#My Journey to seclusion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mel-the-pirate-writeblr · 1 year ago

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Meeting of the Minds (M(T)PJ: Ditto Defect)

My (Twisted) Pokémon Journey Masterlist

3.3k words

☙ ❦ ❧

(ending lines from a nonexistent prior chapter for set-up)

Crystal couldn’t sleep with the beautiful night around her. She sat, staring into the infinite inky sky, with the countless stars. The trees framed it, and Crystal remembered the feeling of travelling – always seeing new places, new Pokémon, new people. She felt almost normal again, like a normal Trainer who had gone to a foreign region for a Pokémon journey, collecting badges and making new friends.

She heard the nighttime sounds of nocturnal Pokémon, and went to see if she could find the source of the natural melody. Everyone else was sound asleep, and they were hidden well within Pinwheel Forest – she wouldn’t go too far. Even if she did, Crystal could follow their auras back.

This could almost be Viridian Forest, she thought. These are different trees, but very much the same. The Pokémon are all different, but their lives are the same. She half-expected Mt. Moon to loom in the north-eastern distance, or even Mt. Silver out to the distant west.

An urge wormed its way into her – an urge to use Transform. As if to remind her that the nostalgia was an illusion and no longer true. The urge grew, and something about it startled her – This isn’t right. Alarm shot through her as the pain followed, and this time she didn’t summon it – some other will other than her own started changing her body. And it terrified her.

☙ ❦ ❧

☙ ❦ ❧

Crystal’s body shifted, horribly, incompletely, unnaturally. She just had to keep this to herself, figure out what to do—

She locked eyes with something. No, someone. A human. This late at night?

He froze. Then he started approaching, slowly. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. He held no fear in his eyes. Just concern.

His bushy, light-colored hair was long, and some fell over his shoulder. It might’ve been in a Ponyta-tail. He wore some kind of baseball cap, and nondescript clothing that could have had more color than just white and grey, but her current grey-scale night-vision couldn’t pick it out.

Crystal noticed, as she bared her teeth at him, that she made the threat with a small snout – a Vulpix’s snout, she realized. She didn’t growl, not yet, her fangs were the first warning. He stopped. The concern never wavered.

“I want to help you,” he said. “Can I help you?”

She let out a quiet growl, just for a moment. No. Go away. I can’t be more clear.

He took another step forward. “Please, I know someone who might be able to help. Who did this to you?”

Who did this? I did this to myself. I don’t need your help.

“Can you tell me?”

I'm a Pokémon, as far as you know. Of course I can't.

The fur along her spine bristled and rose threateningly. Will-o-Wisp fires appeared around her on some uncontrollable instinct.

“You’re a long way from home,” he said. “Vulpix are from Kanto. Who brought you here?”

She took a threatening step forward, growling again. The Wisps moved forward, too. He stopped again.

“I know seeing a human must be scary. But I understand you, can you tell me what happened?”

She just continued to growl.

He sat down, on the forest floor, and glanced up at the starry sky. “You have no reason to trust me,” he said, not looking at her. “But, I promise, I want to help. You’re hurt, you’re wrong. Someone did that to you. You’re not how you should be. It must be scary, and you don’t have to be scared and alone.” He sighed. “How about I tell you about my childhood. About the Pokémon that I helped, and met, and lived with.”

He reached out a hand, and a Sewaddle came out of a bush and nudged against his hand. The Pokémon here know him.

“I grew up with a lot of hurt Pokémon,” he began. “I spent time soothing them, helping them, playing with them. Growing up with them led to me understanding Pokéspeak...”

☙ ❦ ❧

And, for nearly an hour, he talked to Crystal. He poured his heart out, he stayed where he was, as Crystal listened intently. During this time, she reached out with her psychic sense – and she found that he meant what he said. His intentions, his history.

His stories helped her calm down from her initial alarm of her ability malfunctioning, of him finding her in such a state. Maybe that person he said could help might be a good idea. If I can return to human, and find them myself. I have to stay hidden, secret. It’s dangerous that he even sees me. But he doesn’t suspect that I'm human...

The sharp snap of twigs made her whirl around, fire at the ready. The Wisps, which had faded while the guy had talked, whooshed to life as she searched for the source of the sound.

This human was clearly an adult. His hair was nearly shaved right to his head, and had light-colored hair, aside from a darker swish of hair that went around his head, resisting gravity, like it was one of Saturn’s rings.

“Go on, Beheeyem,” the man said softly, not addressing Crystal or the other guy.

Unlike her meeting with the first guy, this human brought a Pokémon with him – something odd, a Pokémon Crystal hadn’t seen before. It had light-colored skin – if it could be called skin, its form had a look of stone – and strange markings on its head. If anything, its strange body reminded her of a Gardevoir’s gown, minus the large and strange head. Its three-pronged hands reminded her of the old, grainy pictures of Mewtwo that circulated in newspapers and on the news. She reached out with her psychic-sense, but couldn’t get a read on it – instead, something pushed back.

“Stop it,” she barked in alarm, stepping back. The presence pushed further, steadily and unhindered. “Get back!” Her fur bristled again, trying to put up a resistance – but this wasn’t like anything she had encountered before. The Wisps surrounded her, but she knew they wouldn't do much.

“It talks?” the man asked.

“It understood me,” the other guy said, “but never responded.”

“That’s not a Unovan accent.”

“It’s a Vulpix, it’s probably from Kanto.”

Come along, a thought said. It pushed its way into Crystal’s mind.

No! She took another step backward.

Come along, it repeated. Its hands started lighting up, off-white flashes.

What is that? she wondered, warily.

Come along.

It wasn’t hurting her. It wasn’t even attacking. In fact, it wasn’t moving, at all, aside from the lights on its hands. Just watching her, as she watched it, the lights flickering. She took a hesitant step forward. She didn’t want to, yet she very much wanted to.

Come along. The thought had become a mantra inside Crystal's mind. Come along. She couldn’t define where it came from – the presence, or herself. It didn't matter to her to figure that out, either. Come along.

Crystal had to follow this Pokémon – she couldn’t not. She felt compelled to go. Her hostility melted away, replaced by a welcome calmness. All of the worries she’d harbored had left. Come along.

A gentle hand touched her back, flattening the bristled fur around her neck. The hand was warm to the touch. “We’ll help you and get you back home.”

The small prick in her neck snapped her focus away from the hypnotizing control, the liquid he injected— But she couldn’t move, anyway – she noticed an energy holding her in place. The same way her Kadabra would sometimes use Psychic outside of battle. Kadabra would often pull berries out of trees with ease, move small boulders, and even the time he caught her PokéDex while traversing Victory Road, where it would have gone over a cliff. Once or twice, he used Psychic to hold a Pokémon in place long enough for her to make a new entry in her PokéDex, before it ran away.

Arceus, no, please, no. She felt the adrenaline rush, in that moment, but it was only a matter of time until that couldn’t help her, she knew. Her panic would only hurry the sedative through her veins. Can I use Teleport to get far enough away before it takes effect?

Fear overwrote her concentration - too many what-if scenarios flew through her mind, pressing against her skull. Her pulse hammered in her head, in her heart, as she stood frozen in place, time ticking by. Stop it. Use your power to get away. Then the sedative won’t matter.

She had to focus – harder thought than done, she realized, as her thoughts scattered away from her and as darkness enticed her to relax – on the clearing where her Pokémon were sleeping, oblivious to her situation. The smallest thread in her mind let her put focus and energy into Teleport, but she quickly reached her limit and couldn’t put anything else into it. This has to work. It has to!

The incorporeal grip vanished as she used Teleport – but it was only a handful of feet away. Without Psychic to hold her up, her legs nearly buckled beneath her as she landed on the ground. So much energy wasted on a few feet! She took a step, but vertigo pulled her to the forest floor.

She heard the humans’ exclamations of surprise, but her exhaustion turned her focus inward – her body was slowing down as whatever sedative they gave her took hold. I have to go, she frantically, sluggishly, thought.

“I’ll take it to my lab for observation,” the man said. “This isn’t a normal Vulpix.”

“Let me know if you need help with it.” The guy looked over at Crystal, pity in his eyes. “Poor thing. I can help transport it home, if that ever becomes possible.”

“I will. Thank you, N.”

Crystal tried to pull herself forward; she could sense Lucario dimly. He’s awake. Lucario, help! A hand scooped her up, and she hung limply in the man’s hands. She had enough awareness to wonder about her abnormally long tails, and that there were only three of them, instead of a Vulpix’s usual six.

“I wonder how you got this way? Let’s go and see what you're made of.”

The darkness swallowed her up.

☙ ❦ ❧

Beheeyem, the Cerebral Pokémon. It has strong psychic powers that it can use to confuse or control its opponents’ minds. Apparently, it communicates by flashing its three fingers, but those patterns haven’t been decoded.

☙ ❦ ❧

Crystal woke up in a strange place. The blurry surroundings gave way to strange, off-white walls and tile floors. Did I mess up so badly that I’m in Professor Juniper’s lab? She pushed herself up, saw her Vulpix-like paws, and remembered what had happened. Pinwheel Forest. The humans. The dread, accompanied by, I lost control of my body.

Panic filled her chest, she could feel herself shaking and the adrenaline that followed the realization that she had always feared this.

Teleport, Teleport, Teleport! she urged herself, shutting her eyes tight and forcing the energy through her terror. She pictured the clearing, pictured Charizard curled up, Luxray and Persian sleeping back-to-back, Serperior draped over Venusaur as they both seem to root themselves in place; and then imagined Lucario, frantically searching for her aura, everyone starting from their peaceful sleep at his urgency.

Teleport.

She opened her eyes to the same white walls. She finally noticed the strange, translucent tube around her, and the adrenaline only made everything worse.

Crystal instinctively curled her three tails around herself. What do I do? What can I do?

Carrying a clipboard, the man from the forest strolled into the room – the main room of whatever lab she was trapped in.

“Ah, you’re awake. For what it’s worth, I”m sorry for the tricks,” he said, trying for a smile. “But you’re just too intriguing to let be.” He walked over to the computer setup next to the tube. “Oh my, the heart-rate monitor— please, I don’t mean you harm. I’ve dealt with strange Pokémon before. If I can get you back to however you’re supposed to be, then I’ll make arrangements to send you back to Kanto. I know that your accent isn’t Unovan. But I want to record as much data as I can before that eventuality. I hope you won’t mind."

His demeanor hadn’t really changed much from that when the other, younger guy was present – but it did change. Crystal couldn’t read him or his intentions, but she had the instinct that he was less concerned, and more curious, than he had acted with the other guy with his genuine feelings on his sleeve.

“ My friend said that you seemed to understand human speech. You can speak, there isn’t any reason to hide that, now, so how about we have a conversation?" the man said. "How about we get you back to your original form, hm?"

Let me go, Crystal telepathically demanded, growling.

“Telepathy,” the man said, smiling and writing something down. “Why don’t you want to return to your original form?”

Put me back, she hissed into his mind, baring her fangs. Where am I?

“Opelucid City,” the man said. “In a lab that I run.”

I don’t like labs.

“Have you been in multiple?”

Crystal didn't answer. She just glared at him.

“Do you have a name?”

Crystal thought for a moment, wondering to herself, What is your end-game here? But she found herself answering, “Yes,” aloud. She had to hold back her name – she almost let it slip.

“Ah, you found your voice. Good. What were you, originally?”

Crystal held the answer, even as it eagerly sat on her tongue. Doesn’t matter to you, she spat mentally instead.

“It does if you want help getting back to your original form.”

I don’t need your help. I did this to myself. I can undo it on my own.

“I can do it just as easily myself,” the man said, his finger hovering over a button.

Crystal's eyed widened in alarm. “Don't you dare,” she hissed out.

“Fine, fine,” he said, putting his hands up in a calming gesture. “Especially when you ask verbally. Another test I want to do is to find out what Pokémon you are. You’re clearly a Vulpix, but also just as clearly not only a Vulpix. Unless you’d like to shed any light on this strange fusion of yours?”

Crystal looked away, staring at her three tails. I don’t know. I noticed my three tails instead of a Vulpix’s typical six. She turned her head sharply to glare at him again, and growled, continuing, Right before your sedative took full effect.

“Then let’s find out, shall we?”

Crystal jumped in surprise as he started powering up the tube that she was in, a whir building in the air around her. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m finding the answer to what you currently are. Aren’t you curious?”

“No! I’m not!” She couldn’t do anything about it. She watched, helplessly, as the machine kept whirring, as the man, hunched over, watched the monitors and computers with an intense, maybe even obsessive, focus. Occasionally, he wrote something down.

She waited for something to happen. Something to change in the tube.

Nothing.

He stood up and straightened his glasses. He regarded her in awe. “It says that your other half... registers as Mew, even though it’s not very certain about that. There is precious little Mew DNA available for study, especially after what happened with the Mewtwo Project in Kanto. But I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with that, aren’t you?”

“I’m not– what? Don’t tell me you think I’m a Mew.” Arceus, why?

“They say that Mew is the ancestor of all Pokémon, and that Ditto came from cloning attempts that weren’t overly successful. Maybe that’s where your origins lie.”

“Mew is the ancestor of all life in those legends!” Crystal pointed out. “I know those legends, I was—” she cut herself off. If he suspects I’m human, he’ll be even more curious. Instead, she continued, “Mew can’t speak human languages!”

“Then how are you, a random Vulpix, speaking with both telepathy and vocally? It seems there are some significant Mew influences in you, and I would like to see a Mew in person, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said eagerly, ignoring her protests. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

She ran up to the side of the tube. “I’m not a Mew!” Crystal insisted.

The man shrugged. “You’re certainly not a Vulpix. I can just make you revert to your original form, and we can have the answer.”

“I have never seen a Mew, as much as I looked!” Crystal said, desperately. “I’m not a Mew, I promise! Just let me go. Let me go. Please!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I plan to,” the man said. "But I want to see a Mew first, or whatever you were, and get some valuable data.”

“Please, I'm not a Mew!”

The man just turned back to his computers, and started hitting buttons, like before. The machine started up again. “You’re just as interesting as a Mew, even if you aren’t one. But I’d still like the data.”

I can’t let him know! Crystal, in her panic, tried to start Self-Destruct – anything to stop anyone from knowing – but it wouldn’t hold. The energy she put into it dissipated immediately, and faster than she could replenish it.

“You won’t be able to use any moves in there,” the man said in an offhanded manner. “It’s specifically for studying Pokémon, especially ones that could get scared into doing something drastic.”

“I’m about to do something drastic, alright,” Crystal promised darkly.

“You can try.”

Her next attempt was Earthquake – but that dissolved as well. Can I overload whatever is draining my energy?

She wracked her brain for a powerful move – All those Legendary encounters, and I can’t think of anything!

Then her body started to change. The bones started shifting, her tendons stretching, her muscles adjusting. Her tails vanishing, the bone cells finding new purposes elsewhere.

“Stop!” she grunted, unprepared for the sudden pain of Transform. But she knew, even if he somehow stopped the devices, her body would have completed it, anyway. “No!”

The pain stopped, faster than she expected, leaving its burning absence in the wake of Transform. She laid on the floor of her tube, thankful that it was over quickly.

“Hm, not what I expected. That seemed quite painful.”

“I told you, I’m not a Mew!” Crystal hissed, trying to breathe through the pain, seeing her human hands. She slowly pushed herself up as her strength returned. “And of course it’s painful. Imagine every bone in your body breaking, deconstructing, every tendon and muscle overstretching. All at once.”

“Evidently. My mistake, Miss. But don’t worry, I have a way to fix everything.” The man made a gesture toward a strange statue, sitting off to the side.

The strange statue Pokémon from before levitated over to her as the tube lifted. Now, she could see the pale brown color of its body, and the red-yellow-green lights on its hands.

“You,” Crystal growled out, glaring at the man. “Get it away from me.”

“Now, now, this is my Beheeyem.” Than man walked over to stand near it. “He’s going to fix this whole mess right up.”

“How can he possibly do that?” she asked, suspicious.

“Beheeyem, erase her memories then prepare Teleport back to Pinwheel Forest. We’re dropping her back off where we found her.”

Before Crystal could say anything, the Beheeyem arrested her mind, and the memories of the last couple of hours started dissolving like those in a dream.

“I hope we meet again,” the strange man said.

One thing, however, stuck with her: her body began shifting again.

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chlorinecake · 1 month ago

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— BITE ME ‘TIL IT HURTS | 𝐏.𝐉𝐒

▹ PAIRING: vampire jongseong x newborn vampire reader

▹ GENRE: smut, vampire au

▹ SYNOPSIS: Literally just you and your vampire boyfriend having sex for the first time as an immortal couple…

▹ WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, swearing, kissing, very rough unprotected sex (expect some crying, hair pulling, and impact play), biting & marking kink, mentions of blood, vampire themes, dom!jay x sub!reader, they’re both pretty feral in this tbh

▹ WORD COUNT: 3.1k — DAY 4

YOU WALKED INTO a reserved room hidden within The Scarlet Speakeasy; a fancy local bar in which your boyfriend Jay would routinely rent out private spaces for the two of you to hang…

Ever since Jay converted you into a member of his kind, he made it his duty to at least maintain some normalcy for you whenever you both craved a bit of seclusion from the outside, mortal world.

