of the night filled the shadows and stone, creating a music that sung of heat and lightning and rain. The fire continued on as the horse snorted and settled.

“Once upon a time,” the woman said, her voice drifting between shifting plants and night birdsong, “There was an island, a boy, and a seagull...”

[mi-rae07]

Kang Yeosang : Prince Of Hearts (Part 7/9)

Pairing : Kang Yeosang (Ateez) and named character (Moon Yena)

______________________

Yena had thought of the many places yeosang could have gone to at the break of dawn, a place where none of the king's guards could find him. And she had known where he would be within the first few seconds of contemplating. There had been a cave behind the waterfall of Aphrodite, it was the cave that yeosang had once shown her, telling her that this was where his mother would take him sometimes, to escape the palace and it's duties. Yena had never gone inside, but now she would.

Yena let out a light groan as she felt yet another twig leave a cut on her leg, cursing at herself for not wearing proper boots as she usually would when going outside. Yena finally stepped into the cave, her eyes wandering around the vast body of magnificence in front of her. It was beautiful, the cave, especially during this time. And yena didn't know how, but there were flowers growing inside the cave, flowers in all sorts of beautiful colors. And the splash of droplets from the waterfall left the cave just damp enough to make it sparkle under the dawning sun.

??? : yena?

Yena looked to her right as she noticed yeosang crouched down on the floor, his teary red eyes looking up at her in shock. Yena sighed and walked up to yeosang as she said

Yena : did you think you could hide forever like this?

Yeosang : my father sent you after me.

Yena : yes.

Yeosang nodded, already having known yena wouldn't care enough about him anymore to be worried. Yena crouched down to yeosang's level before saying

Yena : but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have come after you once I knew you were gone either.

Yeosang : what?

Yena : I know how you feel, yeosang.

Yeosang scoffed, looking away as he shook his head

Yeosang : you know how it feels to be scared of having to be the king of a nation you basically lived your whole life in?

Yena : yes, I do.

Yeosang : don't give me that bullshit, moon yena. You were born a leader, you are, a leader. You are an amazing empress and you handle your nations so well it's…it's almost scary. Someone like you could never know what someone like me would feel right now. You must see me as a coward.

Yena : you are not a coward, yeosang, you are human. Okay yes, I was born a leader, I was raised to be one. But that doesn't mean I wasn't scared of actually being one. When my father died, the people did not want my mother to be queen, they did not want a woman as their sole ruler. And once she refused to agree to marry someone again, the people revolted against us. My mother was forced to flee that palace when I was only 8.

Yeosang looked at yena, not having know that. He knew yena's father only ruled over a small unimportant kingdom once, and that it had been yena who had turned that into such a huge empire.

Yena : my mother raised me in a village, among common people. She went through a million different hardships but she raised me right, she raised me strong. And once I was of age, she decided it was time we took revenge. Revenge to the people that revolted against us because we were women, and prove them wrong.

Yeosang : that's…that's why you conquered those 3 nations, why you didn't stop even after one.

Yena : yes, because when I conquered those I was no longer princess of a small rural kingdom, instead I was empress of three powerful nations. This empire that I have built, this dynasty that I have started, it comes at a cost, yeosang. When I was being crowned, when I had to walk down that aisle filled with people who only kept themselves back from killing me because of pure fear, I was the most fearful person on Earth. Every night and day I feared someone would poison me, someone would slit my throat. Every single day, until my people slowly started respecting me. Until they started understanding that a woman could do as much as a man could.

Yeosang : are-are you still scared?

Yena : I have grown out of most of the fear, but some will still always remain. I was scared before I conquered my nations, I was scared when I was crowned, and I will always be scared of the possibility of losing the people I could sacrifice my life for.

Yeosang pressed his lips together as yena held his shaky hand in hers before saying

Yena : we will always fear, for we are humans, yeosang. It is in our blood to feel emotions, no matter what it may be. If you want to be a good ruler, you have to let yourself feel them, feel the people's emotions, feel your family's emotions, and most importantly, feel your own. Feel them, and the people will love you more.

Yena tucked a strand of his stray hair behind yeosang's ear, that causing yeosang's heart to do a backflip as she whispered

Yena : you will be an amazing king, yeosang. You will let this kingdom flourish and I am sure of it. Your mother would be so proud of you.

Yeosang felt tears slip down his eyes at those words, his lips trembling as he said

Yeosang : I don't deserve this from you.

Yena : oh no you don't, you deserve so much more better.

Yeosang lowered his head as small sobs left his lips, yena standing up as she laid yeosang's head against her stomach. Yeosang wrapped his arms around her waist, letting yena hold him as he cried his heart out.

Because for the first time since years, yeosang had someone that could comfort him, someone that could understand him.

______________________

Yeosang now had his head rested against yena's shoulder, both their backs pressed against the damp wall of the cave as they watched the sun rise below them. Yeosang looked at yena's hand that still held his, her thumb brushing over his hand. And then his eyes fell on her leg, the small cuts and scratches being visible to yeosang as he asked

Yeosang : does it hurt a lot?

Yena followed yeosang's gaze before shaking her head

Yena : as long as I know you're safe, none of this matters.

Yeosang sniffled, looking up at yena before asking

Yeosang : do you still love me?

Yena looked into yeosang's eyes that were only a few inches away from hers, a small smile falling on her lips as she said

Yena : you think I could stop loving someone so easily, yeosang? I know you don't love me, and you don't have to, but my love for you will take a long time to cease, if not ever.

Yeosang : I lied.

Yena : what?

Yeosang : I lied because you did, I lied because I wanted to hurt you.

Yena paused, not understanding what he was saying as yeosang sat up straight next to her and said

Yeosang : you always protect me and I always manage to hurt you.

Yena : I am not innocent either. I entered this island in hopes of killing you, yeosang-

Yeosang : but you changed, you stopped wanting that after you saw this kingdom.

Yena : this kingdom was too beautiful to be mine, it is too peaceful for me to conquer it and turn it into something everyone would hate.

Yeosang : yena.

Yena looked at yeosang as she said

Yena : yes?

Yeosang : you've won.

Yena : what?

Yeosang : you've won and I've lost. I love you.

Yena's eyes widened, a small gasp leaving her lips as she whispered

Yena : you're lying.

Yeosang : I'm not. I've kept denying, I've kept telling myself that I do not love you but I won't lie anymore. Not at the cost of hurting you.

Yena : yeosang, no.

Yeosang : which means I would now have to be not only king of Malaya, but emperor of your nations.

Yena quickly shook her head before saying

Yena : you don't have to do this if you don't want to, yeosang. You don't have to force yourself.

Yeosang : no this was our promise, I fall in love with you, you get to have me and the minerals.

Yena : I was being stupid, you are not an object for me to have like that. Unless you willingly choose to be emperor, I will not have you taken away from here.

Yeosang : yena-

Yeosang cut himself off as yena stood up, holding her hand out for yeosang to hold as she said

Yena : come on, we must go back to the palace now.

Yeosang took yena's hand, using it to lift himself up. Just as yena was about to turn around yeosang pulled her close, holding both her hand in his as he said

Yeosang : I might not want to be king, I might not want to come back to your palace with you, and I…I might not even want to be a prince anymore but I know for sure that I want one thing right now, yena. And that is to love you, and be loved by you.

Yena : yeosang.

Yeosang : maybe you would have to leave this place eventually, maybe I would have to leave with you. But whatever it is, I want to love you. So let me, let me love you, yena.

Yena : are you sure you want this? Loving me comes with a lot of problems, yeosang-

Yeosang : I don't give a bloody fuck. I can face all of those problems if it means loving you, and I am sure of this.

Yena smiled, nodding her head slowly as she said

Yena : then love me, love me all you want, kang yeosang.

Yeosang smiled and leaned forward, connecting his lips with hers as he laid his palm against yena's cheek. And under the rising sun, surrounded by the sounds of water and birds, the prince and the empress kissed each other for the first time. The first out of the many in their lives.