Jay was the type who usually spent his time wandering the wilderness, or other dark places void of humanity and their stalking eyes…

However, you,still being an infant to vampire conduct of dwelling amongst wildlife and navigating bloodlust, preferred places more familiar to you, and Jay always kept that in mind when you two were together.

Next week, to celebrate your first full month as an immortal, Jay planned to take you to the Evergreen Woods where he could teach you how to hunt for prey firsthand.

For now though, you simply appreciated every gesture of him smuggling blood bags from hospitals for you, waiting until the time was right for you to get your hands dirty on your own…

You spot Jay sitting on a velvet, loveseat couch, legs crossed knowingly as a certain smell stings within your nostrils, and your senses are heightened enough for you to know the source of the scent came from his jacket.

“Is that a surprise for me, Jay-Jay?” You asked playfully as you made your way over to your boyfriend, joining him on the couch.

“Kinda hard to surprise a vampire with blood, don’t you think?” Jay returns with a smirk before turning to face you, taking the blood bag from his jacket pocket and bringing it to your mouth, “drink up, babe.”

You part your rouge tinted lips for him as you watch him pierce the bag with his fangs so he can feed it to you.

The taste alone was so soothing to you, and although you’ve been a vampire for three weeks, you’re still shocked to find that you actually enjoy drinking the life source of humans—

“Slow down, baby, there’s more where that came from,” Jay chuckled as you hummed around the bag, a bit of blood dripping down the side of your mouth.

Pop.

He took the blood bag from your mouth, making you sulk momentarily until he leaned towards you, licking the excess from your chin and all the way up to your lips.

“So much for my heightened reflexes...” you breathe out as sarcastically as you can manage, but you’re already too effected just from having his mouth so close to yours, and so is he… humming at the delicious contrast between the warm blood and the coldness of your skin…

It's a combination that tantalizes him…

Licking his lips, the residue remaining on his tongue stains his lips, making you want to kiss him even more—

“Don't pressure yourself princess, you'll get the hang of it soon,” he replies with a hoarseness to his tone, and you can't help but notice the immediate change in energy surrounding you two now.

Again, you had only been a vampire for just under 4 weeks, but you didn't know how much longer Jay expected you to ignore your growing sexual urges…

“Sex isn't safe this early,” he unfortunately always said told you whenever you tried making a move on him…

With your newfound strengths as an immortal being came a lifelong-journey of learning how to navigate your gifts and curses, so reasonably so, Jay didn't wanna take any risks too soon.

You could potentially hurt him if you handled your strength incorrectly, or even worse, he could hurt you if you were still meddling between the fragile transition of humanhood to full-blown bloodsucker.

Still, it wasn't like in all those vampire movies, though... you didn't have to die first to become immortal... all it took was your consenting word and Jay's venomous bite to rewrite the course of your entire story, unto forever and forevermore.

And in this moment, you craved nothing more than to experience the thrill of having your boyfriend sink his teeth into you again, or perhaps, something even more exciting…

With mischief lacing your every move, you took the blood bag from Jay’s grasp, tearing yet another hole in it with your fang, letting a thin stream of cherry red decorate the supple flesh of your exposed breasts.

“Whoops!… A little help here?” You offer seductively, and he gives you a knowing look before leaning his head down to catch the blood once again on his tongue, and you let yourself moan at the feeling of him against you this time.

He’s smiles into the contact, and you let your hand find the nape of your boyfriend’s scalp where your fingers get tussled in the clumpy waves of his hair, lifting your chest to deepen things until his nose is practically drowning in your chest.

“God,” he mumbles deeply, and you feel his voice tremble all the way to your core.

One of his free hands grope your left tit, inviting the right one between his hungry teeth and snagging the flesh there.

“Jongseong, be gentle,” you whimper slightly, trying to maintain some stability in your tone, but his actions are already affecting you far too much.

He pulls his head away from your chest, and although you're both vampires, there was a certain warmth to his presence in this moment that you're already missing now.

His eyes, dark and in a haze, scan over your chest, and the dainty mark left behind by his greed makes a small smirk tug at his lips.

“Sorry, sweetheart... I really shouldn't I have done that...” he breathes out, and you're still clutching onto a handful of his locks as you take a few deep breaths of your own.

“Why not? It's not like you have issues with controlling yourself around human blood…”

“It's not the blood that I'm worried about having tasted, love…” he clarifies, looking you dead in the eyes…

It was lust, and he didn't have to utter another word for you to be sure of it... Hell, you could see it clear as day and all over his face…

Jay knew that he wouldn't be able to hold himself back from falling all the way in with you tonight, and he hated that the sultry tension was making him careless.

“You're not gonna hurt me, Jay,” you say in a slightly annoyed voice now, and he knows it's only because you're getting needier by the minute. “And I'm not gonna hurt you,” you continue, but only because he's rolling his eyes at you.

“Do you really believe that, baby?” He asks, and at first you can't tell if he's being sarcastic until his hand reached for yours, holding it in his own while gazing into your dazzling eyes.

She’s earned it, he thought to himself... a chance to explore the riskier sides of intimacy with him in this new life, and at the very least, he could agree it was worth a shot...

“We won't know for sure until we try, Jay-Jay,” you continue, attempting to convince him the best you could, but all he does is give you a look… one that you can feel all the down to your aching core again…

For the next few moments, you both communicate through expressions… your eyes tell him it’s not that big of a deal, but his eyes tell you not to ask for something you’re not truly ready for.

“Ugh,” you scoff, visibly sulking before him, “this is so unbelievably mean of you, y’know that?... We haven’t done anything in… God, I can’t even remember anymore…”

“Aishh… quit acting like you need sex to survive, ____,” your boyfriend tsks, letting go of your hand before sitting back against the couch, adjusting himself in his seat.

Pat, pat.

Jay taps his thighs twice, instructing for you to sit on his lap, and you do, straddling him now as he starts removing his jacket.

The eye contact he holds with you is near-deadly, and you start to feel yourself get nervous as he stretches his arms out to rest on the back of the sofa, seemingly vulnerable but his energy says completely otherwise.

“Take off my belt since you’re so eager,” he dares in a deep voice, and your hands reluctantly yet eventually get to work.

The belt buckle feels cold against your fingers, and the leather strap rough against your touch; all two perfect words to describe what Jay had in store for you tonight...

He lets one of his hands leave the neck rest of the couch before using a finger to tug at the fabric of your leather skirt.

“This too,” he says in a deep tone, “take it off for me…”

Lifting up to your knees, you start to unzip your skirt, but Jay’s hands reach down to rip it off the rest of the way, his strength being so profound that it tore the leather like a flimsy sheet of paper.

Suddenly, he grips your thigh with one hand, keeping you in the position you’re in as he leans closer to your face and whispering against your lips, “You know what you want, princess… now it’s your turn to work for it…”

And he doesn’t have to say much else for you to know what that means…

Deep down, Jay recognized that you weren’t much different from the shy, human girl he first met, and who you used to be… the only difference now was that the primal urges that came with being a vampire had been awakened inside you, and he wanted to be the first soul to witness your newfound boldness come to play.

You start to ride your boyfriend nice and fast, bouncing in his lap at an impressive speed, though its a blur to you how you successfully managed to get his cock inside your cunt in the first place given how nervous you were...

He’s slapping at your tits, and gently at your face, too, challenging you to go faster because he knows you can now.

“C’mon baby, is that all you got?” He huffs, and you whine out of frustration, making him chuckle as you desperately cling to his shoulders, trying to ride him faster than you already were.

“Aww... you gonna cry, baby? Is my cock too much for you?… Hm?” He continues you taunt at the way you seem so affected just from his words... you're just such a teary-eyed mess before him, and he finds the sight so fucking arousing—

“J-Jay,” you whimper, vision foggy from your own tears, “I’m doing the best that I c-can…” you sniffle, but he’s not trying to hear any of it.

“Oh? So this is all you can take then, huh?” He presses, holding your face in place as you keep bouncing in his lap, and you almost sob at the feeling of his cock hitting so deep inside your walls, and so deliciously at that.

“I never s-said that, Jay,” you choke out, feeling your legs tremble at his sides the harder he grips at your face.

Your bouncing starts to slow down, and he pulls your hair, making you cry out even louder.

“Did I say you could slow down?” He growls with darkened eyes now, and you whine in protest, provoking him to only slightly loosen his grip on your hair so you can look at him, foggy mascara decorating your damp eye lids.

Though, you had already dug your finger nails deep into his shoulders, and surely hard enough to leave a mark given the way he hissed out loud.

Jay was right to warn you… you always liked sex better when it was on the friskier side, but you never would’ve expected Jay, your typically loving boyfriend, to be so rough with you... especially not on your first time with him…

“P-please,” you began, walls fluttering around his length, and he can’t help but feel guilt creep up on him now as the tears in your eyes don’t seem to stop.

He doesn’t realize that your tears are tears of pleasure yet, so he releases his grip on your hair completely, cupping the side of your face in remorse as his eyes soften before you... he couldn’t shake the feeling of worry shadowing over him now...

“Are you okay, love?” He whispers with concern, and you only respond by kissing him, gripping at his shoulders once more to which he winced slightly thanks to the pressure you applied to the fresh wounds you left there.

“I’m more than okay, Jay,” you return weakly in between kissing him, “I just want you to take the lead from here…”

The words left your mouth smoother than honey, and the dom in him was going absolutely feral…

You were a sub at heart, so while being on top was fun and all, you still wanted him cry to be in charge of making you feel good tonight…

“Jay,” you say with a light chuckle this time, drawing his sullen eyes back to look at you, “don’t tell me you think I couldn’t take it just because I got a little whiny…”

“A little?” He challenges with a small smile, and you nod, taking his hand in yours and giving it a tender peck.

“Yes... now can we pick up where we left off please, or are you gonna make me beg for that, too?” You pout at him, and he shakes his head in compliance.

“Hmm… you're really needy today, huh?” He smirks at you, and you’re just happy to see him in good spirits again, “and spoiled,” he continues, lips finding yours as the sexual energy immediately returns to its initial high.

Your fingers get tussled in his wavy locks as your tongues intertwine, greedy hums coming from the two of you as your hips circle in Jay’s lap, and you almost forget that his cock was still inside you, until your felt his hands push your hips down further.

He can’t help himself from tumbling off the couch and onto the floor, both of you acting like bitches in heat now.

At first you’re on top, but then he remembers you wanted him to take the lead, turning you over on your back before finding your hands and pinning them above your head.

Keeping your legs wrapped around his waist, your boyfriend wastes no time in pistoling his hips into you, tiny hiccups slipping past your lips again as your body bumps against the carpet.

Your head feels like it’s in the clouds with the way his tip hits all the greedy parts inside you, but you can’t help but want a little more from him… something was missing that you knew would help really take you over the edge...

Slipping your hands from beneath his, you let them find the nape of his neck where you pull him closer enough to kiss you, moaning against his lips as pure pleasure took over every cell and sense you possessed.

“You feel so f-fucking good inside me, Jay-Jay,” you say, words coming out in wobbly mumbles as your boyfriend keeps fucking into you, a gorgeous sheen of sweat glazing his forehead now, “p-please don’t stop…”

And all Jay can do is groan in this moment, also craving a little something more to help him reach his breaking point.

“Baby,” he whispers heavily, and you meet his eyes, both of your cores heating up as the pace of his thrusts don’t cease, “I want you to bite me…”

“W-what?” You question with labored breaths, already feeling a bit bad about having scratched him so hard earlier, and now he was asking you to bite him? Knowing that your baby fangs would likely wound him terribly?...

“I want you to- nnngh… I want you to bite me when I make you come,” he slurs through a moan, hips stuttering slightly as he felt himself slowly losing control, “can you do that for me, princess?”

“Y-yes, Jay,” you whimper, grinding your pelvis with the pace of his movements, and you don’t think you’ve ever had intimacy that felt this good before, “I’ll do anything for you…”

His pubis keeps bumping against your clit with each snap of his hips, and the added stimulation is what really helps you get there, especially with him muttering dirty nothings beneath his breath.

“Ohhh, God!~” You cry out desperately, and your eyes prick with tears again as you cling to your boyfriend’s shoulders, gently biting him there to hide in your sounds.

And the feeling's so delicious for him that he moans out loud, and you’ve never heard such a beautiful sound in your entire life.

“Harder, baby,” Jay huffs in between fucking you wide open, squelching sounds filling the room as you whined against his skin even more, “bite me til it hurts…”

You let your teeth sink deeper into the muscle of his shoulder and that’s when his eyes shut with pure ecstasy, lowering his head between the crook of you neck as his hips tremble, the overflow of sensations being too much for him to bare.

And your walls are clenching around him just as your own climax overtakes you, your back arching against the carpet as he rode out your highs together...

Eventually, he pulls his cock out of you, and you’re initially surprised that there’s no cum there until you remember that’s a factor of being immortal, a.k.a., biologically undead—

“Fuck~,” you both sigh, and his head hangs low over you as he fights to catch his breath, your own vision blurry from the intense pleasure… colorful even as if you’re in a dream...

“That was… amazing,” you say, sitting up on your elbows now as he readjusts his pants before crawling away for a second, grabbing for your skirt that he threw aside earlier.

“It was,” —Jay agrees while licking his lips to get another taste of you— “if we were still mortals, I’m sure our hearts would’ve burst out of our chests from how intense that was,” he continues with a deep look on his face, despite the humor of his comment… and it’s genuinely almost like he can hear it… your two hearts beating… even though he knows they’re not there anymore…

He slides the tight leather skirt back up your hips to cover you, and you help by lifting yourself from the ground, smiling as his cold fingers work the fabric over your curves.

“You’re gonna have to buy me a new one after this, y’know that?” You ask comically, and Jay lets out a small chuckle at both your words and the raunchy tear in your skirt.

“I know,” he hums, kissing the part of your thigh that was exposed thanks to the torn leather before sucking the flesh between his teeth slightly, making your fists ball at the sudden feeling.

“J-Jay,” your voice stumbles, and you feel his fingers slide under your skirt before gliding across your sensitive folds, making your legs squirm once again.

“Jay,” you say again, and this time you grab his hair for what seems like the tenth time all day, his lips releasing from your skin with a wet pop and revealing the dark hue brewing on your flesh now.

“A mark for a mark, princess,” he whispers through a subtle smirk, and your eyes flicker to the bite pattern you left on his neck earlier, reminding you that your bond between each other was more than the average young love story:

It was blood bound, fueled by the lusts of your two immortal hearts and renewed by the nature of a love that'd last eternally...

⋆♱✮ Thank you to everyone reading this fic, which actually concludes DAY 4 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings @stormy1408

@crownj1min @jay-0n3s @gacktsa @leeknowinggg

@d-dilemma

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ghostlyferrettarot · 6 months ago

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🎲🖤Chiron in the signs🖤🎲

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings)Open!

🎲If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🎲

🗝Masterlist🗝

🗝Chiron reveals where we possibly have wounds, what hurts the most in each of us. With that, this influence guides us through a journey of suffering and liberation throughout life.🗝

🎲Chiron in Aries: is a more individualistic, impetuous and impulsive energy and such influence can "hurt." is affected by a possible feeling of worthlessness. These are people who may not value themselves (or may not know the exact measure of their value). Therefore, he should not fear his initiatives nor his own strength. At some point in life, the native must embark on a journey of self-discovery to overcome any feelings of helplessness that arise during life.

🎲Chiron in Taurus: can give rise to some problems related to insecurity or self-esteem. They may resent not considering themselves attractive or for some physical attribute that they dislike. Insecurity can also be due to the scarcity of some material good that he considers essential. It can be money, property, in short, anything he needs to feel safe and stable. Once he achieves such achievements and goals, insecurity will tend to decrease. People with this positioning have to learn to value themselves more in order to heal.

🎲Chiron in Gemini: May indicate a need to find your own voice. They can be very imaginative and creative but can have some problems expressing themselves. They relate more to their outgoing and spiritual side, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

🎲Chiron in Cancer: Those with this positioning are more likely to feel out of place, sometimes thinking that they are not loved or that they do not receive enough love and attention. These are people who are more inclined to care for others, but they also need to be cared for. Learning to take care of their own needs is the key to balance, so they can feel complete. Opening your heart and accepting the love of others is also essential to healing any inner pain that may arise.

🎲Chiron in Leo: It can influence some feelings of dismissal, which eventually causes these people to feel unrecognized or not feel creative enough. These natives may think that their talents are or have been neglected, they may feel that they never had the opportunity to shine. The difficulty they demonstrate in expressing their own talents may be due to a repressed childhood or other various situations. To help overcome it, the individual needs to find a way to get closer to her inner child and awaken her creativity.

🎲Chiron in Virgo: may indicate possible changes in health or the feeling that personal problems are never definitively resolved. This influence can give the person a different way of dealing with the body, healing and health, in addition to work and routine. It can make the individual overly critical. It is recommended to learn to face imperfection, something that can be very difficult for them. . The fact is, since they tend to naturally be a perfectionist, they could use this trait where it is most welcome: in the spheres of healing and work.