________________________________

Yeosang : you're really going to extend your stay here for an entire month?

Yena nodded against yeosang's chest as he played with the strands of her hair.

Yena : we're on honeymoon right now, I'd like to enjoy it as much as I can.

Yeosang giggled as he said

Yeosang : we're not even married yet, yena-ya.

Yena smiled, looking up as she leaned closer towards yeosang's lips before whispering

Yena : in my heart we've been married since the moment you kissed me this morning, prince kang.

Yeosang chuckled as yena kissed him, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair. After coming back from the cave yena and yeosang had pretended nothing had happened in front of the king. Yeosang had had a talk with his father, telling han that he required some time before han decided to start the preparations for a coronation. And han had agreed to it, for now.

And so the next few days, as yena had said earlier, would probably be like a honeymoon for the both of them. Forgetting about the real world and the duties while they had their own fun, loving each other as much as they could.

Yena let out a breath as yeosang flipped them over, his lips going over to her neck as he sucked on it.

Yena : god, I love you.

Yeosang smiled against her neck before whispering

Yeosang : I love you too, baby.

__________________________

3 weeks later :

Yena : yeosang-ah?

Yeosang hummed behind her, his back rested against the wall of the cave and his head buried in yena's neck as she rested her head against yeosang's shoulder. They had slipped out of the palace at midnight to come to this cave as they had for the past few weeks, either sleeping in each other's arms while staring at the stars above them or talking about things up until dawn broke.

It had been almost a month of pure bliss, with both of them acting like teenagers in love, although half the palace already knew what was happening. From smiling at each other in the dining table to stealing cakes from the kitchen to eat in secret or smear onto each other's faces, to kissing each other in every other hallway, yeosang and yena had been the happiest.

But now yena would have to leave back to her palace within a week, and she realized it was time to face the real world.

Yena : what are you going to do now?

Yeosang sighed, kissing yena's neck as he said

Yeosang : what would you want me to do, yena?

Yena : the things I want from you are entirely selfish, sweetheart. I cannot ask you to do those things just for me.

Yeosang : really? Because I could probably do anything for you, your highness.

Yena smiled turning back around to face yeosang as she said

Yena : this is your choice, yeosang. I will be happy with whatever you decision you make.

Yeosang : I want to come with you yena, I do. I love you, and I wanna hold you everyday, kiss you everyday, I wanna be by your side. But I-I'm just scared, yena, I really just-

Yena kissed yeosang, cutting yeosang's words off before saying

Yena : you don’t have to come with me at all, love. If you don't want to, then you don’t have to. You can stay here, and I'll visit you every month no matter the cost. I don't need you to do anything for me yeosang, I only need you to live happily. That's all I want and need. You don’t have to do anything else, you can stay here for as long as you like. The minerals, I don’t care. I can find some other minerals, or I can change the weapon entirely or I'll just fucking die in the war, you don’t-

Yeosang : except I'm coming with you. This war you're gonna fight, I don’t want you to do it alone, I want to be able to be next to you through these times and I want to rule this empire together with you.

Yena paused, her eyes widening.

Yena : yeosang, you know you don’t have to rush all this through-

Yeosang : this is a decision I made these past few weeks, yena. Trust me, I've thought this through a million times. You know what you told me before? That you were scared as well before you became empress? If someone like you could be scared and still be such an amazing ruler, then I surely can.

Yena smiled, nodding her head.

Yeosang : and I want to try, for you. That's what my mother told me love was, to be able to sacrifice your fears and face them for the sake of being with the one you love. And you are the woman I love, for you, this is the least I could do.

Yeosang leaned forward, kissing yena's cheek before whispering

Yeosang : with you, I'm ready to be king.

___________________________________

Yeosang walked towards his father's study the next morning, his mind decided and a newfound courage seeping through him. He hadn't realized it could change so fast, the way he thought about his future. But he supposed it all seemed to be less scarier when yena was by his side.

Yeosang opened the door to han's study as he looked up, a small smile on his face as he started

Han : son! I've been meaning to tell you about some matters of soldiers-

Yeosang : I give you my permission, father.

Han's eyes widened, his heart leaping in joy as yeosang said

Yeosang : you can start preparing the coronation. Except it will have to be the coronation of not only a king, but also his queen.

______________________________

[vani-kko]

all these monsters (seem to strike at the wrong time)

relationship: platonic grian and scar

synopsis: the watchers are gods, and grian was assigned to protect one of their flourishing cities. he has never experienced friendship, and then he meets scar.

content warnings: major character death

word count: 2.4k author's note: hi! ive never used or posted on tumblr before, so this may be very rough around the edges in terms of formatting. i wrote this back in june for a writing competition, so please excuse it if it seems rushed! _________

What is beauty, within the eyes of the beholder?

For such a subjective and trivial matter, what is the outlook of the possessor? Enclosed in the grip of the artist, are the restrictions encompassing tools for comfort, or merely for control?

Xelqua had long decided to leave such inquiry unanswered. Even in the wake of his eternal days, he views himself as simply a normal citizen, whomst was merely gifted with power and ripped from his previous mundane mortal life. With his head held high, as the gods of a thousand eyes bestowed him his title. The crown he wore with fulfilment, for who was he to defy his saviours from ephemeral human life?

He is a walking Watcher whom bears a singular pledge - an obligation to this world, an oath where it is not in his capacity to change. To defend the city of marble walls, the scent of bread in the sandstone streets in the only way he knew how. To wander within the barren wasteland of skulls, of lives lost and people once before, for his hands only knew the position of his fingers wrapped around a sword, only knowing the feeling of the veins of his enemies' necks pulsing under his grip, slicing air to meet its mark.

They tried to run, of course they did, it was only human nature to reach at lengths to survive. Scrambling to hide in burned villages, the towns of the brash and cocky generals who laughed and declared they could kill gods. The same towns where the mothers of unruly children would scare them into submission with stories of Xelqua, the god of protection and victory.

He could hear them still. The fathers returned from the fields, into the sunlit kitchens, laughing heartily at the child’s anxiety of the high roofs in the city. “Look here, child”, he would say, “Gods don’t have anything on us.”

“If gods can bleed, they can die.”

Death, such a small word for such a small thing.

Xelqua’s hands are stained in scarlet, they always were. Creeks of metallic-scented liquid fastened around his wrists. Mangled and contorted, almost inhuman silhouettes ornamented the field outside of the nation’s courtyards, plated rivers of their substance, incarnadine and clotted draining from their slit throats and lacterate limbs. Some cried, some stood in shock and some quietly retreated away from the city they intended to destroy.

He shed his shoulder’s side, the mangled feathers contorted and twisted violently yet with no blood drawn. Letting the demigod’s lilac wings empty of self-control weigh from his neck. His crown of which once defended civilians now cast aside in favour for the sword whose spruce hilt engravings eroded into his hands over the centuries. However, as he hunted his perpetrators he realised he is not the hero, and is the villain, because villains always lose.

He had been defending these palace grounds for far too long, and now all he knows is this bloody game. The cycle of bloodshed where the god realised that mortals are fools who are unaware of their short-lived time, boisterous and proud of violence. Were these roses always such a striking crimson? Or was it just a burning memory from the destruction of war? Xelqua reckons he doesn’t want to know.

They’re watching him. Bound to castle grounds in shackles and chains, punctured with the gaze of a thousand eyes, a thousand too many. Wrists embedded with laces of flames, burning, chipping away at his skin. Arms branded with the symbol of perpetuity. He let out a half chuckle as he choked on his breath. The head on his shoulders feeling burdensome as he snivelled in pain whilst they simply looked down in snide displeasure and cast his morality aside.

And then there was Scar.

There was nothing particularly significant about him, his most noticeable feature being large rips of skin decorating his face, scars. He reminded Xelqua of the warriors whose corpses outlined the land he was assigned to protect. Lifeless eyes engraved into his mind, ridiculing him in the aftermath. But he wasn’t a warrior, he was just Scar.