🎲Chiron in Libra: May suggest possible problems in relationships with people. Relationships with some individuals may be more difficult and you may constantly have to deal with someone who is rude or rude. Or someone selfish or unfair. It may also indicate that this person is more likely to feel hurt or rejected in a relationship. You need to contain your impulses to achieve everything that the Libran scale means. The solution may involve better communication, more harmonious relationships, and the use of logic and common sense.

🎲Chiron in Scorpio: may suggest resentments or losses, material or symbolic throughout life. may, in some ways, suffer losses at an early age. Or feeling like a part of yourself has died due to irreparable losses. He may be afraid of his power to "dive" into the hearts of others, just as he may feel helpless. You are advised to enjoy life more lightly, because even when we lose something or someone, our life goes on and we can still become richer and more experienced with what we have or achieve.

🎲Chiron in Sagittarius: may suggest a certain lack of incentive in life or possible ruptures in your beliefs and values. In the sign of Sagittarius it may suggest wounds in the person's structure of faith or natural enthusiasm, which may have been discredited or missing. had no incentive. This positioning may suggest a break with spiritual traditions or teachings that may cause pain. People with this positioning may feel confined to a mundane existence. When you realize that there is wisdom in your own heart, your healing process begins.

🎲Chiron in Capricorn: May suggest some difficulty achieving goals in life and dealing with authority. It can suggest the difficulties that an individual may have in satisfying his or her greatest desires. From an early age, his ambition may have been restricted or he may have encountered many obstacles that were difficult to overcome. Perhaps you have lacked incentive from family or friends, or you have encountered inflexible bosses, etc. To overcome this, these natives must believe in themselves again, because then they will have more energy to pursue their ambitions.

🎲Chiron in Aquarius: can suggest wounds in collective concepts, freedom or personal originality. It may suggest feelings of inadequacy and social rejection. Aquarius brings a desire for freedom, originality, and the collective good, and such positioning can undermine such things, making the individual eventually feel uncomfortable dealing with people, groups, and tribes, and more likely to feel disconnected or isolated. To find the path to healing, they must learn to be themselves and appreciate their differences. This can be a difficult lesson, as some are not as comfortable in their own skin.

🎲Chiron in Pisces: may suggest wounds in beliefs, intuition, and the willingness to help those in need. People with this positioning in their birth chart may have been wounded by being wrong about others, suffering disappointments or betrayals. It suggests possible existential crises. This individual may eventually suffer a religious or spiritual crisis or lose faith in the world and others. They must balance their feelings and understand that there are disappointments along the way, but they can be overcome. That way, they will be able to find a cure for their problems.

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sincerelyyuu · 6 months ago

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"in the end, it's still you." p3. • gojo satoru & geto suguru

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: after you made your decision to leave your jujutsu sorcerer life behind, you find yourself longing for what once was and risking more than what you bargained for. ➼ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru x fem!reader ➼ content/warnings: sfw, endless amounts of angst, sprinkles of fluff, heavy jujutsu kaisen 0 film spoilers, heartbreak, regret, unrequited love, death, blood, pet names, sorcerer!reader ➼ wc: 5.4K words ➼ a/n: this is the final part of this little angst series of mine. thank you so much to everyone for the amount of love you've given these three. as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡ ➼ part one, part two, part three

Today was the day. Suguru had coined it as the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons where he intended on releasing thousands of curses across Japan, focusing the epicenters of the attack in Shinjuku and Kyoto.

To say that your life had drastically changed over the last few years would be an understatement. Finding refuge in a grand temple located far away from the eyes of Tokyo, Suguru built himself a cult following. He spent his days collecting money from his loyal followers while also exorcising curses from non-sorcerers who sought him out, deeming him as a god for his “cleansing” talents.

Within this time, your days were simpler. Instead of waking up to the dread of having to fight curse after curse, you spent your time focusing on the little things that brought you joy. You started a little garden that was lush with a variety of flowers and greenery. Thanks to the seclusion of your new home, it made stargazing look something straight out of a fantasy, the night sky always twinkling with millions of stars. With all the extra time, you had many opportunities to curl up with a good book without having to worry about another mission.

Since that fateful night in the village, Nanako and Mimiko became attached to your hip. You became the mother figure they’ve always dreamt of. You loved the girls like your own, spending the majority of your time nurturing them from toddlerhood into the beautiful teens they were now. You were living the simple life you envisioned back in your teen years.

You knew when you left your old life behind that life would be different. Change was inevitable. You just didn’t expect for it to manifest in the man you ran away with.

Suguru took care of you exceptionally well. He made sure you were well fed and gifted you with the prettiest clothes, occasionally leaving small tokens of appreciation for you for embarking on this journey with him. Whatever you heart desired, it was in your hands no sooner than you can think of it. More importantly, no matter how busy he was, he always found time to keep you company. You, as well as the twins, remained his main priority. His beautiful girls.

You watched Suguru slowly become consumed with the idea of jujutsu sorcerers being the superior race. On the outside, he put up an amiable persona in front of normal humans who came to him for guidance in order to collect their curses. On the inside, he loathed their very existence, finding their presence alone to be unbearable and swearing they filled the air surrounding him with a disgusting stench.

Monkeys, he would call them. You hated the term.

He had come to you in the kitchen one day with the biggest grin on his face. It was the happiest you’ve ever seen him in your entire time of knowing him. Pouring yourself a glass of water from the faucet, you leaned your back against the edge of the sink in interest.

“The time has finally come!” he proclaimed as he walked up to you, hands behind his head in a relaxed manner.

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow at him in curiosity. “And what time may that be?”

“My sources tell me that there is an interesting first year student by the name of Okkotsu Yuta at Tokyo High. He is cursed by a special grade spirit by the name of Orimoto Rika,” Suguru goes on to explain.

You felt an unsettling feeling in your stomach, not liking where this conversation was going. You hummed in response and raised the glass to your lips which he took as his cue to go on.

“I plan on retrieving her. The power she holds is the exact thing we need to put an end to every non-sorcerer in existence,” he sighed happily at what he believed was the light at the end of the tunnel.

Frowning, you replied, “...And how exactly do you plan to do that, Sugu?”

“By killing anyone that gets in my way starting with Tokyo Jujutsu High.”

The glass of water immediately slipped from your hands, seconds away from shattering onto the floor if not for Suguru’s incredible reflexes. Placing the still full cup on the counter, he observed the immense shock displayed in your eyes at his declaration. You wished that he was just pulling your leg and that he wasn’t really considering taking on such a risky and incredibly dangerous task. But a man of his word, you knew better than anyone that when Suguru said anything, he truly meant it.

“Geto Suguru,” his name leaving your lips in a slow drawl, “What in the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Leaning against the counter next to you, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought. “It’s simple really. I will unleash the thousands of curses that I’ve meticulously collected over this past decade into the city. Two cities, in fact. While they send their forces to try and save as many pathetic monkeys as they can, I’ll go after the Okkotsu boy. If he decides not to join our side, that’s fine. I’ll just kill him for Rika instead.”

The more you listened to him explain in detail his plan, the more you found yourself looking at a complete stranger. This couldn’t possibly be the kind Suguru that you’ve known throughout your teens and entire twenties.

Had you really known him at all?

The incredulous look of concern and flash of fear across your face must have been hard to take in because Suguru’s demeanor immediately took on a more serious stance.

“(y/n),” he started to say your name and reached for your hand. This time, it was his turn to be shocked when you immediately yanked your hand away from his as if his touch burned you.

“Don’t,” you demand, taking a step away from him as you felt your blood begin to boil. “What the hell, Suguru?”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at your hostile reaction, “I had a feeling you’d react like this.”

You scoffed at his reply, “Did you honestly expect for me to just be peachy about this idea? You’re talking about murdering millions of people! This isn’t what I agreed to when I decided to go on the run with you.”

“I was very upfront with you about my goals. I don’t know why you’re acting like this is something new,” Suguru argued, not liking the tone of your voice. “You made the big girl decision to come with me. Don’t tell me you’re regretting it now?”

You clenched your jaw at his audacity. “You didn’t give me a choice! I’m not the one who decided to go on a murderous killing spree at seventeen on a mission we were both assigned to,” you retorted in exasperation.

“But I stayed with you because I care about you, Suguru. If I didn’t, why would I leave my entire life behind to be here with you now?” you asked, feeling the anger in your veins shift to deep hurt. “You forget that I sacrificed a lot, too. Excuse me if I don’t agree with every choice you make along the way, especially this one.”

Running his hand through his dark locks, Suguru exhaled deeply. He rarely fought with you and he hated every minute you were anything less than happy with him. He angled his body to face you once more and placed his strong hands on your shoulders. When you didn’t instantly pull away from him, he tugged you closer to him and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I didn't forget how much you’ve sacrificed to be with me and I’m eternally grateful every day I see your face. I know this situation hasn’t been completely fair for you and I only have myself to blame for that,” he apologized sincerely.

“That being said, I’ve made my final decision. I won’t ask you to fight on the front lines nor do I expect you to do anything you don’t want to. You can stay here without needing to get involved or lift a finger. The decision is yours.”

Back to the present, you couldn’t shake the premonition that something really bad was going to happen. Your anxiety in your heart refused to dissipate with the uncertainty of what's to come looming over you. You hated this. You hated how this is what it all came down to.

You made it clear to Suguru that you weren’t going to take any innocent lives. However, you refused to sit still and play the waiting game while everyone was out fighting for their lives. Naturally, you set your heart on protecting your girls.

“Nanako, Mimiko,” you said to your phone via video chat, “Are you girls doing okay?”

“Everything is good so far, (y/n)-sama,” Nanako replied back and adjusted her phone so that she and her sister fit into one frame. “Where are you? Geto-sama said you’d be here.”

You responded, “I’m here. Just standing out of sight but still keeping an eye on you.”

Standing atop of some miscellaneous office building, you observed the large curse that housed the twins safely inside its mouth. You focused on manipulating your cursed energy to lower it to extreme minute levels in order to hide your presence, blending it with the large amount of cursed energy permeating in the air. Doing so made it difficult to pinpoint your exact location.

“How come you aren’t here directly with us?” Mimiko questioned, feeling slightly anxious but relieved to see your face even if it was through a screen.

You paused, taking a few seconds to think before answering carefully, “It’s complicated.”

How do you exactly tell them that the reason you were hiding to begin with was because you were hiding from the man of the hour?

Gojo Satoru.

You would be lying if you said a part of you didn’t long to see him. You did everything in your power to cut all ties with the strongest sorcerer a decade ago, although it hurt more than anything. You didn’t know if you could ever face him again, especially not now considering the circumstances with Suguru’s plot.

Did he even want to see you?

A pair of sweet voices called out to you and snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking back at your phone, you saw the looks of anticipation on the twins’ faces.

“Sorry, what did you girls say?” you sheepishly asked.

Nanako pouted adorably, repeating their question, “We asked if we could go to that crepe shop on Takeshita Street with you. Geto-sama promised he’d take us last time but it was closed by the time we got there.”

Chuckling, you nodded to their request. “Of course. When this is all over, we’ll take a girls trip together.”

“Promise?” they said in unison, holding their pinkies up to the screen.

You held your own pinky up and lightly tapped it against your phone. “I promise.”

On the other end, you heard Nanako’s notification sound go off. “They said they’re stepping up the plan and telling us to engage,” she informed you.

Biting your lip in apprehension, you sighed. “Please be careful, you two. Do not hesitate to call me immediately if something happens. Do you understand? I'll catch up with you in a few.”

The pair nodded, holding up their pinkies for emphasis promising you of their safety. Just as you were about to hang up the call, their soft voices caught your ears.

“(y/n)-sama?”

“Yes, my loves?” you answered with concern in your eyes watching them fidget nervously.

“I love you.”

You felt your heart squeeze at the declaration, warmth spreading in your chest as you smiled fondly at the two. They looked at you shyly with pink cheeks looking slightly embarrassed after voicing their affection together. When did they grow up so fast from the little five year olds they once were when you first met them?

“I love you, too. Both of you. See you soon,” you reciprocated, blowing a kiss to the camera.

The twins mirrored the gesture before hanging up. Focusing your eyes back to the curse they were inside, its mouth opened to reveal your precious girls. You waved goodbye to them despite them not being able to see you. Just as you were about to trail them, that unsettling feeling increased tenfold in your stomach. Something was wrong.

Suguru.

You dialed his number on your phone, pressing it to your ear only for the call to go straight to voicemail. This only made your anxiety worse. He never missed a call from you. Wracking your brain on where he could be, his previous words echoed in your mind.

“I’ll go after the Okkotsu boy. If he decides not to join our side, that’s fine. I’ll just kill him for Rika instead.”

Cursing under your breath, your legs began moving on their own.

Run faster.

You repeated the two words in your head like a mantra as you weaved through alleyways and every shortcut you could remember. Your lungs burned with the intensity of it demanding oxygen, but you refused to slow down the pace of your sprint. You were determined to make it back to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

You had to make it to Suguru.

Scanning the black veil that you knew Suguru had casted over the school, you managed to locate a hole that was made by something, or rather someone, else. Slipping through the opening, you finally stepped foot onto the grounds that you once called your home. You hurriedly followed the trails of blood and wreckage of what looked to be the after effects of a lethal fight.

You nearly collapsed as you felt the ground quake beneath your feet, the force of it catching you off guard. The air felt electrified with the sheer amount of cursed energy surrounding you. It terrified you. Despite your fear, you steeled yourself and ran towards where you felt the cursed energy was strongest.

Careening around another corner, you were relieved to see the backside of the man you were searching for. However, your relief was short-lived when you looked just beyond his figure down the path to see a young teenage boy.

There was no mistaking him as Okkotsu Yuta with his special grade curse Rika suspended beside him protectively and looking every bit as deadly as you heard. He was exchanging words with her that you couldn’t hear from where you stood. You saw the way Yuta intimately held her monstrous frame close to his face. The interaction was so full of tenderness and devotion, the kind that would risk it all in the name of love.

But that’s when you realized what was happening. He was sacrificing himself to Rika to release the limit on her cursed energy.

Hearing Rika passionately declare her love for Yuta, you looked in horror as she began gathering all of her raw cursed energy in full force. Flashes of purple and pink coalesced into one massive deadly black orb, a symbol of Rika’s eternal love for him.

And it was aimed directly at Suguru.

“SUGURU!”

You didn’t even hear yourself scream for him, your voice coming out in terror-stricken screech. It was like your body went into overdrive. In your moment of panic, you didn’t have time to think or feel, only running towards him with your heart beating loudly in your ears.

For Suguru, it all happened so quickly.

The moment he heard your voice, he whipped his head to you with eyes widened in alarm. You weren’t supposed to be here. He needed to figure out a way to get you as far away as possible from Rika.

Time almost stopped for the next few seconds.

There was a flash and a strong hand that shoved Suguru’s body back from where he was positioned. A waft of a familiar perfume. The feeling of soft tresses tickling his cheek. A blinding blue glow. He realized too late that it was you moving at an supersonic speed to stand in front of him, safeguarding him as you channeled all of your cursed energy to brace and harden your body for impact.

Then, Rika charged.

Destruction. Suguru’s curses were no match to the power of Rika’s concentrated cursed energy beam. Her attack left devastation in its wake, buildings blown down to their bare infrastructures, dust and debris clouding the pinkened sky, and a deep crater of the battlefield permanently indented into the ground.

For a moment, all you felt was searing pain enveloping your body. You didn’t even register the way Suguru seized you by the waist, jerking you away as he made a narrow escape with you just a second away from death’s door. Your vision faded to black as you closed your eyes.

When you next opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was the back of Suguru’s head. He was carrying you on his back, your arms around his neck and your body swaying in small jerky motions as he limped down the pathway with growing difficulty.

Good. He had made it, you thought to yourself in ease.

‘Made it’ was an understatement. The man was officially missing his entire right arm, the same arm he used to safely pull you away from Rika. Long black hair haphazardly let down, black yukata torn in half to reveal his bare toned torso, right eye swollen shut. He was lucky to have gotten away with just this.

He was only this lucky because of you. You had taken Rika’s attack head on. Even with you using your cursed energy as a shield, it wasn’t enough to stop the negative repercussions. Your injuries were severe. The strength of Rika’s blow left a gaping hole in the center of your chest a hair’s away from your heart, feeling sharp pains with every shallow breath you took. You could feel yourself bleeding out onto Suguru’s back, soaking his robe with crimson. Unable to feel any sensations in your legs, you suspected you were paralyzed from the waist down.

“Suguru,” your raspy voice croaked out.

“You finally opened those eyes, pretty girl. You had me worried for a moment there,” Suguru chuckled quietly.