His eyes weren’t devoid of life, not a dull shade of magenta with no light of life behind them comparable to Xelqua’s own. They were a striking, vibrant emerald green. There was humanity behind those glimmers of jubilation, joyful, perhaps even happy in a way. They didn’t look like the eyes of a Watcher, a god who has lost count on how many corpses are set out to rot, massacred by his own hand. Perhaps that was what piqued Xelqua’s interest to begin with.

He remembers those eyes as if they were engraved in him. He knew he was a monster, the ropes of rose dripping down his arm were a constant reminder of that. Gods don’t require anything, their humanity was long gone, however Xelqua knew he needed to wash it all away. Ashamed, ashamed because he continues to rub and wash his skin to remove all the blood from what humans deem as sin. The weight of guilt trickling off his fingertips as the water of the creek eradicated the ichor with ease, yet he still continues to wash.

And then there was Scar.

Scar, who took after every travelling merchant meandering through the gates, every baker selling goods in a small shop near the street. Mortal, human and fundamentally good. His hands weren’t stained by blood, and his hazel hair wasn’t an unkept cinnamon mess woven in knots and curls. His voice was carefree, no dead weight shackling them down as he cheerfully greeted the kneeling figure by the creek, who only flicked their gaze up in surprise. Scar didn’t look away.

It wasn’t strange to see a human at the creek, they’re mortal. Mortals who require and desire conceivably everything. He needed to drink water, to cleanse himself of any dirt and grime that could writhe and mutate into sickness. Wine watercolours penetrated the pellucid ripples, the bitter water numbing Xelqua’s unsoiled hand, the presence of which such splitting the water. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he shouldn’t have flinched upon hearing the sound of a voice, vivacious and lively.

“Why are you still here?” Xelqua had asked one day at the lakeside. “Mortals aren’t supposed to meddle with the work of gods.” Staring blankly at the merchant, who sat cross legged on the bank, spotted pebbles ushered beside him. There was something in his hands which he intertwined with his fingers before weaving it back through, intently focused.

“And yet, you still come back for me.” Scar pointed out with a laugh, not looking up. Xelqua exhaled in both amusement and petty annoyance. For a moment, only the ambient trickling of the water impacting with the stones filled the forest. He uncomfortably shifted as Scar sat in silence, conjuring up words.

“I don’t know, actually.” He met his eyes for a brief moment, facing up towards the Watcher before briskly turning his attention back to intertwining the pile in his arms. “You could say that I was curious, intrigued as you would put it with your colourful vocabulary.”

His heart sank. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing,” Xelqua replied curtly, despite the sudden grappling in his stomach and the voice of reasonable consciousness hollering leave, run, you’ll hurt him. “It isn’t something you should affiliate with the concerns of deities.” Scar only hummed in thought, providing no response, he continued. “You might get hurt.”

“Awe, so you do care about me!” Scar declared teasingly, reaching up to place something on the crown of Xelqua’s head.

“It is my duty to be concerned for the well-being of my citizens.” Raising his gloved hand to brush against the crown of Scar’s handiwork. “I cannot be negligent.” Dipping his head in acknowledgement and gratitude, the crown of flowers shifted slightly from the movement. The white Chrysanthemums slipped and covered his eye. Pushing them back, Scar giggled a bit and grinned warmly, patted the dirt, indicating for the magenta-eyed male to take a seat, who hesitated, then obliged.

“I do embroidery, you see.” Scar explained, picking another flower from a basket beside him. He surveyed the specimen, “I have experience in dealing with delicate materials.” retracting his legs to press against his chest, intently focused on intricately weaving blossom after blossom. Pearls of dew painted upon coy petals, the scent of petrichor muting his senses whilst observing as his green-eyed acquaintance looped florets around one another. They sat there for a while, reserved to their own personal emotions. Trickling water against stones filling the forest whilst the two sat in solitude, with themselves and each other.

“Alright,” Scar exhaled, adjusting the final petals. “Oh! Wait, I'm not done yet.” he added hastily before Xelqua could comment, unravelling a singular amethyst bulb, delicately tucking the blossom into the crown. “This is an Iris, it's my favourite, because it means hope.”

Hope.

To hope for the future, for prosperity and fortune. To hope for the recovery of a loved one, to hope for victory, perhaps even to hope for miniscule tasks to emerge successful. Hope driven by fear, by anticipation of the worst scenario. The ichor sealed in his veins that night was exclusively of words, of the words that were uttered near that creek. Innocence was behind those words, the morality Xelqua so desperately craved to fill the gaping void within the shell of what could’ve been.

Something in him stirred as metal struck metal. Momentary longing, yearning which disappeared as suddenly as it bloomed. As cold as the harsh snow winds during the winter, melancholy, before the light behind those eyes returning once again, or perhaps the lack thereof.

He could’ve easily gone to another lake, his conscience advised him to, yet he always found himself here, near the bank of the blood-stained water. Inevitably finding himself situated next to the green-eyed individual whomst was perpetually preoccupied with earnestly illustrating the elaborate details of wheat. Details which meant nothing to him, and yet he continued to listen.

Sometimes they’d stay there for hours, letting the passage of time slip through their fingers. To run their hands between disordered locks of hair, the sensation of immense warmth bubbling up whilst Scar playfully pulled his wrist down, toppling onto the lush moor. Limbs sprawled haphazardly with backs to the meadow, the green eyed friend panting for breath with a laugh where Xelqua couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle. For the first time in his perpetual life, he felt happy.

It was an itch that needed to be scratched. A frustration that boiled over.

There was barely a change, only an act of self-preservation. How his wrist burned and flickered in anger, how there was an uncomfortable throbbing in his head arriving in waves. Striking his entire being in a severity that Xelqua shouldn’t had suppressed and wielded the blade to divert to the onslaught of death that he reigned over.

It was a routine, a haze that needed to clear. Yet the ichor sealed beneath his gloves taunted him in pain that he had never confronted, promptly staggering as an excruciating pang of agony struck his carpus. Jerking up and rapidly ripping off the white silk to examine the initiator, and he felt his heart plunge. It was glowing.

Oh god it was glowing.

A pungent scent that was dreadfully familiar overwhelmed the atmosphere, tendrils of smoke carrying particles of soot maturing into roses. The incisions engraved into his skin painted in warm orange, the smell of burning flesh and skin stifling his notions. Pulling the fabric back onto his hands, he let out a shaky breath. For a brief moment, he could’ve sworn that there was someone behind him, observing, watching. And yet, when he turned around he yielded no results.

There was a faint disquiet in the air that sickened him, the oxygen was thin where his levels of immortality were, it nauseated him, caving in his throat. Clawing at the stone tiles, Xelqua struggled to breath, the soiled, solid air dissipating in chunks before they filled his lungs. Foreign, grappling thirst were overburdening his thoughts, thrashing, tearing through his ribcage. Agitation was sprouting from the roots planted in his skull, his fingers clasping around something, firm to an extent he could feel his gloved hands piercing deep into the item he was clutching. An itch overtook his arm. The strings attached to him were pulling him akin to a marionette, helpless in a contorted pose of his legs buckling under and his arms reaching out. Who was on the other side of the string? Was it God?

But he thought that he was god.

The ropes were around his neck now, how they tightened and closed into his neck. However there was no air for him, and for once he could feel himself suffocating, and for once he couldn’t escape. But there was. He remembers the gateway– vaguely, how could he have forgotten? Scarlet lake-carved tunnels where the constant lingering of smoke and the hazard of suffocation threatening lives. Head in smoke, breathing in the dust and grime and choking in the suffering of the trenches. What did he do to escape?

The thought was futile, and Xelqua could feel his grip release, dropping what was in his possession, and without heed he swung. All composure discarded, he swung, and swung, until the smoke was thin, the waterways dried from drought and the roars died out.