The two of you fell into a calm silence, only the sounds of Suguru’s footsteps and your ragged breathing to be heard. You wanted to ask him so many questions. Where did Yuta and Rika go? What happens now? No matter how hard you tried to focus on moving your mouth you simply couldn’t, not having the strength to do so. Suguru was the first to break the silence.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said tiredly. His haggard face looked absolutely spent with his voice coming out no louder than a murmur. Only loud enough just for you to hear the regret and guilt in his speech.

You chuckled weakly, “Can you really say you were surprised?”

Suguru sighed in defeat, “I suppose not. Although I would have preferred if you had stayed with our girls. Now look at you.”

“That’s not very ‘Thank you for saving my life’ of you, Sugu,” you huffed, gently pinching his cheek in retaliation causing him to laugh lightly.

You felt your heart swell seeing Suguru smile and banter with you so freely. It reminded you of your earlier days back in high school when it was just you, him, and Satoru.

Satoru.

As you leaned your head on Suguru’s good shoulder, your mind drifted to the snowy haired man. It always did. You often wondered if he had changed much since you last saw him. Was he still that confident man that would give his all for the world? The same man that would have burned the world for you? What would your life be like if you had decided to go back to him that day in Shinjuku? So many questions that you would never have answers for. You knew that when you left Satoru that day, you had left your heart with him too.

If only you had the chance to tell him you loved him in person.

Feeling something rise in your chest, you were only able to squeeze Suguru’s shoulder in warning before you leaned to the side to vomit blood, the bodily fluid coming out in a viscous consistency. By the time you were done, you felt extremely weak. Your head felt fuzzy and the severe pain in your chest was beginning to subside the more you bled out.

“I’m dying, Suguru.”

Suguru’s grip on you faltered for a quick second before hoisting you upright on his back once more. He already knew it. He knew you were dying by the faraway look in your eyes and the way you could barely keep them open. You were losing too much blood too quickly. He had exhausted his cursed energy supply on Rika, only having the physical energy to carry you through pure willpower.

“Do you regret running away with me now?” he asks solemnly, slowing his pace down to not rock you too much.

You shook your head, “I don’t. I promised you that I would be there for you until the end.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” he expressed genuinely.

When you didn’t say anything else, he turned his head slightly to see you with your eyes closed. He momentarily panicked before he was consoled by the rise and fall of your back that indicated you were still here.

“(y/n)?” he calls, looking straight ahead and walking with no real destination in mind. You hummed in response to let him know you were listening.

“I love you.”

Despite living the last ten years of his life with you, this was the first time he had verbally expressed those three words to you, opting to show his affections for you through actions. But in your dying moments, he needed you to hear just how much he loved you, even if he knew you would never say them back the same way he meant it.

“I know. I always knew,” You smiled guiltily. “I do love you, Suguru. You’re always going to be my best friend. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t reciprocate your feelings no matter how hard I tried.”

Suguru nudged his head against yours in a comforting manner. He whispered, “It’s okay. I still love you regardless.”

Feeling exhaustion settle in your bones, you could barely fight the growing heaviness of your eye lids and a sense of calm lulling your senses. Resting your chin on Suguru’s shoulder, he felt your faint breath fan against his neck.

“Sugu,” the nickname sounding so painfully loving on your lips, “I’m sleepy.”

Suguru couldn’t bring himself to watch you die, staring straight ahead so you wouldn’t see the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Sleep, baby. I got you.”

With that, your eyes closed as you took your last breath, your arms around his neck slipping to fall at his sides.

Trudging down the narrow alleyway, Suguru shifted your frame to his front in order to rest your head against his hard chest. Your body was still warm as Suguru held you tighter against him, albeit a bit awkwardly considering the effects of the battle left him with only one arm. You looked so peaceful. If anyone didn’t know any better, they would have assumed you were just in a deep sleep. Only, you were forever in a dream that you would never wake up from.

Suguru felt like a failure. Despite his elaborate plan, he was unsuccessful in securing the special grade curse Rika from Okkotsu Yuta. Experiencing her power first hand, she was truly extraordinary. If he had gotten her, there would be no need to sneak around swallowing curses. He would have had the power to change the world like he wanted.

You wouldn’t have had to die for him.

If only he had a little more time. Hearing footsteps approaching him, Suguru smiled at the familiar presence. With great effort, Suguru carefully lowered you and himself against the wall and held you close.

“You’re late, Satoru,” he announced, his words devoid of any real malice. “To think you’d be the one here at my end. Is my family safe?

“Every last one of them managed to escape,” the special grade sorcerer replied in monotone.

Except you. Satoru took in your lifeless form that was brutally beaten and bloodied by what he assumed was the aftermath of Rika. Your hair was longer than when he last saw you in Shinjuku ten years ago. Your delicate hands that used to hold onto his so dearly were now battered. Bruises adorned your face, crimson from your wounds beginning to dry against your skin. Even after all these years of not seeing you, even in this state, you were still beautiful to him.

“Unlike you, I’m a kind man. You sent those two assuming I’d defeat them, didn’t you? To set Okkotsu off?” Suguru questioned the male, referring to the panda and cursed speech user.

Satoru answered, “I trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn’t kill off young sorcerers without a reason.”

Suguru tiredly smiled at his words. “Trust, huh? I didn’t think I still had any of that left.”

Gaze hardening, Satoru coldly responded, “I also trusted you to keep her safe.”

He knew he was being hypocritical. He spent years trying to seek you out and to bring you home. Once he did, he even considered quitting the sorcerer life to give you the normal life you wanted. Yet you didn’t want to be found and made it incredibly difficult to track you (and naturally Suguru.) The fact you survived this far to begin with was with Suguru’s help, which is more than what he had done. At least Suguru was able to give you some form of happiness. Although he never gave up looking for you, Satoru knew he should have done more to protect you.

And now he has to live with the fact that he couldn’t bring you back home anymore.

“It was always you, you know that?”

Tearing his eyes away from your lifeless form, Satoru wordlessly looked at his best friend who had a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“All of these years away, there wasn’t a day that she didn’t think about you. No matter how hard I tried to get her to reciprocate my love, to open her heart to me, her heart was always set on you,” Suguru admitted bittersweetly.

Satoru could only stand there stunned at the revelation. If Suguru was telling the truth, had you always loved him the way he loved you? Flashbacks of you played back in his mind like an old movie.

The way you would tenderly treat his wounds after he went a little too hard after a mission…

“I swear to god, Toru, you better not come back looking like this again,” you sighed, lightly dabbing the soaked cotton ball of antibiotic on the small gash on his forehead.

“You mean looking this good~?” he smirks, flexing his bicep proudly. Only for his bottom lip to jut out into a pout at the way you playfully roll your eyes at him, not exactly denying his words but also not wanting to feed that big ego of his.

Turning around to grab a clean bandage for his wound, he misses the way a light pink hue blooms across your cheeks.

…making him a bento box of his favorite foods after scolding him for skipping meals…

“Oh?” Satoru chirps, “What do we have here?”

He watched you unravel the prettily wrapped package to reveal the lunch you had prepared for him. Based on the smell alone, he knew you had made his favorite. “A little birdie told me you skipped breakfast this morning,” you sighed.

“Did this birdie happen to be a six foot three tall man with a man bun? What a snitch,” he sighed dramatically.

Tsking, you pushed the bento closer to him. “Don’t be mean. Eat before the food gets cold or else the last hour and a half of me cooking would go to waste.”

Didn’t you just come back from a mission this morning? The thought crossed his mind as he considered how tired you must be but still mustered the energy to cook for him. The delusional side of him imagined if this was what it would be like if you were his pretty little wife.

Grinning, he takes a bite of the food and savors the delicious flavor that hits his taste buds. “Thank you, sweets.”

…and leaving little cute messages in his notebooks to read during class.

Hearing his sensei drone on about something related to cursed energy, Satoru leaned back in his chair with his head tilted back in a silent groan. He swore this boring class had a higher chance of killing him than dealing with a special grade curse. Feeling someone kick his shoe from under his desk, Satoru looked over next to him to see Suguru giving him a disapproving look, gesturing with a nod to the sensei to pay attention. Satoru merely stuck his tongue out at him causing his best friend to roll his eyes. To be fair, he was equally as bored but someone had to pay attention to take notes, right?

Leaning on his hand, he aimlessly flicked through the pages of his notebook, the pages mostly bare since he rarely took notes. Satoru’s interest quirked when his eyes landed on an adorable doodle of a kitty cat wearing black round glasses much like the ones he wore. Beside it was a little speech bubble written in your handwriting that said, “You got this, Toru! I’ll always be here to support you ^o^.”

Chuckling, Satoru turned his head to find you sitting a few desks away from him. Unlike him, you were completely engrossed in the lesson and taking notes like the good student you were. You had your hair tucked behind your ear as you gnawed on your lower lip in concentration. All Satoru could think was… ‘pretty.’

Feeling eyes on the back of your head, you scanned your surroundings before making direct eye contact with Satoru. Despite being caught red handed staring at you, Satoru shot you a flirty wink, snickering at the way you gaped at him in shock. He made a gesture of him pretending to be on the verge of falling asleep, feeling his heart palpitate at the way you couldn’t help but giggle at him.

The next class, he found another doodle in his notebook of that same little Gojo kitty along with the words, “All eyes up front instead of me, Mr. Gojo >.<.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could he have been so blind?

Or, maybe, he did see all of the signs. Perhaps he chose to actively ignore them because he knew getting involved with you would only put you in danger. He was okay with admiring you from a distance if it meant keeping you safe.

But if he knew things would end up this way, he wished he spent all this time telling you he loved you instead.

“Do you have any last words?” Satoru offered, feeling his heart aching at what was next to come.

Looking to the sky in resignation, a peaceful look graced Suguru’s face. “I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“But she made it worthwhile,” he continued, his voice lowering in remorse as he studied your tranquil face, ingraining every little detail that he loved about you in his mind. “I don’t regret taking her with me. My only regret is not being able to give her the life she deserved.”

Suguru cradled your face in his hand and leaned down to kiss your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering on your skin for the last time. He didn’t react when he heard heavy footsteps draw near.

Satoru brought himself closer to the two people he cherished most in his life. Crouching down so that he was eye level, he reached out to brush the hair away from your lids, wishing so desperately for you to open them so that he could look into those eyes that he first fell in love with. Just as Suguru did, he pressed his lips to your temple, feeling a tear slip from his eye.

Goodbye, my sweet girl. To the only girl I will ever love.

🏷️: @urcutetozier @sad-darksoul @alisoncdariel @paprikaquinn @jjk174 divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

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lansplaining · 1 year ago

Note

It would be so funny for the MDZS characters to participate in the AITA posts.

AITA for going on my honeymoon instead of spending time with my brother

After 16 years, the love of my life unexpectedly returned from a situation it is perhaps too complicated to explain. More than that, it transpired that despite my belief to the contrary, he in fact returned my romantic and powerfully sexual feelings for him. He confessed this, and shortly thereafter we found ourselves free for the first time in several weeks to act upon our desires rather than pursuing various work-related crises. We also had technically been married in his foster family's shrine the day before. We decided to leave for a journey together (with his donkey), whereupon we consummated (repeatedly) our marriage.

My only potential reservation is that during the series of events that led to his confession, my brother accidentally murdered his long time life partner. It was a very complicated situation, but it was plain my brother was quite distressed. However, my family maintains a strict set of traditions when it comes to mourning the loss of our life partners, and given no one adheres to our sect's standards more rigorously than my brother, it seemed clear to me that he would be retreating into seclusion to ruminate endlessly on his grief and guilt in complete isolation as our ancestors before us have always done, and as I myself once did. I cannot see why this should have factored into my own choices. However, my husband thought it would be funny if I inquired, and this was the only potential circumstance that came to mind.

#DISCLAIMER I LOVE WANGJI #HE IS MY FAVORITE BELOVED SON #ask answered

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ladywhistlewrites · 5 months ago

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If I may, could I possibly request Benedict Bridgerton x reader who needed to get away from everything ( don’t exactly know what my apologies ) as it was overwhelming and ran into the forest whilst they was a storm and ended up slipping down becoming injured and unconscious? ( goes from that to him going out looking for reader )

hiii (omg my first ask) ofc!!

I did my best hope you like it🩷

Benedict brigerton x gn reader

The weight of the world bore heavily upon your shoulders, and the oppressive atmosphere of the ball only served to suffocate you further. The grandeur of the Bridgerton estate, with its lavish decorations and spirited laughter, felt like a cage closing in around you. Air, you needed air, space, and solitude—a moment to breathe away from prying eyes and the incessant demands of high society.

Without a word to anyone, you slipped out of the ballroom, heart pounding in your chest as you made your way through the gardens. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, a welcome relief from the stifling heat inside. You walked faster, pace quickening with each step, until you broke into a run. The storm brewing on the horizon mirrored the turmoil within you and you welcomed it, hoping the rain would wash away your troubles.

The first droplets began to fall just as you reached the edge of the forest. The tall, dark trees beckoned you with their promise of seclusion, and you didn't hesitate, plunging into the dense undergrowth. The storm intensified, lightning illuminating the path ahead in brief, blinding flashes, followed by the deafening roar of thunder. You pressed on, deeper into the forest, driven by a desperate need to escape.

Your foot caught on a hidden root, and you tumbled down a steep incline, the world spinning around you.

You landed hard, pain shooting through your leg as you tried to stand. Your vision blurred, the rain now a torrential downpour, soaking you to the bone.

You tried to call out, but your voice was swallowed by the storm. Darkness closed in, and you succumbed to unconsciousness, lying helpless in the mud.

Back at the Bridgerton estate, Benedict couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. He had noticed you slipping away earlier, your eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at his heart. When you didn't return, he grew increasingly worried. Ignoring the curious glances from the guests, he ventured outside, his coat pulled tight against the storm.

The garden was deserted, and he followed your path through the wet grass, his eyes scanning the forest ahead. He plunged into the trees, calling her name, his voice lost in the howling wind. Fear gripped him as he imagined you alone and frightened in the storm. He pushed on, his heart pounding with determination, until he finally spotted your prone form at the bottom of the incline.

He called out your name, his voice filled with relief and urgency. He scrambled down to your side, his hands trembling as he checked for signs of life. You were breathing, but unconscious, your face pale and clothes soaked through. He gently lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The journey back to the estate was treacherous, the rain turning the ground to mud, but he moved with a singular focus, driven by the need to get you to safety.

Once inside, the Bridgerton household sprang into action. Benedict carried you up to a guest room, barking orders for hot water, blankets, and the family physician. He stayed by your side, holding your hand, his eyes never leaving your face. The physician arrived quickly, tending to her injuries with practiced efficiency. A sprained ankle and exhaustion, he said, but nothing more serious. You would recover with rest and care.

Benedict breathed a sigh of relief, his heart finally calming. He remained at your bedside, his fingers intertwined with hers, offering silent comfort. As the storm raged outside, the room was filled with a sense of peace. You stirred, your eyes fluttering open to meet his concerned gaze. A weak smile played on your lips, and you squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence.

"You're safe now," he whispered, brushing a strand of wet hair from your forehead. "I'm here."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the Bridgerton home and the steadfast presence of Benedict, you knew you were not alone. The storm had passed, both outside and within, and you felt a glimmer of hope for the days to come.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton fandom #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #benedict brigerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton smut

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howtofightwrite · 1 year ago

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I'm writing a scene where a cultivater (chinese martial artists who fights ghosts) falls in a forest and I'm trying to figure out how someone who fights on rough terrain would train to fall. I tried looking at martial art/parkour/stunt man tutorials, but I feel like a lot of the basic techniques (rolling, and slapping the ground to distribute weight) wouldn't work well on uneven ground. I also tried looking at hiking advice but they just say to fall on your pack. Any insight?

Chinese cultivators don’t fall, they choose to reacquaint themselves with the ground.

That sounds like a joke, but the best way to understand Chinese cultivators and Chinese fantasy media is to realize that martial arts are the gateway drug to magic. And that will get you into a lot of trouble if you follow that all the way into Martial Arts Give You Superpowers, which is both the outgrowth of the western understanding of Chinese culture and a trope rife with orientalism. Cultivation seems simple on the surface when you’re watching Chinese media, but it’s more than martial arts, it’s more than religion, it’s more than mythology, (though it is all of those too) it’s a genuine transition into metaphysics that reorients how we understand and interact with the world around us. The concepts we see in cultivation come from real martial arts philosophy that you find in Tai Chi, Shaolin, and most other Chinese martial arts. They come from real religions including Daoism, Buddhism, a healthy dose of Confucianism, general mythology and mysticism from a wide range of subcultures, and, to an extent, Animism. If you aren’t doing your reading with the Eight Immortals, Journey to the West, The Legend of the White Snake, and others then you should dig in. I also really suggest watching the live action C-Dramas whether they’re true Wuxia or more Xianxia idol dramas (and in this case the idol dramas are better because the action is slower) so you can acquaint yourself with the stylized martial arts portrayals, a wide variety of choreography, character archetypes essential to motif based storytelling, and the most important aspect of all—wire work.