And there, in front of his eyes, was Scar. What was left of Scar.

The world seemed to freeze, if only for a second. The steel clattering as it impacted on the blood stained fields. Xelqua’s ears were still ringing, the strings dematerialising in splitted threads as he could feel the wind between his fingers once again as he sprinted and hoped and begged that the figure bleeding out in the field of Chrysanthemums was alive.

“Scar. Scar, keep your eyes open.” His voice quivered as he used his white glove to stop further bleeding. Scar only grabbed his hand away. He couldn’t look at him.

“I– I wish,” He exhaled shortly, “That I would have taught you how to make flower crowns again.”

“You can!” Xelqua cried, head spinning with taunts of your fault, your fault. “You can make all the crowns in the world, just please… keep your eyes open.” He could feel an unknown, bitter liquid trickle down his face, finally meeting the oh so familiar emerald eyes of his friend in his hands.

He laughed breathlessly, “Hey… don’t cry.” placing his hand on top of Xelqua’s own. “We all run out of time eventually. I don’t blame you.” Tugging the draining body closer to him, the god buried his face into the nook of his neck as the tears flowed.

“Thank you for showing me how it’s like to be human, perhaps I almost was.”

Scar’s eyes fluttered shut.

Death, such a small word for such a big thing.

[kingofthetaho6960]

Chapter 1

Chaos. Complete and utter chaos. 

The battlefield is a blistering clusterfuck, a cacophony of death. The arrows whistling overhead, the chanting of spells, booming explosions, the ear-shattering clashes of swords and shields, and the too-frequent death cries of your fallen enemies and comrades alike. You take in a deep breath as you kneel down amidst the fresh corpses and the ongoing battle. The air is filled with a variety of scents, the most prominent being blood, human excrement, and metal. Your eyes wander aimlessly as your ears ring. You didn’t know why you had to be here on this battlefield, fighting against Greed’s Champion. Nor did you know if you and your pitiful comrades stood a chance against one chosen by a god.

Hatred boils in your chest as you lay your eyes upon the countless banners raised into the sky. A golden crow with a crown in its beak was embroidered into the silver cloth. The symbol of Greed. 

Just a few weeks ago, you were a mere orphaned farmer toiling the fields from dawn till dusk. Not only did you not understand the reasoning behind this battle, but you bore no positive feelings for the kingdom you were fighting for. They took ninety-percent of your harvest, leaving you with barely enough to sell and feed yourself. Many a night you rolled around endlessly, your stomach feeling as if it was eating itself. Your dreams of a better life were constantly crushed, the gnawing hunger in your stomach a constant reminder that you were worth nothing. 

When envoys of the Royal Army of Highran came to your village, you saw a glimmer of hope. A chance to escape the tired fields you spent your life in and to find a higher purpose. Reality had hit you with the force of a warhammer as you were haphazardly thrown into the battlefield with worn leather armor, a rusty blade, and no training. The constant battles with Greed’s forces were failures as your platoon was forced to break off and retreat to the outskirts of the kingdom, bringing the villages in the surrounding area into the battle zone. The unrelenting pursuit of Greed’s force left no time for your platoon to warn the villages, leaving no chance of evacuation.

“Get up, you bastard! Do you intend to go down without a fight?” Anri’s voice jolts you out of your daze as he yanks you up by your collar.

Anri was your best friend, your village’s blacksmith apprentice. The two of you had spent all twenty years of your short life with each other, bonding enough to make the foolish decision to join the war together, hoping for a higher purpose. You stumble to your feet, squeezing the sword in your hands.

“Don’t just stand there, wake up!” Anri parries an overhead blow, driving his sword through the enemy’s chest. 

You resolutely raise up your shield as you realize only you and Anri are left in your unit, the only barrier between Greed’s army and the innocent villagers. You knew there was no chance of you making it alive, but you had finally found a purpose. You let out a war cry as you intercept a blow from Anri’s right, your shield bashing them to the ground followed by your blade to their throat. Adrenaline courses through your body, fueling your back-to-back stand-off with Anri. 

Your mind and body begin to numb, you lose count of how many times you’ve swung your blade, how many wounds you have, and how many lives you’ve taken. Somewhere along the line, the warmth of Anri’s back vanished from yours. You had no time to stop and look, for the onslaught of enemies was seemingly endless.

Your legs begin to give out as you once again are forced to take a knee. You stab your blade into the ground as you notice the sounds of battle around you have stopped. The distant echoes produced by the skirmishes with the rest of your platoon who formed a defensive barrier around the village had now turned eerily silent. You look around for Anri, who is nowhere to be found amongst the countless bodies littering the battlefield.

You furrow your brow in confusion as you realize the enemy troops are no longer attacking. Instead, they have you surrounded, standing at attention.

“What are you fuckers doing? Go on, finish me off!” You bellow angrily, coughing up blood. 

You look down and spot an arrow lodged in your chest. The endless waves of pain previously delayed by adrenaline begin to permeate throughout your body as your brain takes into account all the damage you’ve taken. 

“Curse you, Greed!” You manage to choke out. Your vision begins to blur, darkness creeping in as your body loses its strength. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

“Ah, nameless one. You’ve earned your right to die at my hands.”

A towering figure looms into your view, his menacing aura seeps into the air making it hard to breathe. Despite that, you feel an almost familiar energy about him. His intricately gold-embroidered silver armor, encrusted in valuable jewels exudes a sense of gaudiness. He reaches out with a bejeweled golden gauntlet, each gem reflecting different colors of light. His absurdly enormous hand seems to blot out the sky as it wraps around you. 

The icy cold gauntlet firmly clasps your head. You struggle to move as your weakened body is helpless within his grasp. The last sensation you feel is the icy gauntlet digging into your skull, pressing down as your world turns black in an instant.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You gasp as you awaken, the stench of death filling your nose. You try to move but realize you’re trapped. You soon realize you’re buried amidst a pile of corpses. Your heart begins to race as memories flash through your head. You were fighting against Greed’s forces when that strangely familiar and flashy prick showed up and killed you. So how are you alive? 

A scream pierces the eerie silence, pulling you from your dazed state as goosebumps prickle your skin. You begin to struggle against the bodies, finding slight success when you can finally thrust your arm into the open air.

“Please, someone help!” The voice, which you quickly identify as a young woman’s, draws closer. 

You thrash violently against the bodies to get free as you hear her cries followed by multiple sets of footsteps. You finally dislodge the corpses on top of you, rolling down the pile of bodies. Your rotted and tattered leather armor sheds with each tumble, leaving you butt-naked. 

You stumble around and up to your feet, looking for a weapon before spotting the remains of a broken straight sword. You quickly snatch it up, directing your gaze forward in time to see the girl who appears to be your age running towards you. Behind her, you spot three seemingly withered corpses, their dark leathery skin pulled tight against their bones as they relentlessly stalk her.

The girl’s eyes widen as she sees you, making a beeline for you. You dash forward until she’s behind you, pointing the sharp edges of the poor excuse of a sword in front of you. You thrust forward into the first one, noticing a lack of resistance as the sword lodges into its skull. Bad news though as the sword is now stuck. With no time to retrieve it, you let go of the hilt and take a step back, allowing the corpse to fall forward. The remaining two corpses stumble over the body, falling to the ground.

Not one to miss an opportunity, you quickly bound forward, stomping their heads into the dirt until they turn into a paste. You take a series of deep breaths to gather yourself before examining your body. You felt better than ever and looked better than you had at any point in your life. You clench your fist and watch as your muscles ripple along your forearms, jumping a little in surprise when you hear a cough from behind.

“Thank you for saving me… Sir.” The woman shyly calls as you turn around to face her, her voice teeming with a mixture of fear and relief.

“Wait, wait, don’t face my direction please!” Her face is crimson as she sticks her arms out in front of her, waving her hands and turning away. 

You quickly turn around as you realize you’re exposed, not before noticing that both her arms and a portion of her exposed collarbone are in a withered state similar to whatever creatures you took care of. Your heart wells up as you suddenly get the strong urge to help her, along with an unbearable feeling of hunger gnawing at your stomach. A voice in your head tells you to focus your being on the corpses in front of you. 

You stare intently at the corpses, reaching your hand out. An energy that was simultaneously new to you yet felt like it had been a part of you since you were born begins to channel into your hand. You watch as glowing white wisps rise from the corpses. You grab them as they mold into one big orb and hold it in wonder. 

Consume it.

You jump in shock as the orb suddenly begins to seep into your body, shivering as you feel power surge into you. Your body tenses as hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of images rush through your mind. A cold sweat forms on your brow as you realize these are their memories, every waking second of their lives has now become a part of you along with what little power they had amassed. “What is your name?” Your voice comes out harsh and gravelly from years of unuse. 

“Yewon.” She meekly replies. 

You bring your foot to one of the corpses, Pitt, a farmer just like you. 

“And what exactly happened to these people?” You beat a hand against your chest and cough, trying to get used to talking again. 

“Those are Husks. They’re what becomes of a human after they’ve ‘died’ and revived to their limit. What about you mister? Why were you naked and hiding in a pile of corpses, in the middle of the Disposal Grounds? And what did you just do to their souls?” Her voice carried a mixture of awe, wonder, and fear.

“I’m not sure. I was in the middle of a war and suddenly woke up here. I have no idea what just happened…” You trail off, also confused as you ask yourself the same question. “But wait, what do you mean ‘revived’?”

You hear the sound of tearing cloth followed by a tap on your shoulder. You turn your head and see Yewon holding out her withered arm, holding out a long strip of cloth she tore from her dress. 

“Before we talk any further, how about you put this on and we get to somewhere safe?”

[mynameisjessejk]

But In Our Selves, The Puzzle Deepens, Part 1

There was a small village just outside Asharel that was mostly former refugees from Exhold. Grim mostly avoided it, or leaned heavily on the magic of his Ranger talisman to keep himself unobtrusive while passing through. He looked enough like his father that even those that wouldn’t recognize him in the adult he’d grown into would certainly see the reflections of the king in his face.

Torna did most of the talking, since the talismans worked better if the bearer wasn’t interacting with anyone, explaining to the cheerful farmers and ranchers that the Rangers had recovered a few things of the Royals’ in the aftermath of the explosion, and if the crown prince was alive they wanted to return them to him.

Most of the villagers dismissed the idea that he was alive out of hand. They repeated the stock line about the explosion with easy conviction. And every one of them was lying.

Late in the afternoon, Torna got it into her head to weasel answers out of an old woman who lived alone on the edge of the village. Grim nodded politely to her and settled in with the proper tools to fix the wire around the widow’s chicken coop while Torna did the talking.

“We’re just trying to return some personal effects,” Torna explained. “They were found by the rangers in a cache near the ruins, and we’ve been holding them. But I heard a rumor that the heir was alive, and I think he might like to have them.” Torna shrugged bashfully. “It’s nothing of value, of course, just. Some memories, maybe.”

“Like what?” the woman asked.

“A necklace,” Torna answered. “A journal. A scarf.”

The woman smiled sadly. “The queen did love scarves.”

Torna patted the woman’s hand. “And I just- if he did survive, he deserves to have something of his life before.”

“What’s the Rangers’ interest?” the woman asked curiously.

“None,” Torna answered. “Or well, not Ranger business. But Exhold was close to our main camp, and a good trading partner for many years, and what happened there was sad.” Torna shrugged. “I met him once, the prince.”

Grim nearly snorted aloud, and busied his hands with the wire-mesh.

“He was a handsome boy,” the old woman said fondly.

Torna grinned. “Very polite to me,” she said softly. “So when we heard he might be around, I offered to come looking.”

“Well,” the woman sighed. “What if he was?”

“Then I would give him his things and let him be,” Torna answered. “He’s clearly made his choice, and I wish him happiness in it.”

“I can’t help you find him,” the woman said gently. “We don’t even know for sure he’s still alive. He pointed us towards Asharel and went off on his own. Said he couldn’t risk his curse falling on us too.”

“He did survive!” Torna gasped in credible fake vindication.

“He did,” the woman agreed. “And mighty quiet I’d appreciate you keep it!”

“Not a soul will hear it from us,” Torna promised. “My word as a Ranger.”

The old woman nodded. “You know, I kind of wondered if he hadn’t gone off and joined your lot, if I’m honest.”

Torna hummed. “Surely he would’ve said something,” she said quietly.

The old woman chuckled. “He was a mischievous boy, our Zarfel,” she said fondly. “He might be having a bit of a laugh, watching you wander about.” He smile softened. “But he wouldn’t leave you hanging for long.”

Torna nodded. “I suppose I’ll stop the search then, and if he is a Ranger and he comes to me, I can give him his things.” Then she made a noise like having an idea. “And if you hear from him, tell him the Rangers have some effects, that way me searching won’t spread the rumor he’s alive any further, but he might hear. It’s not like it’s a secret you’re all Exhold survivors. If he were looking, he’d come here for sure.”

The old woman smiled warmly. “An excellent idea, lass.”

“Finished?” Torna asked him, seeing him looking.

Grim regarded the chicken coop. “Well the chickens aren’t getting out,” he observed wryly. “And nothing else should get in.”

“I appreciate you, son,” the old woman said, beaming up at him.

Grim thought hard about how uninteresting and unrecognizable he was, and his Ranger Talisman hummed against his chest.

“Safe travels,” the woman said, and they went on their way.

Out of earshot, Torna made an infuriated sound. “They all know you survived,” she said wonderingly. “And they’re all lying for you!”

Grim huffed a soft laugh, still touched to his core as he had been all day. His people remembered him fondly enough to lie baldfaced to everyone to ensure he got his quiet life.

“You disappeared to the Rangers, and they left you alone. Who does that?” she hissed. She seemed offended by the very idea of an entire group of people actually unifying behind a single idea.

Grim shrugged. “My father was well-loved by his people,” he said quietly.

“Stupid,” Torna grumbled. “And it didn’t give us any leads.”

Grim nodded. “Asharel, then,” he said, and led the way, more than happy to put his former people behind him again–in his past where they belonged.

[derangederensimp]

Uzui’s Fourth Wife, Part 4: Our Bond

Previous Part | Next Part

CW: Slight NFSW themes in the end. Does not involve Uzui, between Y/n and Riku.

—

Opening your eyes the first thing you see is Uzi’s arm across your body. You tried to remove it as the last you saw him before you fell asleep his futon was across the room from yours so why was he here next to you with his arm on your body. “So, did Riku use to do this a lot?” He Asked. Arm coiling around the body pulling you in closer to his chest. Your mouth hung open hearing him ask “I -“ was all you could get out. “You kept mumbling his name in your sleep and then thanked him for always keeping you warm on cold nights. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your parents about this. I understand my absence allowed you to have wandering eyes. Would you like me to let go?” he asked.

Feeling your heart race as you wished so badly that you could just scream out at him and run away. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want him, and you especially did not want to be beside him right now. “Yes, I need to get up and do my chores” you said. His arm moved off of you as you made way for the door and quickly leaving. You felt guilty being in another man’s arms that weren't Riku’s, how cruel it was for you two to fall in love and not be together. You wished your father had told Tengen that it was too late, or that you already wed. But he hadn’t but he didn’t do it out of spite or to make you suffer, he was doing it for your family. You understood that well enough when the village started to talk highly of your family instead of gossiping about the inner workings of your parents' marriage.

The gossip didn’t just stop with your parents, they talked about your eldest brothers who wed and judged if they would be the same with their wives making it partly difficult for them to find wives to begin with since many of them didn’t believe that they should be equals in a marriage and only taking one wife instead of many but that was more common for men who weren’t Shinobis. While you did chores around the house your mind trailed along with the thought of what your life would be like if Riku and you were able to marry. You’d have a house on the outskirts of your village like your parents or maybe the outskirts of his village. It would need to be a place that would be able to house as many children that Riku and you would want.