Understanding and conceptualizing stunt action done on wires is essential when you’re trying to visualize and create action scenes in any East Asian genre. Your first instinct might be to dismiss the stylized movement as unrealistic (it is) but remember that it’s also genre essential. Hong Kong action cinema has a very specific feel to it that’s very different from the way Western cinema structures and films their fight scenes. Even when you’re writing, you’ll want to find ways to imitate it through your visual imagery on the page.

Probably the best way to contextualize cultivators is that they’re wizards who do martial arts. They’ve learned to transcend the limitations in our understanding of reality through knowledge and study to perform superhuman feats. How superhuman? Well, it gets wild. They can be anywhere from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon/Who Rules the World fly through the trees levels to Shang Tsung’s “I’m going to slam my hell reality into your normal reality because commuting to work is too much of an inconvenience.”

Which is to say, they don’t always fight ghosts. Sometimes they fight other martial artists, sometimes they fight other cultivators, sometimes they fight demons, sometimes they fight gods, and sometimes they fight incredibly overpowered monkeys. They’re often monks living in seclusion on a mountaintop, but not always. Cultivation is more of a state of mind. Anyone can do it if they learn how to absorb spiritual energy from the world around them through meditation and breathing exercises. Gods cultivate. Humans cultivate. Animals cultivate. Remember, the demons and the ghosts cultivate too. Sometimes, your master gets reincarnated as a demon. Sometimes, you do. The amount of wacky spellcasting you can do is dependent on how much energy you’ve cultivated, which is dependent on how old you are and how good at cultivation you are. Using the power means you need to cultivate more energy, the greater the spell or difficult the battle then the more energy is lost.

This is important to the question of: how does a cultivator fall?

Metaphorically? Existentially? Physically?

When we’re talking physically, wire work becomes very important. Think of your cultivator as being on wires. If they have the knowledge and understanding to do it, they can slow their own fall through the air to land harmlessly on the ground or twist over like a cat and launch themselves back off the ground to fly at their opponent in a counter attack. If they have the knowledge and understanding, they can teleport. If they lack the knowledge and understanding or want to trick their opponent, they can hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. If they’re relying on basics, they can also smack the ground to counter and spread out the impact then use the momentum from that fall to roll back onto their feet. They’ll do it no matter what terrain they’re on because it’s a basic technique that’s trained into their foundation to the point it’s a reflexive action. Any force distributed away from, and reducing impact on, important body parts like your spine is better than nothing. It’s better to sacrifice your arm than be paralyzed. At its heart, that’s the point of the technique. If you’re able to walk away with a functioning spine, it’s done its job. Your shoulder hurts? That’s normal. Your arm is sprained or broken? Sucks, but that’s better than the alternative that is paralysis and death. For reference, learning to fall was the first lesson my Wushu instructor ever taught me. It is that basic.

A lot of the time when portraying cultivators in media, the goal is to show them as being beyond the limitations of standard martial artists. How vast the gap is between the cultivator and the average human is dependent on both the setting and the cultivator. So, the average martial artist who possesses superhuman talents but hasn’t dedicated themselves to a life of cultivation and cultivators who are new to the path are going to be on the rung below and more likely to be knocked on their ass. Cultivators in the mid-range are more likely to have crafted or trained in solutions to being knocked on their ass which put them in a less vulnerable position while recovering and empowered/enhanced their martial arts. Cultivators in the top tier are usually straight up masters at spellcasting, if they deign to fight at all. Gravity need not apply. Rember, the time it takes you to hit the ground and roll to your feet is time your opponent has to launch a counter attack or move to a better position. Also, it means you’ve taken your eyes off your opponent. This is bad enough against a normal human opponent. Against another mostly immortal or ancient magic user this risks a terrible outcome.

Cunning and strategy are both as important as skill. Wisdom, knowledge, and hard work outweigh talent and raw potential. You’ll have to decide how esoteric you want to be and what limits you want to set. I really urge you to do this because the danger of power creep is real and especially prominent here. A character’s growth in power is often linked to their growth in character or their arc, as they gain a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them their skill increases. The self-discovery/self-reflection/self-interrogation/intense suffering to reach enlightenment portion is just as important and intrinsic to the martial arts portion of Martial Arts Give You Superpowers. It’s easy to focus on the Superpowers or the Martial Arts parts of the equation and miss the genre necessity of character growth. This growth often happens through heaps of steadily increasing trauma. Or, failing to undergo that by being too powerful and thus unable to progress is the joke like it is in Qi Refining for 3000 Years. (Go to hell, Bai Qiuran, you hilariously overpowered monstrosity.)

The irony is that the trajectory in character growth is the same trajectory the average student experiences when practicing martial arts. The only difference is that the power arc is inflated. This includes overcoming ingrained truths that you believe about yourself, about your own abilities, what you believe yourself to be capable of (both good and bad,) about your biases toward yourself and other people, your biases about reality in general, your understanding of good and evil, the potential upending of right and wrong, and facing the greater complexity found in the world at large. The stripping away of these illusions, coming to terms with uncomfortable realizations in a more complicated world, and the gaining of new understanding and confidence are vital to that growth.

Skill isn’t just represented in the power creep, it’s also found in a character’s sophistication and complexity in their approach to combat and life in general. Their awareness both of themselves and of other people, their ability to read intentions, their predictive abilities, their complexity in initiating their own strategy and tactics while also recognizing and countering the plans of others. It’s their insight into human nature and their cunning. It’s not enough to be powerful. The world is full of powerful people and not so powerful people who have the capacity to be just as dangerous. This isn’t Goku and Freeza slamming into each other while the planet explodes in nine minutes. You also need to be smart. It’s also not about being a better person. It’s about being a self-aware person. A person who is self-actualized. Monkey’s growth is in his awareness of the world around him through his experiences and in approaching problems differently rather than becoming less of a little shit. If you grow up in the West, one of the issues you’re going to face is thinking of these hurdles as materialistic rather than emotional or intellectual.

A lot of Western media misinterprets the concepts of “giving up” as physical sacrifice. One of the popular examples is physically sacrificing the person we love. In order to have enlightenment, we must be separated from them. We can’t physically be with them anymore. Whereas under a Buddhist structure, what we are actually sacrificing is our own ignorance, our own preconceptions, and beliefs that keep the world comfortable. Under this structure, we’re sacrificing our preconceived notions of who our loved one is. The person that we invented when we first met and we must force ourselves to come to terms with who they really are. The outcome of this isn’t necessarily going to be bad, but it’s still painful. The person we think we love could be perfectly wonderful. However, they’re not who we imagined. If we choose to hold onto the illusion we created, to ignore the realization that the illusion is the person that we love, we’ll only end up causing ourselves and our loved one more pain. We must fall in love with them all over again. Coming to terms with that is painful. All pain comes from ignorance. In sacrificing, letting go of, or overcoming our ignorance, we grow.

These are the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual challenges necessary for a cultivator because they allow the cultivator to level up. Yes, level up. Whether this is coming from the influx of gaming culture into media at large or because the concept synergizes with the Buddhist goal of progressing through the Six Realms toward nirvana, leveling up is how a cultivator’s increasing power is often depicted. Of course, once we reach the next level we can’t go back except by falling or failing and are no longer the person we once were. This then gets mixed in with Daoist principles of finding divine understanding by living in harmony with the universe. The more understanding we gain of the world, the more energy we can absorb as a result, but our original goals may be lost or changed in the process. If a character begins their journey on the path of revenge, their newfound contextualization of the situation that caused them immense pain may force them to give that revenge up or find they don’t want revenge anymore.

Failure is also an option and often a common part of the story. These stories usually follow characters through multiple lives and rebirths over hundreds and even thousands of years, especially if they’re also gods. This is the existential fall. The fall to the Dark Side. All our heroes are going to go through it at least once. This is also why a lot of Chinese media ends in tragedy with hope for the next round.

-Michi

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #michi answers #how to fight write #martial arts

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howdaretrashships · 6 months ago

Text

Feihua Most Unhinged Moment Tournament: Masterpost

Listen, we all know they're insane. They're rivals, they're married, they're bitter exes, they are crazily fond of each other. They're Schrodinger's Divorce and they're each other's Arch-Nemesis.

But the time has come to decide which moment is the Most Unhinged. Links to the brackets under the read more.

A couple of notes:

Each round will last one week. The new round will be posted the day after the last one finishes, and each round can be found on this masterpost.

Once each bracket has a winner, the winners of Brackets 1 and 2 will go head-to-head, Brackets 3 and 4 will go head-to-head, Brackets 5 and 6, etc.

To make it as fair as possible, I put these in a randomizer so I cannot be blamed for which moments are going head-to-head. if you want a particular moment to win you gotta vote, and reblog, and get other people to vote. (And if they haven't watched it yet, you should convince them to!)

Round 1 - complete

"You're still so clingy." vs. LLH rewarding favors for information

Ep 39 Battle Husbands vs. DFS teasing LLH for losing fight

"Tacit Understanding" at Cailian Manor vs. DFS mad about LLH curing his ex-girlfriend

"Li Lianhua's life is mine." vs. DFS holding onto the broken hilt of Shaoshi

"I've been wanting to have a duel with you again." vs. DFS writing If Found Return to LLH on his hand

DFS standing guard as LLH digs up coffin vs. "No one can replace you in our promise."

"It's interesting to see you pining over a woman." vs. Flirting in front of JLQ

DFS's attempts at curing Bicha in ep 13 vs. DFS homoerotically grief-pining when he comes out of seclusion

"Why didn't he come find me?" vs. Their reactions to hearing the other has been imprisoned

The Breakup/Hate-Fuck Fight vs. DFS delivering the Styx Flower

DFS's concern when LLH falls in the lotus pond vs. The semi-secret, late night talk in Cailian Manor

"You have my internal power in your body." vs. LLH recognizing DFS on sight and being very fond

"I don't want LXY to die here." vs. Teaching each other their neili

The missing hours of ep 38 vs. "I won't let anything happen to him."

Secretly negotiating a truce vs. DFS response to finding out about Bicha

Toasting the moon on their 10th anniversary vs. Li Xiangyi's Last Regards

Round 2 - complete

"You're still so clingy." vs. Ep 39 Battle Husbands

DFS mad about LLH curing his ex-girlfriend vs. DFS holding onto the broken hilt of Shaoshi

DFS writing If Found Return to LLH on his hand vs. "No one can replace you in our promise."

Flirting in front of JLQ vs. DFS’s attempts at curing Bicha in ep 13

Their reactions to hearing the other has been imprisoned vs. The Breakup/Hate-Fuck Fight

The semi-secret, late night talk in Cailian Manor vs. "You have my internal power in your body."

Teaching each other their neili vs. The missing hours of ep 38

DFS response to finding out about Bicha vs. Toasting the moon on their 10th anniversary

Round 3 - complete

"You're still so clingy." vs. DFS holding onto the broken hilt of Shaoshi

DFS writing If Found Return to LLH on his hand vs. Flirting in front of JLQ

The Breakup/Hate-Fuck Fight vs. "You have my internal power in your body."

The missing hours of ep 38 vs. Toasting the moon on their 10th anniversary

Round 4 (the Semi Final) - complete

On this, the first day of Pride Month. Which personally seems very fitting. Happy Pride!

Also now with propaganda! We're getting close to the end of this tournament which means the decisions are getting harder. Hopefully the propaganda can help you choose.

"You're still so clingy." vs. DFS writing If Found Return to LLH on his hand

"You have my internal power in your body." vs. Toasting the moon on their 10th anniversary

The Final Round!!!

This is it! The final showdown! The journey has been interesting as some moments I had thought would make it further were eliminated early on, and a few I thought wouldn't make it very far almost made it to the final.

Propaganda from last round is the same (and their 2nd person POVs match! I didn't see that coming.) and the runners-up are posted to AO3 here.

One final week! Remember this is the Most Unhinged Tournament - choose accordingly!! Vote here!

We have our winner!!!

The most unhinged moment, according to our tournament, goes to:

DFS writing 'If Found Return to LLH' on his hand

Thanks for voting!!

And the propaganda is now all posted to AO3 so go check it out.

#mysterious lotus casebook #di feisheng #li lianhua #feihua #dihua #most unhinged tournament #masterpost

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inkofthebrain · 9 months ago

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Of The Trees (1)

[Mizu x masc!foreign!swordswoman!reader]

Tags: first-person, follows canon(ish), classic Edo era xenophobia, slight violence, blood (literally once), mentions of captivity, They/He/She pronouns for Mizu (progresses through story just trust)

Word count: 1,050

AN: I got a few requests that had similar vibes so I just combined them. Felt like doing first-person for funzies? Let’s see how it goes… I was giggiling and kicking my feet thinking about this.

——————

Hidden deep in the trees away from the buzz of civilization there were rumors among the locals of a wakizashi*-weiilding demon. A foreigner living high in the trees, attacking unexpexting travelers. Those brave enough would attempt to kill the horrid thing, yet none ever returned from the depths of trees. Tales of its brutality merged into the existence of life and death.

In that transition I find myself, laying on the thick bark. My journey thus far has been nothing but cruel. Stolen off the streets to be kept as entertainment for a benevolent smuggler known as Fowler. Years spent studying his warriors, earning his trust, sneaking into his office to look at maps. Plotting. Plotting my escape. Years spent traversing the harsh uninhabited nature, far from people. Time spent hunting animals and robbing men who were sent after me for weapons and clothes. I know what the locals think of me, I know they want me dead. A life of seclusion has been the only option.

Sitting close to the trail, waiting for a carriage of supplies to pass hoping to swipe the essentials, my chest slowly rises and falls as I find a moment of relaxation in the harsh Japanese winter. The snap of a branch pulls me into focus as I sit up, hand on my blade, looking into the path. I see a figure, staring up past the branches and into my eyes. Stabilizing myself on the trunk I stand up, jumping to a neighboring tree. The figures gaze follows, switching to the hand gripping the hilt at my side. Examining every detail, every movement. Suddenly they move their hand to unsheathe their blade and I spring forward, tackling them. Subsequently this knocks off their glasses and wide brimmed hat.

As our bodies hit the frozen ground, my blade pinning them to the slush by their neck, a small gasp leaves my body as our eyes meet. Piercing blue eyes look back at me in an almost unnerving way. Holding no emotion, just waiting. Watching. For the first time they blink. The moment has been interrupted, the stare broken for a brief moment. They don’t move at all, they don’t even try to fight you.

They stare down at the blade pressed against their neck and simply takes a breath. The next couple of seconds are spent in complete silence, just eyes looking into eyes. Fear, anger, confusion. All running through my body, burning with adrenaline. The silence is soon broken by a velvety smooth voice.

“You know how to use that sword” They mutter. This comments pulls me back into reality as I kick their katana out for reach and press my blade slightly harder into their neck, scowling at them.

“Then I assume you have killed before?” They speak again, still looking into my eyes.

“I’ll do it again” I say, my voice hoarse from silence.

“I believe that much” They state.

“Who sent you? The Fangs? Shindo?” I demand, bending down closer to their face, slightly applying more pressure to my blade, a thin trail of blood comes from where blade meets skin. The stranger pauses, still staring intently into my eyes as a quick flash of confusion crosses their face.

“I was sent by no one. I am simply passing through, now may I ask you a question?”

I glare at them in response. Staying silent, I glande down at my blade pondering if I’d be better off just killing them now.

“I asked you a question” The voice comes again, sending shocks down your spine. Its smoothness juxtaposing the harsh air. “You did not answer it, let me ask again: May I ask you something?”

I let out a scoff of annoyance, aggravated by their formality.

“Yes but then you must leave and tell no one of me” I say blandly.

They finally has an expression: a slight almost imperceptible frown. It disappears just as fast and the figure simply shrugs their shoulders and nods at me.

“Very well then. I do not care about anyone else enough to speak of this.” She pauses, her eyes have me transfixed, such a beautiful blue. “May you please pull your blade away, this situation is quite uncomfortable.”

I let out a groan as I come to my feet, keeping my blade pointed at their figure.

“Ask your damn question” I snarl, annoyance lacing every letter.

They finally shows a small bit of emotion, but it is nothing more than a small smirk, voice becoming slightly more sarcastic and teasing.

"Such language.” They sigh, “It does not suit you."

“Leave now or I will kill you” I say, tightening my grip on my blade. This time her smirk completely fades into cold apathy and her voice becomes cold and emotionless again.

“You would have done so already, I’ve heard about you. The devil in the trees. Lurking, seeking its revenge on those who brought it to Japan.” She says slowly, inspecting my reaction. My face is still, yet internally my mind is on fire. Questioning how this stranger knew this, how they found me,

“What do you want” I say.

They let out a small hum before speaking, “Information. That of which I know you have” They start.

“Why should I help you?” I question angrily.

“Madam Kaji told me of you, of Fowler. I must find him.” They state. My lips pull into a line at the mention of the brothel owner. We talked countless times while she serviced Fowler, showing me great compassion as I told her of my life under his control. She had helped me plan my escape, providing a safe landing place as long as I was never seen my customers. My eyes leave their gaze as I glance at the ground, taking a breath.

“Why are you looking for Fowler” I ask, shocked at her statement.

“I’m going to kill him.” They say in an emotionless tone, the voice of one that has killed before. My arm falls to my side, lowering my blade. I meet their blue eyes once more.