He told you before he wished to have a big family one day and hopefully be able to retire from demon slaying to help raise the children so you wouldn’t be alone. You knew that he would be a wonder father even if he had to be away but he also didn’t like the idea of leaving you behind. He’d always hold your hand between his whenever he did talk about those things his eyes shining with what you realized now was love. You would talk the entire night if you could when he’d sneak into your quarters. Making it habit to fall asleep next to you and leaving before the sun raised. He so badly wanted to take you back to his village to meet his clan, to him you were a crown jewel. His family knew where he was when he hadn’t returned from a mission yet and longed to meet this women taking up their sons attention.

It pained you thinking you never got to meet them, you never got to see what his life was like. He didn’t like speaking often about his clan just his direct family members. You knew he had siblings, just sisters, no brothers. He mentioned he was the last son born of the direct line of the head of the clan so it was important to have children but he wasn’t crazy about the idea of settling down with just anyone. Looking back at it now you know he was talking about you being the one. A lot of the interactions now painfully obvious just how much he loved you. Why hadn’t you seen it before, maybe if it was earlier you could’ve been with him instead. He treated you like a queen. Always thinking of you one way or another.

Another instance of this was when he came back from a short mission. He had asked your father if he would be able to take you out to a neighboring village that was having a festival. Your father hesitating but allowing it since he was thankful that at least his daughter seemed in good spirits whenever Ruki was around. Your servants letting you know that Riku would be taking you out. Again you decided to wear one of the Kimonos he had brought for you. You felt bad that he was always getting you gifts but when he’d arrive back to visit you were empty handed. This time you were prepared and requested a black smith to make him a short blade with your and his clans crests embedded in it. Taking it out of your closet to slug the bag over your shoulder making your way towards the entrance of your home.

Your mother rolled her eyes seeing you carrying around the blade on your back feeling it was not lady like. Your father kissed your cheek before letting you leave. Riku looked at you puzzled wondering what you were carrying. “What do you have with you y/n?” he asked. Trying to grab it. Smacking his hand away lightly “it’s a surprise” you say with a smile on your face. He smirked and looked behind him to make sure your parents and servants were no longer in view before pulling you by the hip to be closer to him as you walked to the neighboring village. “So, a festival huh? Thank you for taking me out” you said, cheeks blushing.

“No need to thank me, the pleasure is all mine. I’m happy you were able to come along. I know how you don’t like how the village looks at us whenever we walk through yours so I figured bringing you somewhere else would be a nice change and I can freely be all over you” he said. A shiver running down your spin at his last sentence. Riku and you were only affectionate or intimate behind closed doors of your room behind your parents back. Reaching the festival he took your hand in his intertwining his fingers with yours. The village was lit up beautifully with lights of all different colors, laughter from children, and the delicious smell of food.

Sitting down on a bench to watch the fireworks you handed him the blade. His eyes lit up when he saw the crests of your family and his. Standing up he lifted you off your feet and hugged you, putting you down quickly and turning his face away. “This is amazing, when did you get this made? He said still not looking at you. Putting your thumb below his chin and moving his head to look at you, you smiled “don’t look away from me” you said. He could no longer resist his feelings for you, placing his hands on your cheeks and bringing you in for a passionate kiss. Placing your hands overtop of his as he pulled his face away. Both blushing and breathing heavily.

“There’s been demons spotted along the area, please get in doors” a man said, holding a lantern and a bell to get the village people's attention. Riku looked around and see if he felt or could smell demons nearby but the wind was picking up disrupting any scent that they’d be leaving. “I think we should stay here y/n, I’ll send word to your parents” Riku said, locking his fingers with yours as you walked to a place to stay. He tried to get two different rooms so your parents wouldn’t lose their minds but there was only one available. Your face still beet red from the kiss earlier. Your mind wandering, being glad that you’d be staying here and not risking running into Uzui if demon slayers would be in area. You had no idea where he was at anyways but the worst case would be running into him now.

Setting into the Inn you looked around the spacious room with only one futon to share. Heart racing at the thought of sleeping next to one another. “Don’t worry, I won’t be sleeping. I need to be awake incase a demon comes to the village” Riku said, standing behind you. “I’m not worried, I just, we’ve never shared a place like this before” you said. His hand touching your lower back and turning you around to look at him. “What do I make you nervous?” He asked with a growing smirk on his face as he touched your reddened cheeks with his other hand. Your heart racing, gulping trying to get words to come out but instead his lips connect with your once again.

This time the kiss being more heated as he kept backing you up to the wall and lifting you up, instinctively legs wrapping his waist. The way his hands traveled along your sides as you allowed his tongue entrance to your mouth. This was all very new to you as the furthest you’ve gotten to this point with Riku was kissing. You craved more each time but Riku would quickly put an end to it before anything further happened. This time being different with hunger in his eyes. “Is this ok” he said, pausing from kissing you. Nodding your head yes things only went further than that. Your hands exploring his body while you both melted into one another.

The night going on, you laying on your back we he hovered over your body. “You’re so beautiful y/n” Riku whispered in your ear. A smile on both your faces. He took his time preparing you as he wanted to continue professing his love to you. An act shared between two people in love is the way your parents had said when you got the talk about this very thing. You knew that this is what it was. Locking his fingers with yours, both of you trying to control your breathing between the kisses and everything else. Putting his forehead to yours and kissing it. The rest of the night the two of you cuddled and refused to let one another go. Falling asleep in his arms while he whispered sweet words into your ear.

“I wish I could just steal you away” Riku said aloud knowing you were sound asleep. Stroking your hair as he began to drift off to sleep. Once day broke his crow squaked jolting the both of you awake. Your father was furious that Riku had not brought you home. He didn’t understand why Riku couldn’t just slay the demons if that became a problem. Upon your return Riku held nothing back yelling at your father that what if a demon had gotten to you and killed you while he fought off the others. Then what would the outcome be, he was trying to keep you safe plain and simple. Your father let Riku escort you back to your quarters. “I have a mission in need to get to, I’ll be back soon. I promise” he said and kissing your forehead. “Please be safe” you said softly, pulling him into a hug squeezing him. “Oh one last thing” he said pulling out a box.

Inside was the most beautiful paints you had ever seen. You were so used to marking your own and wanted to get some from vendors but there were none around. “Where did you get this, thank you” you beamed. “Just along a mission, I always pick you up something. I have to, a motive to get back to you as quickly as I can” he said. You said your final goodbyes as you watched Riku make his leave. Your heart still racing from the night before. You never wanted to forget.

Your thoughts breaking away as you heard Uzui’s voice from the hallway “are you ready for todays outing?” He asked looking at you as you finished up sweeping. “Yes, what are we going to do?” You asked curiously. “Going into town” he said with a smile on his face.

Masterlist of other parts (1-3)

[twstedstoryshop]

Prince jack Au hc, if thats alright? If not then feel free to ignore this bit do drink eater tho

It's time for that good ol' fairytale formula, my dear readers! -Shopkeep

Prince Jack AU Headcanons

Jack was the current prince of werewolves that reigned over a secret kingdom far from the gaze of humans. The only way to ever find the werewolf kingdom was to travel deep, deep into the enchanted woods and even then, you would need a werewolf to actually guide you into their kingdom.

As the crown prince, Jack takes his responsibilities very seriously. Not only for the sake of protecting his family but also his people as he knew all too well the injustices werewolves faced being hunted down as monsters by humans.

Often he goes out to join the patrols to guard the perimeter of his kingdom. Wouldn’t want any humans wandering too close. Jack is a lot bigger in his wolf form compared to regular citizens of his kingdom. Him and his family more resemble dire wolves.

One day, Jack caught the scent of a human dangerously close to his kingdom and immediately honed in on it, ready to fight a possible hunter. But instead, he comes across a very injured and battered human wearing dirty rags and a sole red cloak.

One part of Jack wanted to leave the human to die. Survival of the fittest and all that, plus one less human to know about his kingdom. But the other more honorable part of him knew he couldn’t let someone just die on his watch.

(Read-on under the cut!)

So carefully, Jack picked up the human and carried them to a safe location he knew that had fresh water nearby and a big enough den that could shelter them. After tending to their wounds and making sure they were going to be stable, Jack in his dire wolf form guarded them until they wook up.

The red-hooded human eventually awoke and was surprised to see a wolf glaring down at them. Yet Red-Hood wasn’t fearful. In fact they were grateful to Jack, seeing that it was him that got them to a safe location and everything! A sentiment that had Jack tilting his head in confusion. This human was subverting all his expectations… No anger, no fear, just happiness.

If anything, they looked like they wanted to pet him, but he growled at them every time…

Jack watched as Red-Hood mumbled to themself on how they could make this a better home for themself. Maybe they could go out and gather wood, probably make some ropes out of grass, it’d be a humble home but hopefully in due time it could be a cozy cabin. Was this human intent on staying out in the woods. Didn’t they have a home?

“Ah, you look confused, Mr. Wolf. You wondering why I’m sticking around? Well… My village kicked me out, y’see. They think I’m cursed because I actually helped out another wolf. Poor thing was caught in a nasty trap by our local hunter. I couldn’t bear to see it get butchered. And for what? Just being a wolf? I don’t know why everyone hates wolves. I think you’re all beautiful creatures.”

Jack was stunned. He didn’t know if Red-Hood was too naïve or just that big-hearted of a human. That night, Jack slipped away to return to his kingdom to deliberate with his parents. He spoke of the human that he found and dared to ask if they could let the human stay in their kingdom.

He braced himself, expecting the worst, expecting to fight to keep the human safe but instead he was met with gentle looks from his parents. If anything they looked proud that their son was willing to look past human and werewolf differences to do the right thing. They would allow this human guest into their kingdom

The next morning, Jack returned to meet Red-Hood, but this time in his gallant humanoid appearance. When Red-Hood saw him, they were shocked but seeing his familiar eyes, ears and tail, they instantly recognized him.

“Mr. Wolf? Is that you…!?”

“It’s Jack actually, but yes, it’s me. Mr. Wolf.” Jack’s heart raced unconsciously. Was he nervous? Nervous that this human would not accept him in this new form? Would they turn their back on him realizing he was a werewolf?

But again, this human did the unexpected and smiled so brightly and full of warmth. “Oh my goodness, you’re so handsome! I mean, you were already quite handsome as a wolf, but wow!” The compliments blind-sided him and the stoic wolf prince felt warmth gather in his cheeks and his tail softly wagged behind him.

“Ahem, y-yes… Thank you… Listen. I want to take you to my homeland. It’s a lot better than trying to rough it out in the woods by yourself. I can’t always keep an eye on you like this.” “Hehe, were you worried about me? You’re so kind!” “Tch! I’m just doing this because it’d be dishonorable to leave a weak person alone in the forest! Come on, follow me or else, I’ll leave you behind.”

And so Prince Jack took along his new found companion, a Red-Hooded human into the werewolf kingdom. How did their relationship grow from then on? Well, that’s another story to tell another time~

[griffintail]

I literally just had a thought-and I'm not sure which I like more. Techno brining either Phil's kid or his kid to the nether with him (probably when they're a little older) and a piglin gives them a courting gift. And they don't understand but techno goes protective. I just-the lost ones series has been so much angst lately man. You don't have to write this but at least it's a cute thought 🥰

Courting Gifts

Pairings: Parental! Technoblade x F! Reader

Warnings: None :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno had taken (Y/N) into the Nether a few times before but it was simply to cross from one portal to another. He never had a reason to interact with the life there, other than striders when he taught her how to ride one and ghasts when they were attacked by the vicious things. They never had a reason to interact with the piglins.

So, when Techno was running out of a few things and he had a few bits of gold hoarded away, he decided to trade with the piglins.

“Hey, I need to go trading but the village is too far out. So, I’m going to the Nether to trade with piglins, want to come along?” Techno asked (Y/N) as he came outside to see the young adult laying in the snow but her head on Steve.

“Sure! I’ve never seen you trade with piglins.” She got up and pet Steve before she left the bear’s side.

“I never have much of a reason to, I usually plan a village trip ahead.” He said as he went in with her behind him. “But, with the you know what Athena, I used a few more supplies than I should have.”

“Ah, right.” She nodded.

She was truly a girl of wisdom and Techno had thought the name proper for her when he formed the Syndicate with her and Phil. They both went to grab their gear for a Nether trip and Techno quizzed her before they left.

“What do we need for a Nether trip?”

“Crossbow for ghasts,” she patted the crossbow on her back, “gold as a sign of peace,” she held up her arms to show her gold bracers, “and a couple of fire resistance potions just in case. And of course, the normal armor and sword.”

“Correct.” He nodded. “I’ll deal with all the trading today, come on.”

Both father and daughter walked to and into the portal, capes flowing behind them and crowns glinting. (Y/N) walked beside Techno as he led the way to a bastion hold.

“Piglins like the good things in life,” Techno told her as he showed her the gold he had taken. “They’ll give you almost anything for a bit of gold.”

“So would you.” She joked with him and he snorted.

“You’ve been hanging out with Tommy too much.”

She grinned as she looked around as Techno went up to one of the piglin traders. Around, she took in the black stoned building with a couple of gold inlays in its stone foundations. They must like their gold even more than her father did. She supposed that’s why gold armor was a sign of peace.

Following her father around to a few traders, she quickly found out that Techno could communicate through their snorts and such while she didn’t understand it at all. She didn’t understand the bartering either though. Techno seemed to get some decent items with just one bit of gold but what seemed like nothing at all for more gold.

“How does their trading work?” She asked him as he moved onto a new trader.

“It’s mostly how greedy they are. Sometimes I can talk down their prices, sometimes I can’t.” He shrugged. “I don’t trade with the greedier ones unless I really need something.”

“How greedy were they?”

“They weren’t bad, you should see the ones that want to trade with ender pearls.”

“Would they trade with me?”

“Eh, some of them might try to trade with you to get a steal. Some of them might be kind and actually, barter with you.”

“Huh, do you mind if I sit and write some of this down?”

Techno chuckled lightly. (Y/N) loved to take notes of things she learned and documented findings she had never seen in the many books they both read.

“Ok, just stay in my sight.” He nodded.

She nodded before leaving his side to go sit on a black stone bench. Carefully putting her crown next to her, she pulled out her journal and ink before writing down what Techno had told her. As she was documenting, she saw a small hand going for her crown in the corner of her eye.

“Hey!” She grabbed the crown and pulled it to her to see a small piglin. “That’s not yours.”

The child shrunk, giving small snorts. Shit, they were adorable.

“You shouldn’t take something that isn’t yours.” She told them, putting the crown on her head before digging through her bag and finding one bit of gold. “But here.”

They perked up at the offering of gold before happily taking it. She smiled as they climbed onto the bench next to her, playing with the gold in their hands before trying to look at her journal, making snorts.

“This is my journal; I was writing down what my dad told me.” She explained even though she doubted the child could understand her. “I’m documenting things no one has ever written down.”

The piglin gave little snorts as he pressed close to her to just stare at her journal and she chuckled, tickling the feather of her quill on the child’s nose making them give a little snort of what she assumed was laughter.

“You should go find your mom or dad kiddo. I don’t want to be responsible for you.”

She supposed he understood some of her words at least because the little piglin got up and wandered over to an older piglin, tugging on their pant leg. Chuckling softly, she turned back to her journal, writing down a few notes that the piglins probably understood a bit of common language as she now kept her crown on her head, despite it being annoying that it would fall forward. As she was scribbling away, even doodling a piglin, she looked up as a shadow came into a view.