“Fine.” I pause. A look of approval flashes across their face. “On my terms only.” I say

“And what are those?” The stranger asks, slightly cocking their head to the side.

“I get to help”

——

| Wakizashi (a short sword)

——————

AN: IM SORRYYY, I’m splitting it up into two (maybe more, might make it a series…) parts! Hope you guys enjoyed. Smooches and love.

#bes mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes fanfic #bes x reader #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #mizu my love #mizu fanfic

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googleitlol · 5 months ago

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HOO boy, this is a fun one. This part of the journey is one I've had knocking around my head since the beginning, mostly cuz I came up with it the same time I created Dove's backstory!

Dove Masterlist:

Monkshood

Laughter masks the crackling of the campfire you circle with your friends, the look of confused horror on Tripitaka’s face sending his disciples into three cackling messes, even you can’t help but chuckle at his expression. After hiking through the wilderness all day, your friends had set up in a moderately open space in the wooded terrain you’ve been travelling through.

This will be the last night you have to camp before arriving in the next major occupied space. Another kingdom awaits your group, but first you settle for the night in the seclusion of trees to rest. Cooking the rice a family had given you from a few days ago over the fire, and after some foraging, you all had taken seats around the fire to eat and talk.

Tripitaka sits against Ao Lie, who lies just behind him. “We have been on the road together for so long, and only now am I learning that all of my disciples have eaten human flesh?!”

“Many demons eat people, I find it more rare to meet one who doesn’t.” You shrug from your spot by the fire across from the monk. It does not surprise you as much to learn this, especially since the only vegetarian demons you know of are all in your company at the moment.

Pigsy lets out a sigh. “We are all strictly vegetarian now, even if I do miss the tender flavour of meat every now and again.” He looks into the fire, his eyes almost yearning until you whack his arm. “Hey!”

You offer an unapologetic smirk to the pig demon next to you, Wukong snickers on your left. “Maybe you shouldn’t work yourself up thinking about it, Pigsy.”

“But it’s difficult!” He complains, the look on his face wistful. “I can still remember the taste. I’ve only been a buddhist monk for a few years now, I’m not like you. How many years has it been since you have tasted meat?”

The question gives you a moment of pause. How long has it been now? “I honestly can’t remember if I’ve ever had it. I would have had to have been a child, then.”

A thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but giggle. “I do remember a very close friend of mine, a boy named Da Jie. I had never met anyone who was so obsessed with food. He honestly could have eaten more than you, Bajie.” You shake your head, it isn’t often you think about those days.

“I highly doubt that.” Bajie snorts, crossing his arms with a prideful grin.

Sandy shoots you with an inquiring look. “Did this boy live in that village you mentioned by Potalaka Mountain?”

You freeze for a second, caught off guard by the question. “No, I knew Jie before I was a disciple of Guan Yin.”

“Before?” Wukong leans over, an inquisitive expression overtaking his features.

The campfire really is warm, isn’t it? You feel yourself sitting a bit straighter before answering. “…Yes, before. I had a life before I joined my master in her home.”

“I had just assumed you lived in that village by Guan Yin’s Mountain before joining her.” Wujing hums to himself a bit. “Where were you from before?”

The heat of the fire is certainly doing its job. “It, uh, it was a small village, not near any commonly-travelled roads. I don’t remember much, but there was a pond Da Jie and I would play by. On the way there he would chat my ear off, prattling about all the different plants we passed on the way and when we got there.” You smile as you recall those nights, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “His father studied herbs for medicinal purposes, and Jie always had to repeat everything he learned. Sometimes if he found a flower he liked, he would ask his father what it was so he could tell me about its properties.”

“Flowers?” Pigsy grins, nudging you with his arm. “Sounds like more than just a friend.” He laughs, and Wukong reaches over you to swat him away.

He gives his brother a look laced with annoyance. “Stop that, they were only children children at the time–”

“I mean…” You trail off, glancing up at your friend to see his eyes practically bulging out of his head. All of them, in fact, shared the same look of disbelief. Even Ao Lie, who has been quietly picking at the grass beneath him, was almost staring into your soul.

All you can offer them is a shy smile. “You are right, Wukong, we were just kids…” The corner of your lips twitch, and you clear your throat. “…he may have liked me, and maybe I liked him, too. But it isn’t as though it matters anymore, they were just childish feelings. Even if he was still here, I am a buddhist monk, like the rest of you.”

“If it weren’t for you lot chastising me for it, I would have returned to my wife a long time ago.” Pigsy lets out a bark of laughter. “Wouldn’t you, as well?”

You take a moment before saying anything, playfully rolling your eyes and standing up. “I am going to find some more firewood, excuse me.”

Not waiting for a response, you turn to the woods to start gathering more wood. You aren’t entirely sure you will need more kindle for your flame, but it was getting much too hot in that seat. Any excuse for a walk in the cool night air is a welcome one.

Each of you have told numerous stories about each of your respective homes, you all enjoyed hearing about your friend’s life before meeting one another. Though, you guess all you’ve ever told them about was your life on Potalaka Mountain, so it makes sense they all seemed to be surprised you had another home. Still, you rarely ever think about back then, there isn’t much purpose in thinking about it.

Before you get too far, you hear the tang monk calling your name. Confused, you turn back to see Tripitaka hurriedly following after you. “Tripitaka?”

You pause long enough for the monk to catch up, the man glancing about at the shadows of the night. “It really is dark, I almost thought I wouldn’t catch up to you.” He laughs nervously, watching for movement from the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing out here?” You ask, and he turns back to face you.

“I thought I could help you.” He smiles, and you mirror the expression, albeit with a hint of confusion.

You turn to continue walking, the monk following behind. “Shouldn’t you have sent one of your disciples?”

“Perhaps, but I wanted to do it.” He responds. “Besides, I thought we could talk, too.”

“It sounds like you ‘thought’ of a lot of things.” You chuckle over his repeated use of the word.

The man shares your exhales quietly. “Yes, well I do tend to think a lot.” You glance back at him with a smile as he continues. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, slowing your pace when you find wood for the fire.

Tripitaka crouches down with you to start collecting the materials. “I may not be the most… perceptive of our friends,” you look back at him with a sarcastic smile. At least he can be self aware, “but you appear to be tense.”

You frown at his words, surprised. Are you tense? You do feel somewhat taut, but that might just be because he brought it up. “I think that was the first time you’ve ever mentioned your old home.” You stand as he continues. “I hope none of my disciples were prying too much.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, your voice light as you continue your walk. “It’s all in the past now.” Looking back, you see your friend following closely behind you.

His brows furrow while he readjusts his hold on his firewood. “If that is true, may I ask what happened?”

You stop, eyes focused on the forest before you. “What do you mean?”

You hear him let out an awkward laugh. “I know I complain about the troubles we face out on the road, and even though this pilgrimage is the most difficult thing I have ever done, I also dealt with my own grievances back home. It feels as though, maybe, you understand that feeling as well.”

It takes you a moment to respond, your gaze trailing to the forest floor as you take a long breath. “Perhaps, but I have dealt with it, so there is no need to worry. It–” Your eyes shut tight as you feel your voice almost crack, and you shake your head. “It was all a many years ago, hundreds really. Before you were even born.” You look back to offer him a smile, but the expression is not returned.

“But it wasn’t hundreds of years for you.” His words make you freeze, but you quickly shake it off. Even if he is right, it’s been well over a decade. You hardly even remember it. “I understand that you prefer to avoid these more sensitive topics, but if you ever feel like it would help to share, I am here. I’ve often found that when you ignore the past, it can still find ways to haunt you.”

“I am not haunted by my past.” You turn back to face the monk, surprising him slightly with your tone. Hearing the harshness in your voice, you quickly step back to take a breath. “I don’t think about that time too often, there’s no point in letting myself get caught up in feelings over something that was so long ago.”

He frowns, the look he gives you worried. “That does not sound like ‘dealing’ with it.”

“Well, it is.” You strain your smile a bit before turning. “The past is in the past, Tripitaka. Now, why don’t we collect some more firewood? Come on, there’s more over there.” Without giving him the chance to argue, you walk ahead to continue with your harvest, the monk eventually following to do the same.

A silence stretches over the two of you while you gather more fuel for the fire, and you find yourself glancing over to your friend every now and then. You appreciate his concern, it really is touching to know how much he cares. But you feel it isn’t needed. If anything, hearing the man voice his concerns only served to cause more stress.

Sure, there may be moments where you feel some grief. The nightmares still prod at your mind some nights, but the same would happen to anyone if they were in your position.

The less you dwell on it, the better. After all, it’s like you said. The past is in the past.

~~~~

The sun rises early the next morning, the summer heat quickly warming the surrounding land as you continue your journey. By midday, you and your friends arrive in the next kingdom on your route to the Buddha’s monastery.

It takes some time to navigate the roads within the walls of the kingdom before arriving in the palace. Before passing the gates of the palace, you perch on Tripitaka’s shoulder in your avian form. At this point, it’s become second nature to you whenever you enter a kingdom.

The process of recertifying Tripitaka’s travel documents tends to be easier when people believe there is only one human in his group of demonic disciples. It also doesn’t help that you do not possess any papers of your own, so putting on the guise of a dove was a much simpler solution.

After requesting an audience, Tripitaka is led into the palace walls with the rest of your friends. Your group is led through the halls of the finely decorated home of the king, and you find yourself watching servants and officials pass you from your position on the monk’s shoulder.

Pigsy huffs as they walk down a corridor. “Does anyone else smell that potent odour?” He asks, scrunching his face with a grimace. “It’s disgusting.”

Monkey scoffs at the question. “And here I thought that repulsive odour was coming from you.”

“Hey!” The younger brother whines, which only makes the simian snicker.

Despite their complaining, the smell doesn't bother you– likely due to their senses being so much more heightened as demons. Even without their level of smell, though, you catch sight of what may be the source.

The potential answer comes in the form of a man hurriedly walking past, cradling a bundle of purple flowers in a cloth. Their petals are lobed, almost hooded in shape. You almost want to frown, recognising the plant. Is that… monkshood?

What a bizarre flower to be carrying, and without any gloves? Sure, he has a cloth, but still. He seems to be in a rush… where might he be delivering those flowers?

Maybe it’s simple curiosity that pokes at you, but nonetheless you feel the need to satisfy your question. Taking off from Tripitaka’s shoulder, you follow the man with the flowers in hand. You make sure to stay close to the ceiling, hiding up high as you shadow the man.

He rushes through the halls, stopping only for a moment to hum to himself, then take another turn into a new corridor. You follow until he leads you to an open space within the palace, a fragrant aroma overtaking the scent of the monkshood he carries. Several species of flora greet you as the man walks down a stone path leading further into what appears to be a garden.

It is quite a large space, housing some plants you recognise along with some foreign ones you do not. They all share vibrant colours, some soaking in the warmth of the sun while others rest in the shade of tall trees. On the far side of the garden, a small pond is accompanied by a crimson-painted wooden bridge connecting the stone path from one end of the water to the other.

A man stands alone on the bridge, watching over the water. His robes are a deep blue, embroidered in white intricate patterns. His hair falls down his back, save for what is held in place by what looks to be a crown with a pin. Once the man with the flowers sees him, he rushes to meet him on the bridge.

“Ah, I thought you might be here.” The man bows in greeting while you perch on a tree just behind the pond, hidden within the leaves and branches. “For you, my Prince.” Prince, huh?

You see the royal look down at the flowers, his silence not offering much of a response. With the two men’s backs facing you, it’s difficult to gather much of a reaction until he speaks. “…Is this meant to be a joke?”

The deliverer sounds startled. “I am sorry?”

“Whose idea was this?” The prince throws the flowers to the ground, his voice low.

The man steps back at the gesture, holding his hands up in defence when the prince stands over him. “I-I am not sure, I was not given a name.”

The Prince lets out an angered huff, turning back to face the water. “…You may leave, get out of my sight.” You blink, a little put off by his dismissal of the one you followed here. The man seems more-so relieved at the words, quickly scurrying away once given permission.

What a rude way to react to flowers, even something like monkshood. It is strange, though, who would gift such a plant to a prince?

“What are we watching?” You jump at the voice next to you, letting out a squeak before looking up to find a familiar monkey demon watching the prince.

Calming your racing heart, you return to your human form to give the simian an annoyed look. “Wukong, what are you doing here?”

“I noticed you fly off and got curious.” He shrugs, his voice hushed as he glances back at you with a grin. He's clearly amused by your reaction. “Why are you following some flowers?”

You reply with a whisper, turning your attention back to the man on the bridge. “It’s monkshood. The entire plant is toxic, even touching it with your bare hands is enough to absorb the poisons through the skin.” You frown as you explain as the man leans against the railing of the bridge. What is he doing, sulking?

Why, it can’t be over the flowers, could it? He looked the same before the man upset him with the gift. “Sounds to me like a threat.” Wukong hums, and you feel your frown deepen.

There’s something else about him, but you aren’t sure what it is. This off feeling, one you can’t place. Something you can see, but just can’t reach.

You look back to respond to Wukong before something catches your eye. Farther back, past your tree, you notice movement in the shrubbery of the garden. A crouching figure hidden in the garden looks out over a tall bush of flowers, their eyes trained on the man on the bridge.

The bow in their hands makes your eyes widen, an arrow already notched on the string. You turn back to look at the prince, the man none the wiser to his stalker. The figure takes aim.

You immediately leap into action, turning back to your dove form for a split second to reach the prince before turning back. “Get down!” You tackle the man to the ground, shielding him with your body just as the arrow flies past.

Taking your own bow, you nock an arrow and jump to shoot where you last saw the assailant. Another arrow flies by, and you duck down just as it lodges into the railing behind you. They’re covered too well, you can’t take proper aim before they’re able to shoot. You frown for a moment in thought before realising what to do.

Taking dove form, you fly into the air. You soar over the top of the tree you hid in before. The stalker looks out in confusion, seeming to have lost sight of you. You turn back with bow in hand, shooting at the attacker before they can tuck back into their place of hiding. Your arrow catches a pinch of their clothing, making them fall back as the arrow pins them by their shoulder to the ground.

Working swiftly, you jump from the tree and run to the attacker with another arrow already notched in your bow. However, when you get to their place of hiding, all that is left behind is their ripped clothing that’s still pinned down by your arrow. You scan the grounds, but whoever had been here, they are nowhere to be found now.

“Guards!” The prince calls from the bridge, and you rush to check on the man. Whether he was hurt or not, he must be shaken.

You run back to the bridge as the prince stands up, using the railing to support himself. He turns to face you as you approach. “Are you alright, sir? Here, let me soothe your–” Before you can finish, your words get caught in your throat.

The prince looks back at you with wide eyes, eyes you could never forget. Your chest tightens, a strange constriction twisting at your heart. The features of his face, though older, are nearly unmistakable. You take a step back, convinced this is some trick of the mind. It can’t be, it’s impossible. The last time you saw those eyes…

“You there!” You both turn to the voice of a guard, several behind him approaching quickly. “Step away from the prince!”

Shoot. The guards run to you, but before they can do anything, you take to your avian form and fly off. What was that? How– that prince, he looked just… just like Da Jie. Maybe you are only seeing things, making connections where there are none.

This is not what was supposed to happen. You didn’t want to get involved in anything, you were only curious! If the others hear you were chased away by palace guards, you will never hear the end of it from Sun Wukong–

Wait, where did Sun Wukong go?! He was in the tree with you, wasn’t he? He didn’t even help! What, did you imagine that, too?!

Nothing is making sense right now. You just need to find the others and get away from here, maybe then you will be able to clear your head. You never should have separated from them in the first place.

It takes some time to reunite with your friends. Navigating the palace from the outside after following the man from inside proves to be a bit of a challenge, but in time you find them at the palace gates. Tripitaka is pacing by Ao Lie while Sandy stands between Pigsy and Wukong.

The Monkey King rolls his eyes at his brother, seemingly in the midst of an argument. “Just keep your mouth shut tomorrow, pig.”

“There she is.” Sandy points up in your direction as you fly down. You turn back as you land, and Tripitaka is the first to approach you.

He takes hold of your shoulders. “Where have you been? We have to find a place to stay for the night.”

Stay? You look back at your friends in confusion. “What, why?”

“Bajie offended the king.” Wukong leans over Tripitaka’s shoulder, much to Pigsy’s irritation.

“He offended me first!” The pig demon argues, gesturing back towards the palace. “He called me ugly.”

“He said he’d never seen a face like yours before.” Sandy reminds him, stepping forward.

Pigsy snorts in annoyance at his younger brother. “That’s another way of calling me ugly, it was all in his tone!”

Tripitaka looks back at his disciples with a sigh before turning back to you. “In all honesty, this king seems to be more, uh… sensitive. I was in the middle of apologising on behalf of Bajie when someone came into the room saying there was something urgent that had to be brought to his attention. They had us leave and said to come back tomorrow.” Oh.

Oh…

Wukong narrows his eyes at you as your face shifts, the circumstances brought to the king clear to you. The monkey demon hums aloud. “You would not happen to know something about this urgent matter, hmm, Dove?”

“…Um…” You glance at the ground, then back to your friends. Tripitaka is slack-jawed, Wujing’s eyes have never been so open in shock. An ever-growing grin stretches across Wukong’s face while Pigsy lets out a bellowing laugh.

“And here I thought Brother Sun and I were the only troublemakers.” He cackles, and you feel your face grow warm at the notion.

Your hands rest at your hips. “I did not cause any trouble! I just… I was curious and– ugh!” Your head droops down, everything is just happening too fast. “I need a second to unravel my thoughts. Can I explain after we’ve found a place to sleep for the night?”

Tripitaka frowns, taking a second of silence before nodding. “Very well, we should go.” At his word, your group leaves the palace grounds in search of a place to stay the night.

While looking, you opt to stay in avian form. It is likely better not to be seen in public while staying here now. You can’t be sure that the prince understood you were there to help, it isn’t as though you stuck around to explain yourself. Running off was probably even more incriminating in those guards' eyes.

You eventually find a post house to stay the night in. Once inside, your friends find the hall your rooms are in and you resume your human form. Wukong is grinning as you turn to face your friends. “I thought you were just following some pretty flowers, how did you manage to cause such a ruckus?”

“I did no such thing.” You send him an icy glare before backtracking. “I mean, I did do something, but I was not the cause!” The Monkey King crosses his arms in amusement, the others sharing a confused look.

With a sigh, you start over. “I was in the palace gardens when I saw someone was in danger. I saved the man being attacked, but his assailant got away.”

Sandy hums at your story. “So, you thwarted an assault?”

“I think so?” Your brows furrow as you replay the encounter with the attacker in your head. “The man called for the guards and I flew away once he was safe with them. I only hope they didn’t assume I was running because I was guilty.”

“If that man you saved knew you were there to help, then he likely would have told them.” Tripitaka does his best to soothe your concerns, and you do your best to believe him.

“Yes… still, it might be better if I stay here when you go back tomorrow. To avoid any more confusion.” You smile sheepishly, embarrassed over getting involved in this mess in the first place. At least you were able to save him, that man…

“You may be right.” The man smiles with a shake of his head. “We should get some rest. I will see you all in the morning.”

With Tripitaka’s dismissal, everyone goes into their rooms. All except Monkey, who insists he needs no sleep. You enter your room, finding a bed against the wall and a closed window opposite of the door. Finally now with a moment to breathe, you lay back on your bed with a deep sigh.

The moment you close your eyes, you see his face. You must have just imagined it, how could he look so similar to Jie? No, it must have been your mind playing tricks on you. Wukong doesn’t seem to have known about your little detour, your head must be elsewhere today. It wasn’t him, how could it be?

Even so… you don’t want to go back. Staying back will be better. Tripitaka can have his papers sorted in the morning, and you can all be out of here before noon. This will all be nothing more than some bizarre daydream.

~~~~

Knock knock.

You turn when you hear a knock at your window, the morning light trickling in while in the midst of brushing your hair. “Monkey?”

“Ready for a rude awakening?” He cocks one brow up from his seat on your window sill, arms crossed and one leg crossed over the other.

The Great Sage always knows the best way to greet a person. “Good morning to you, too.” You offer a smirk as you finish with brushing your hair.

“Two palace officials came into the post house this morning.”

The brush drops from your hand, and before the demon can blink, you’re pulling him into your room by the lapels. “What?!”

Wukong is completely unbothered by your panic, laying limp in your arms with that same smirk. “I noticed them heading towards yours and Master’s room. If they haven’t come to you yet, they’re likely talking to him.”

Your head whips back to the door, and you drop your friend in your rush to get to it. He grunts when he hits the floor, but you pay him no mind. Opening the door as quietly as you can, you peek your head out to see Wukong was telling the truth.

Two men stand at Tripitaka’s door, the monk facing them with a nervous expression. “We were told that you entered this post house with a bird that turned into a woman. Would you be family?” One of them asks, your heart dropping to your stomach.

Tripitaka nods hesitantly. “We are travelling companions… may I ask what business you have with her?” He glances over to your door from the side of his eye, his brows shooting up once he sees you poking your head out.

The other official follows his line of sight, his eyes brightening once he catches sight of you. “Ah, you there.” You glare at the monk, who shoots back an apologetic look. “You must be the archer from the palace gardens yesterday, correct?”

Reluctantly, you step out into the hall as they approach, trying your best not to look nervous. “Uh, yes, I am.” There isn’t much point in running, it’s not as if these two would pose any problems for you if it came down to a fight. These two are innocents, though, and you don’t want to cause any more problems than you already have.

All you have to do is explain yourself. “I hope there was no confusion with what happened yesterday, I was only–”

“You saved our Prince Jian Yu from an assassination attempt.” The first official smiles, making you blink a bit in surprise. So they do know? That’s one good thing, at least.

Tripitaka looks between you and the two men in surprise. “That was the prince?!”

The second official turns back to face Tripitaka with enthusiasm. “Yes! The prince was quite stirred by her courage, nobody has seen him in such high spirits in a long while. We have come on his behalf to request the woman’s hand in marriage.”

The silence that follows his words fills the hall as you and Tripitaka share an expression of utter bafflement.

The monk trips over his words, suddenly forgetting how to speak. “I-I-I am sorry. D-Did I m-mishear you? Did y– Did you say m-marriage?”

“Yes.” The man smiles, too content to notice the horror that invites itself into your stomach, or your other companions exiting their rooms. “The king has already sent for a matchmaker, and would like for the woman to return so that she may be made presentable. After all the arrangements are made and the two are married, your papers will be recertified and you can be on your way with the rest of your journey.”

Tripitaka lets out a nervous chuckle as Monkey comes out of your room. “Ah… but, you see, she is actually meant to be on this journey with us.” He tries to explain, only for the two men to look back at each other with a frown.

“Surely you and your demon disciples will be alright on your own, no?” The first one reasons, gesturing to your friends who seem to be confused over what is being discussed.

Other than Wukong, who you are sure has been eavesdropping through your door this whole time. “I am sure she will enjoy the comforts of the palace in comparison to braving the wilderness every night.” Can they stop talking as though you aren’t standing next to them?!

“She gladly accepts!” Everyone turns as Wukong gives them their answer, pushing you towards them as your jaw goes slack from shock.

Everyone looks to your simian friend, the demon grinning proudly at each bug-eyed face that stares back at him. Never have you ever sent such a sharp glare to a person in your life. “Wukong?”

The damage, however, is already done. “Excellent! If you would join us, miss, we will take you back to the palace with us. You will be shown where you will be staying for the time being once we arrive.” The first official practically radiates with joy, taking your one hand while his partner takes the other.

“Wait, hold on–”

“Prince Jian Yu will be thrilled to hear you have accepted.” The other official hums, seemingly ecstatic at your nonconsensual acceptance to the offer.

You look back at your friends as you're dragged away, Wukong snickering as though this were some amusing joke. You glare with a burning anger you have not felt in ages, the familiar fire of hating that stupid simian rising up through the depths of your soul.

Immortal or not, you will find a way to skin that monkey.

#sun wukong: the loveable asshole #time for some dove lore™#little dove #sun wukong x reader #jttw tripitaka #jttw pigsy #jttw sandy

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marvelmusing · 2 years ago

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A Courtship of Shadows

Pairing: Fae King!Aleksander x Fem!Reader

Summary: After centuries of seclusion, Aleksander is ready to form an alliance with the humans of West Ravka. The human king will be easy enough to manipulate, though his royal advisor appears to be more than Aleksander anticipated.

Word Count: 1.6K

My Masterlist

“She is infuriating.”

Ivan watches his king pace back and forth beside the fireplace in the royal study, firelight dancing over his features as his brows draw together. As the king’s most trusted advisor, Ivan knows to remain quiet as his ruler vents his frustrations. Especially since he knows exactly who has him so riled up.

For centuries, East Ravka has been a safe haven for the Fae-folk, protected by the wall of shadow that shielded them from the rest of the world. Humans from Fjerda, Shu Han, and West Ravka often ventured into the darkness, only to be driven out by the volcra – fierce creatures that would only answer to their master.

Just over a year ago, the Fae king had decided it was time to witness for himself how humanity had changed, parting the Fold and creating a small path for his travelling party to journey into West Ravka safely.

When the volcra and the shadow barrier had been created, Fae were hunted for their gifts, held captive to be tortured, killed, or enslaved. The Fae king had wanted to see if they had changed.

The Fae kingdom was thriving with freedoms never allowed before, but there is always opportunity for improvement. If there is one thing the Fae king cares about above all else, it is the people he has ruled over ever since the creation of the Shadow Fold.

Ivan finds the human king rather unremarkable, and he’s certain his king feels the same. The humans don’t suffer for it, but the man lacks any sort of drive or ambition. After one conversation with him, Ivan had thought his king would abandon his thoughts of an alliance with the humans.

Then he had met you.

A royal advisor that possesses everything the king lacks. Even Ivan will admit that you are intelligent and quick witted, you clearly care for your people, and you had never looked down upon the Fae. Though it is evident you don’t trust them. Fedoyr, ever the optimist, had argued that you didn’t seem to trust anyone.

Ivan knows that his king isn’t above manipulation to get what he wants. From what they have seen of your influence at Court, to have you in his debt would be to own the human king himself. Though it appears you are not as easy to trap as the Fae king had initially hoped.

“She doesn’t accept gifts until she knows they are given freely.”

He runs a hand through his hair before he stops at the small table beside his armchair. There’s the clink of glass as he removes the stopper on the decanter of wine, then the dark liquid flows into a short crystal glass.

“She won’t eat or drink anything I offer.”

The king swallows down a mouthful of liquid, nose wrinkling at the strength. He looks down into the glass, sighing as he sits down.

“Almost every human I’ve ever met responds with thanks after a compliment, but of course she doesn’t.” He scoffs lightly, taking another drink.

For a moment, Ivan thinks he hears amusement in his king’s voice, though he pushes that thought away quickly.

“She never accepts my invitation to dance. Even at a human function, where the music holds no power over her.”

The king runs a hand over his face, smoothing across his neatly trimmed facial hair.

“She never lies to me, though I can hear the way her truths bend into clever little remarks to distract me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly as he stares down at the rug beneath his feet.

“She gives me a new name to call her by every time we meet, with this teasing smile, as if this is all just a game to her.” That prompts Ivan into speaking up,

“You think she suspects something of you?”

“Perhaps,” the king muses distantly.

Then he appears to realise that Ivan is still standing by the desk where they had been discussing plans for a trade route, until the topic of conversation had somehow shifted to the king’s opinion of you. He nods towards his advisor, saying quietly,

“I think that will be all for tonight, Ivan.”

»»---------------------►

Aleksander is so very tired. Being away from the Fae kingdom always drains him but the company, particularly at these balls, has him longing to lie alone in a field until the sky grows dark and the stars reveal themselves.

He stifles a yawn, briefly wondering when the last time was that he had a relaxed morning where he could remain in bed until whenever he wished to rise.

A group of young men and women flock around him, unable to resist the allure of the unknown and fantastical. He captivates them all easily enough, securing an almost unending chorus of ‘thank you, your highness’ in a coy response to his charms.

Humans really should teach their children about the dangers of the Fae. He isn’t intending on invoking any of these young nobles into his service, but he could, with the power they all hand to him unknowingly.

Politely, he excuses himself from them and makes his way around the room, noticing that the Kaelish ambassador had finally found another poor soul to listen to his ramblings, meaning that you are alone.

He appears beside you, stepping closer as he reaches behind you to pick up a goblet of wine. You bow lightly, inclining your head as you greet him. His own words are spoken into the crook of your neck.

“What name have you selected to offer me tonight, my lady?”

Momentarily, your eyes meet.

“You may call me Blossom.”

“Feeling inspired by the turning of the season?”

A small smile flickers at the corner of your lips.

“Spring has always been one of my favourite times of the year.”

As you watch people gathering to the centre of the ballroom, glittering dresses twirling as princesses and noble ladies are swept up by doting suitors, you don’t notice his gaze as he admires you.

“Might I say you look rather lovely this evening.”

“That’s kind of you to say, your highness.”

Whilst your knowledge of Fae-folk might be vexing at times, and detrimental towards his plan for the human throne, Aleksander finds it refreshing. His smirk widens as you turn to meet his gaze, no doubt curious as to why he hasn’t provided a response like usual.

As his lips part to give you a retort, there’s the sound of a small commotion at the side of the ballroom. The two of you watch as people gather around to get a glimpse of whatever has happened.

When Aleksander sees you roll your eyes lightly he frowns, and you duck your head down, tilting it towards his to inform him.

“It appears a lady has swooned rather tactically into Prince Rudolph’s arms.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in distaste. This isn’t the first swoon Aleksander has observed in the human court though he is no more impressed than the first time. The Fae Court, for all its rules and laws, is infamously brutal. A display of weakness, and dishonesty, such as swooning would gain a lady nothing but indifference.

“If someone were to swoon in my court there would be very few that would consider them a suitable partner.”

“That’s my sister.”

Aleksander’s eyes widen as they bounce between you and the woman currently being fanned down by the Prince.

“I meant no offense. I-”

The soft sound of your laughter stops him from fumbling through any more of his apology. As you look over towards your sister, your smile fades.

“Mother will be pleased. At least one of us turned out how she wanted.”

Aleksander has never known you to mention your family before. Of course, he knows of each and every member and their position in the human court. That your father was a viscount before a riding accident left your mother a widow when you and your sister were young. He knows you have a cousin that will inherit your father’s title when he comes of age.

“She thinks I was a changeling child.”

He tilts his head towards you at your admission. The idea of changelings is rather outdated, something humans of the past had used to scaremonger their peers, because the Fae were considered evil creatures that would kidnap society’s most vulnerable and innocent.

“We don’t actually do that.”

The corner of your mouth twists as you remark teasingly,

“What? Steal children?”

He nods with a tiny smile as he observes the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes. Had you hoped to be a changeling? Did you want to be like him? Aleksander has a feeling that you would thrive in the Fae kingdom.

“It’s just a fable,” he says softly.

Looking down, you nod in resignation.

“I thought so.” Then amusement sparkles in your eyes as you look back up at him. “After all, there’s only one person who can cross the Fold safely, and I can’t imagine you smuggling armfuls of babies in your leisure time.”

Aleksander laughs. The sound turns a few heads and you look rather bashful at the realisation that you had made the fearsome Fae king - the infamous Darkling - laugh.

“I actually use a cart pulled by volcra.”

As the jest leaves his lips, you gape at him with amusement and surprised delight dancing in your eyes. Then you bite down on your lip momentarily, before succumbing to your own bout of laughter. Aleksander loves hearing you laugh. When your laughter fades and the two of you go quiet he decides to add,

“Kaminsky’s parents were human.” When you frown he elaborates, “My second in command, his parents were both mortal humans. His brothers were human too.”

He can see you holding your breath as you look at him, eyes wide with longing and hope and fear. Your voice wavers as you whisper,

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“That you do not have to be born of the Fae to be one of us.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

»»---------------------►

#aleksander morozova #fae!aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #fae au

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merbear25 · 25 days ago

Note

My girrrrl, I love you and your events, so here I am!

I will betray my men (shhhh) and I will request: 5. farm house + 🧛‍♂️ vampire au + Mihawk, please!

Gn o fem reader, sfw o nsfw, as you feel comfortable. I trust you and in your talent ♡

With love, Cami ☆

CAMI!! I'm so happy you sent something in for the event!! And of course of course, your secret is safe with me, girl 🤭 Hope you like it, my lovely 💜🧡

A road you’d traveled many times before. The journey home was long overdue and as the night carried you on the darkened path, a dose of reality put a hold on your plans. A house that was a part of the scenery for all those years now entered the foreground, earning itself much more than just an eerie visual.

CW: very suggestive, fem!reader, mentions of blood, death, reader is attacked

Heart Throbbing (Vampire! Mihawk)

Traveling cross country on your way home for the holidays wasn’t all bad. The long stretches of road and the stars peaking through the clouds above gave you a sense of peace. The countryside was beautiful this time of year: the mix of yellows and reds painting parts of the way and the corn fields that were turned white under the moon’s rays.

The fresh air sent your long locks flowing behind the headrest when you cracked the windows. You flicked your cigarette onto the damp pavement, letting the embers on it fade in the mirrors. A house appeared over the hill in the distance, one which graced your route each journey home but never had any lights on. It sat off in the distance in the open field. Each time you caught a glimpse of it, a thought crossed your mind of why it hadn’t been torn down yet.

As your car drew nearer, a sudden drop on the driver’s side caused you to swerve. Having been speeding down these roads for as long as you had, karma was sure to catch up with you eventually. Heart pounding in your ears, throat dry from the loss of breath, the smell of burnt rubber wafted past you: the sinking feeling was inescapable.

Nothing but the rustling of the corn stocks greeted you as you exited your vehicle. “Is this your way of telling me to slow down?” You groaned up at the heavens, while the driver’s side was sinking more into the ground.