It was the older piglin that the small one had gone to and she smiled up at them.

“Hello. Can I help you?” She asked.

The piglin gave a few snorts before holding a golden bracelet to her. She tilted her head, confused.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I don’t have any more gold for that.” She said carefully, hoping the piglin would understand.

They gave a few more snorts, still holding out the bracelet.

“Um…ok?” She said confused as she stood, putting her journal away then reaching for the bracelet only for an ender pearl to shatter in between the pair.

Technoblade then stood there, towering over the piglin and giving a mix of a growl and a snort as he had a hand on his sword. The piglin shrunk before scurrying off.

“What was that?!” (Y/N) exclaimed in shock.

“We’re leaving,” Techno said as he kept his tall posture while walking back towards the entrance.

“What? What just happened?” (Y/N) asked hurriedly as she followed after her father.

“Not now, back at home.” He said stiffly.

(Y/N) was very confused but she followed after him regardless. He’d tell her once they got where they needed to be. It took till they got to their portal before he stopped, relaxing his tall stance. (Y/N) realized now was he had been making himself appear tall and intimidating as he gave an angry huff.

“The nerve…”

“What was that?” She questioned.

“A piglin custom.”

“What custom? Dad, I don’t understand. All I know is you terrified that piglin.”

Techno groaned as he took off his mask so he could run a hand down his face. He stood there for a few moments before looking at her.

“It was a courting gift.”

“A what?” She said shocked.

“Piglins give gold jewelry to women they want to court. He wanted to court you.”

All (Y/N) could think was that piglin was lucky he wasn’t dead.

“Oh. Uh. What would have happened if…you didn’t come in?”

“They would have tried to court you! I was not letting that happen.” Techno shook his head as he went towards home now, (Y/N) following behind. “I was watching you as I traded though and was trading for ender pearls when I saw him trying to give you the courting gift.”

Techno had practically shoved all of his gold at the ender pearl trader before taking the ender pearls, immediately using one to separate his daughter from the piglin. He remembered the voices screaming simultaneously, but he was acting on his own instinct as a father.

“Oh, well, thank you?” She questioned.

“Yes, you are welcome. No boys, no nothing.” Techno told her as they stepped into the house. “You’re still too young.”

“Dad, I’m almost twenty.” She joked.

“No. Boys. No, nothing.” Techno pointed at her, looking deadly serious.

“Uhh.”

“What boys?” Phil asked as he came in having seen the pair come home.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

[juguiuw]

Soo a little story about how MT and Purple met, jiji

After playing League of Legends with the color gang, they’d offered him to stay with them for a while, genuinely interested in what he was doing with his life at the time, willing to help if his situation wasn't favorable, but Purple didn’t feel he deserved that, and denied any help or connection with them and left.

Things hadn't been easy after that. He’d been kicked out of his computer with the few things he had with him at the time and was completely helpless in the hostile world of Minecraft, though in a way he felt he deserved it. Surviving since then hadn't been easy, and Purple could barely get enough to keep from dying. That was bullshit, he’d been at the top, but his own greed had messed it all up and now he was completely miserable.

An ordinary day of searching for basic resources he came across a portal to the Nether, and seeing it as an opportunity to find something valuable enough to take advantage of, he entered. After wandering through the hot dimension, he spotted a group of Piglin brutes next to some chests, that meant good shit, so he came down from where he was with the help of elytras and with only a wooden sword in hand he launched himself against them. It was not easy, but he was victorious. He searched the chests for resources, but before he could leave the scene, a strong hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from retreating.

"I see you defeated my brutes alone," the stick in front of him spoke in a gravelly voice, “Interesting”.

The stick in front of him wore a wide cape and crown. Was he some kind of king? Purple also noted the staff he was holding, and the fact that he was exceptionally tall. All that, and his cold gaze made Purple feel afraid.

"I-I didn't mean to…P-Please…" he stammered "Let me go, I can return the things," Purple begged unconsciously trying to break free from the grip on his wrist, without success.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," answered the dark orange stick after a light laugh. "You tried to rob me. And you killed part of my army.” He looked at Purple more closely, “I can't let that go”.

At that moment Purple thought he was dead, or worse. The stick in front of him was completely terrifying and that’s starting to get him on nerves. All he wanted was to run out of there.

“Please!” he pleaded, “ There must be another way!”

"Relax, boy," replied the tallest stick, lightening his tone, as he released his grip on Purple, but for some reason the latter did not move from where he was. "This is your lucky day," he said arrogantly, "I can give you a chance, after all, you and I are the same, right?” Purple's look changed from fear to intrigue, “ You can come with me if you want, but I don't think you have many options, do you?”

“What do you want?” Purple asked uncertainty. He was prepared to run if things got ugly with the unknown stick.

"I said relax," replied the opposite with annoyance, "You just have to accompany me to my castle while you tell me about yourself…

“Purple…”

“Purple.”

Saying that, who now Purple was sure was a king, turned around strikingly moving his cape, starting to walk. Purple thought about running, but for something he couldn't explain, he followed.

“And…what’s the staff for?” Purple asked carelessly, eliciting a laugh from the other.

“Oh. You're not so scared anymore, huh?” Purple was embarrassed by his own question, “I got it from a villager. With it, I can use the power of any block I want,” the king replied indifferenced.

This aroused Purple's curiosity, but he decided not to continue with the questions. So now he has to be the one to answer.

"So, Purple," the orange stick spoke, "what about you? What led you to rob a group of Piglins with a piece of wood?”

Purple gave a light tired sigh and answered the question.

“I…I used to live on a computer. There was a village in it and I was the king,” he spoke wistfully, “ villagers loved me, but I was too greedy, and I screwed up”.

“Greedy?”

“That wasn't enough for me, I wanted a trophy,” Purple replied with regret, “I entered the End with the help of some sticks that reached the computer and I stole the dragon egg. The mother wasn’t very happy about it and she destroyed my village. The villagers blamed me for that and kicked me out. I haven't set foot there since”.

The regret in Purple's voice was evident. The orange stick made up the rest of the story based on the miserable appearance of his new companion. He paid unusual attention to the part of the other sticks. That would be helpful.

“I see we have several things in common, my dear,” Purple raised an eyebrow at that statement, “We know what we deserve. We're both greedy, but it doesn't have to be bad, right?” There was a pause: “Did you say that some sticks entered in your computer?” Purple nodded, “And how did they get there?”

“They came from a portal in their computer,” Purple answered, “I know because I infiltrated theirs…I-I thought they were to blame for what happened…But it wasn't like that,” he added with regret.

"That's perfect," the opposite muttered to himself and spoke, "Join my Purple. You just have to help me get the Minecraft block from those sticks and with it we can dominate the internet. We will have the life we deserve,” a pause, “I can give it to you”.

This took Purple completely by surprise, who didn't know what to say, but the other suit didn't seem to be expecting an immediate response. At that very moment they arrived at his castle, which was nothing more than a bastion. They entered it, but inside it was completely different from the horrible architecture of a bastion, it looked like a real castle.

Both sticks walked to the throne room. The tall stick immediately sat on it with complete authority, directing a questioning glance at Purple, who kept distance. He was waiting for an answer. Purple had a bad feeling about everything, but the other stick promises were promising. Just thinking about how powerful he could be with the Minecraft cube made his eyes sparkle. For a moment he thought about how bad that would be, the owners of the cube he wanted had shown sympathy for him, but he didn't want to be alone and miserable anymore. He deserved better. And he’d have it.

What was wrong with a little greed?

"I accept," Purple said, completely determined.

"That's perfect," said the orange stick, resting his chin on his hands. "But to make this work, you'll have to do whatever I ask of you," he spoke with a touch of grim arrogance. “And you can call me King. Your King.”

"Yes, my King," Purple replied, bowing slightly.

And a bad drawin i made bf this uw

I write this very quick so-

I discovered that I really enjoy making stuff 4 them(?