Your eyes fell on that soulless house in the distance again. Surely there was someone living there if it was still standing. There’d be no use for it surrounded by a corn field otherwise, you rationalized.

The path was beaten to hell and back. Overgrown weeds that crawled at your pant legs, rocks that seemed to penetrate the soles of your shoes, all leading to the front porch that creaked from the wind alone. Its front door was swallowed in the corner, completely hidden by the darkness, and the lack of floodlights in the front yard gave little hope for there being any life within its dwelling.

Scoffing at yourself for making the stupid mistake of flying down these parts to shave a few minutes off your travel time, you turned around trying to recall the nearest gas station. Stepping further to the side triggered a light. Your shadow instantly stretched down the long untended path.

The outer walls felt as if they stretched to the rolling clouds when you faced them again. Each knock on the door echoed around you. Only the original three felt appropriate to bother whomever may be resting inside and given the state of the place, the chill of who lived in such seclusion prickled at the back of your neck.

“Who’s there?”

“Sorry to bother you but uh, I’m having some car issues. I have a flat tire and I don’t have any service out here.” Your eyes darted over the same few spots on the door. “Could I use your phone to call a tow truck or something?” The dragged out silence coiled itself around your chest, tightening around it like a boa constrictor.

“You may.” The door was left ajar. Lights flooded the entryway, presenting this shabby house as a home. Burnt orange wallpaper with delicate gold swirls covered the walls and the dark cherry staircase made the crown molding pop. “Apologies for not opening the door sooner. One can’t be too careful when a stranger wanders up to their door in the dead of night.”

The deadpan stare tied with the suspicious wording had you on edge, yet you smiled out of understanding. “I know how inconvenient this all is, so I deeply appreciate your help, sir.”

A slow, short nod was issued before he started down the hallway. “Truth be told, I don’t get many visitors. I assume most have convinced themselves this place is abandoned.” The oddly personal comment directed at you sent a shiver down your spine. “But I pay it no mind. I’ve grown to prefer my personal time.”

You followed him as he continued down the hall. “I take it you keep fairly busy though, what with the fields and all?”

“Yes, I suppose they help pass the time, but it’s a mere fraction of what I get up to.” A demeanor as cold as his would’ve normally iced you out, but you found yourself drawn to him. The air of mystery thickened with each word that passed his lips. “And what brings you out here at such a late hour? A young lady such as yourself, shouldn’t be traveling right now.”

“I was on my way back home for the holidays.” There was a stillness in the house when you spoke, causing a faint ringing in your ears.

The hallway twisted and turned. The patterns on the walls shifted and slithered. The lights that lit the way flickered and faded. You felt short of breath all of the sudden. Beads of sweat teased your hairline and the sensation of fainting flooded your trembling body. “I-I feel really…ill. I need to sit down.” Dry, choked concerns of yours fell flat on your host’s ears.

He turned to face you, stepping towards you in a way that savored your panic stricken form. The pattern in his yellow eyes was difficult not to be drawn to. They glowed along with the swirling patterns on the wall. Vertigo left you swaying back against the orange and gold.

When you began sliding down the wall, he was quick to catch you. Forcing you against his hip, a guttural grunt rumbled in his throat as he gazed down at the helpless rabbit. Each push against him in protest was in vain. His grip on you tightened, making you cry out.

As he leaned in closer to you, his lips grazed your neck. The feeling of his tongue tracing your quickening pulse coaxed the inevitable pleas of mercy. Begging for him to let you go, that you wouldn’t tell anyone, that you’d take it to your grave: it was all so delectable.

He groaned against your neck at your feeble attempts at breaking free. “I’ll do anything! Please, please, please,” you repeated in strangled sobs.

“Shhhh,” he cooed while stroking your hair. “Don’t worry, my pretty little thing.” He gently kissed your neck, trailing them up to your temple, each one allowing more of his sharp teeth to graze your sensitive skin. A deep sigh left him as he felt your hope of escaping leave your body. “I don’t play with my food.”

A deep puncture sent a shock throughout your system. You clawed at his back as wet gasps trickled down to your chest. Your eyes rolled back and your vision faded in and out, while the pleasure infused pants from him filled your ears. The grip he had on your hip and back of your neck strengthened as you lost feeling in your legs. Your body weight dragged you to the floor, pulling him with you.

Rough movements of his hips against yours as he lapped at the wounds in your neck made you choke on your own blood. He gripped the back of your head and painted the rest of your dainty neck in red strips. The jagged markings morphed into sensual kisses.

“I wish you could understand how good you taste.” Holding you closely, he was debating whether or not to drain you entirely. A tasty morsel like you was hard to come by, and seeing as his last fix was six feet under, there was an opening itching to be filled.

He pressed his face against your cheek, licking at the drying blood he left behind. “I can make the bleeding stop, but if I do, you’re bound to me for the rest of your days. You’ll live to serve me in every way I wish. If you refuse, you’ll die right here…right now. What do you say?” His hot iron scented breath bathed your clammy skin.

You sputtered an agreement, earning you a curse disguised as your saving grace. Scared of what your life would become but terrified of death, you sealed your soul to a man you deemed the devil himself.

#halloween event #one piece #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #op #one piece x you #op x reader #op x you #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #one piece au #vampire x reader

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twstowo · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

「 ✦ PREVIOUS ✦ 」「 ✦ NEXT ✦ 」

Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

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boricuabrujita · 25 days ago

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Female Blood Rites in Ancient Times

A sneak peek of a brief segment I’ll be going over in one of my upcoming classes for November. I’m currently doing research for my upcoming class “Mythos Astrology: The Underworld Descent with The Goddess Persephone”. For more info visit my Instagram @priestessofmoonlight.

The Blood Mysteries of Womanhood have unfortunately lost their importance in appreciation, celebration and even proper education. In my own experience with menarche; it was overlooked, painful, scary, and lacked meaning. It was as simple as “here is a pad. It’s normal. An unfortunate circumstance with womanhood”. Which couldn’t be further from the truth! With this lack of a rite of passage, many women go on to depreciate their bodies, fear the inevitable changes and receive ridicule along with disgust from their ignorant male counterparts (and fellow females). Ancient Minoans would perhaps look in horror at how we’ve neglected our gratitude to the natural cycles and world.

As pictured in photos 2 and 3 are sketches of frescoes found in Santorini, Greece at the archaeological site Akrotiri, Thera. In photo 2, you’ll see three girls all in different age groups. The far right being the youngest with a shaved head with scalp locks, no breasts and veil which covers her completely. Looking in shock at the shrine with horns which bloods draws down from; a formidable reminder of blood and womanhood via menstruation and birthing.

While the woman in the middle has fully grown hair, sits down and is experiencing pain and blood directly from her foot. You can see her breasts and her hair is adorned with olive branch and an Iris pin. Since she’s sitting on a rock as well surrounded by crocus, she is the only one who is part of the landscape in a sense. Apparently, Minoan art also uses inverted landscapes to suggest depth. The bleeding of her foot while she is foraging for crocus/saffron might allude to the female rite of passage; that is the pain/blood of entering womanhood. For the festival of the goddess girls coming of age were tasked with journeying the hills to gather saffron as an offering. Oftentimes, leaving the city or venturing outside of the mundane and the seclusion alludes to a rite of passage taking place. Doing the trek barefoot is bound to make for bloody feet. Again, a pain-causing venture to teach the young women endurance for pain and awareness of one’s blood.

The third girl to the left is the oldest and is fully initiated. Her breasts are full, she doesn’t have the forelock of youth, long hair, and is carrying a necklace. Most likely, an offering to be deposited inside of the innermost sanctuary of this temple.

In photo 3, pictured is a crocus/saffron gatherer aka priestess giving her plant offerings to a throned goddess. A monkey to the left and griffin to the right are the Goddess’s attendants.

Source: “Minoan Religion: Ritual, Image and Symbol”, Nanno Marinatos (1993).

#ancient culture #minoan #ancient history #anthropology #archaeology #classes #asteroid astrology #ancient greek

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vosh-rakh · 9 months ago

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3e634, chapter 1

"I'm sorry, the Temple of Dibella is closed,” the priestess said. “You can receive your blessing, if you wish, but the other sisters are in seclusion."

Malekaiah frowned. She looked around anxiously at the alien masonry of the temple’s interior. The four statues of nude Dibella resting against the pillars kept their gazes resolutely forward, ignoring Malekaiah’s plight. She pressed her fingertip hard against the point of her tusk, a bad anxious habit she’d long ago acquired. The tusk was too dull to draw blood, but one could hope.

Finally, her eyes alighted on the shrine against the wall, its points rising like flower petals towards a central space, and she was given the courage to look back at the priestess. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering, but somehow she pushed on. “I’ve been an acolyte of Dibella all my life. I’m on an important mission to spread her love to those who have never known it.”

“I’m sorry, sister.” The priestess offered a small smile as compensation. “The sisters cannot be disturbed.”

Malekaiah looked up at the brass chandelier on the ceiling, and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, nodding, but avoided the priestess’s pitying gaze.

The priestess nodded, and returned to her cleaning.

Malekaiah approached the shrine to Dibella. She gently placed a hand on one of its dull red wings, trying to feel for Dibella’s energies. Then she knelt, clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed.

Please, sweet Dibella, I beseech thee: grant me the power and wisdom to see thy love and beauty in every facet of this world, so that I may spread the knowing to those who know only sorrow and ugliness. Let thy kiss become my kiss, lips sweet enough to embrace the world.

Malekaiah couldn’t remember how the prayer was supposed to end, so awkwardly she cut it short there. Unclasping her hands, she rubbed her face, trying to bring some heat to her cheeks, and rub some wakefulness into her eyes. It was so cold here, in Skyrim, and she had barely slept on the long carriage ride from Anvil to Markarth. She had a long journey ahead of her, and she needed to be prepared.

Almost on instinct she quickly felt for the short steel hiding under her ochre robes. Yes, Da’s dagger was still there. Even in this foreign place, it brought her a strange sense of safety.

Malekaiah rose and walked out the temple door. She was immediately faced with the western mountain enclosing the city, waterfalls cascading down the cliff with a deafening roar, flowing into the waterways that ran down the city’s streets. Behind those falls stood proud and ancient the bizarre stone-and-brass architecture of the dwarves, yet as ordinary to the people here as timber and brick.

After a moment of awe, Malekaiah drifted left along the stone walkway, skirting south around the pillar which the temple of Dibella crowned. Down a level of the city, straddling one of the rivulets, was a small smithy, jarringly built of wood. Over the roar of the waterfalls rang out the sharp clang of hammer on metal, and a woman shouting at her apprentice with very colorful language. Turning her head to the left, Malekaiah saw the distant silver mines, crawling with hard-at-work miners, seeming from this far away like ants carrying their burdens of ore.

Malekaiah descended the stairs, making her way down from the temple. They led her closer to the smithy, where she caught a glimpse of the smith. She was an Orc, which stopped Malekaiah in her tracks. There were very few Orcs in Anvil; most had left for bustling Orsinium about a decade or two ago. Despite going to their homeland to proselytize, she didn’t know much about her race. She had read as much as she could about them and their history and ways before leaving, but most of the sources she was able to get her hands on were outdated and often very bigoted.

The smith must have felt Malekaiah’s gaze, and she looked up at her with a scowl. She waved her off with a hand holding an unfinished sword.

Malekaiah quickly turned to continue on her way, but in so doing she ran straight into one of the city guards. He reached for the sword on his hip. “Watch where you’re going, outsider!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Malekaiah quickly mumbled. The guard, seemingly dissatisfied but uninterested in an actual confrontation, pushed Malekaiah aside and continued on his way.

Malekaiah rubbed her shoulder where the guard had pushed her and looked again at the smith, who had apparently seen the whole thing. She shook her head at Malekaiah and went back to her work.

A bit shaken, Malekaiah continued descending the stairs, following one of the rivulets. She reached for the talismans around her neck. First, the amulet of Dibella: she rubbed the violet stone in the center of the metal flower. It was cold, but it gave her some comfort, anyway. Her hand roamed across her neck to the other talisman, the strange icon left in her swaddling cloth when her parents abandoned her in Cyrodiil. She could feel its rageful face, teeth and tusks bared, and a fuming heat flooded her face. She let go, shook her head, and tried to forget about the encounter with the guard.

Malekaiah continued along the stone path through the city, hoping to find an inn where she could stay the night. Instead, she found herself at the front gate again, faced with the small market situated there.

The square was bustling with activity, a dense crowd - surely half the city - swarming from stall to stall, gawking at and haggling for the goods on display. The few children who could pry themselves from their mothers’ watchful eyes ran through the forest of legs, squealing like pigs.

Something caught Malekaiah’s eye. A gleam of silver, or steel. Her vision snapped to the stall on the far end of the market, selling jewelry. A woman was trying on a prospective purchase.

But there was something else, a man pushing through the crowd, the sun shining in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The woman removed the necklace. The man grabbed her mouth from behind. He raised his shining hand and jerked it across her neck, right where the necklace was a moment ago. Blood sprayed on the silver on the stall’s counter. The woman behind it, her face also spattered with red, covered her mouth and screamed.

Just as the crowd began to react to the shriek, the assassin turned around, still holding up the now-mute and struggling woman by her chin. Her head was nearly severed, so vicious and deep was the spurting gash.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

The throng devolved into chaos, women and children screaming, men shouting and shoving to escape. There was only one guard nearby, somehow, and he was slow to react, ineffectually trying to push his way through the crowd.

Malekaiah was frozen, staring at the gore of the wound. The man dropped the woman after she stopped moving, and turned back to the stall. The jeweler had fallen to the ground in shock. The assassin vaulted the counter, sending rings and necklaces and torcs to the ground with a tinkling sound that Malekaiah shouldn’t have been able to hear over the din, but could have sworn she did.

He advanced upon the jeweler, dagger in hand, blade under fist. She extended an arm to protect herself, and the assassin’s blade pierced her hand, stabbing all the way through. Her pained scream pierced the sky. The assassin inverted his grip, blade over fist, and began slashing. The jeweler took a cut to the stomach before raising her arms to defend again. The steel tore through the sleeves of her dress as well as the flesh of her forearms.

A fire ignited in Malekaiah’s throat, melting her freeze and compelling her move. She hiked up her robes and withdrew her dagger from the sheath fastened around her thigh, and she advanced through the dissipating crowd. She vaulted over the counter, knocking off yet more jewelry, and approached the assassin’s back.

Firmly gripping the dagger’s hilt, in one simple motion, she thrust the blade deep into his back, sliding effortlessly between two ribs.

Poppies bloomed around the wound, soaking into his shirt.

The assassin exhaled sharply as his lung collapsed, and stopped attacking the jeweler. His weapon clattered to the ground, and he slowly turned to face Malekaiah. With shaky breath, and through bloody coughs, he mustered, “I die for my people,” and then collapsed, dead.

Slowly, shakily, Malekaiah bent down to pull the dagger from the assassin’s back. Once the blade was free of his flesh, there was an upwelling of blood, painting his tunic a deeper black.

She looked across at the jeweler, who stared at her, frightened, tears streaking down her face. Malekaiah took a step forward, causing the jeweler to squirm backwards with a squeal.

“P-please…don’t…” mumbled the jeweler.

Malekaiah glanced at the bloody blade in her hand. Some portions were untouched, clean steel, and she could see her reflection clearly in it. But in the bloody bits, the wet gore reflected a demented distortion of her face. She screamed, too, and tried to wipe the blood from the blade with her cuff. But all she accomplished was staining her sleeve.

Malekaiah returned the dagger to its sheath on her thigh, struggling to keep her hand steady. She tried to approach the jeweler again, with open hands. “I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “I’m a healer.”

The jeweler hesitated, but nodded, letting Malekaiah come forward. Malekaiah knelt next to her and channeled Dibella’s grace to her hands, which glowed with a golden light. She began to hover them over the jeweler’s wounds, slowly bidding them close.

Suddenly, something cold and sharp lifted Malekaiah’s head by the chin. Forcibly she looked up to see one of Markarth’s guards pointing a sword at her throat.

“What are you doing, murderer?” the guard spat from beneath his helmet.

“I…” Malekaiah quavered, blinking rapidly.

“You idiot,” shouted the jeweler at the guard. “She saved my life!”

The guard seemed to finally take full stock of the situation, seeing the woman’s slit-throat corpse, the assassin’s face-down body, and his bloody blade discarded at his side.

In the meanwhile, Malekaiah continued healing the jeweler, starting with the slashes on her arms and the thankfully superficial cut on her abdomen. Malekaiah looked at the stab-wound through the jeweler’s hand with dismay. “I can’t heal this on my own,” she told the jeweler, who had mostly calmed down.

Malekaiah turned to the corpse and dagger behind her. She wiped as much blood from the blade as she could, and used it as a tool to cut a relatively clean strip of the assassin’s tunic. She turned back to the jeweler and apologized. “This will hurt.” The jeweler nodded and offered her injured hand. Malekaiah delicately wrapped the strip of cloth around her palm, tying it tightly. The jeweler groaned at the final tug but otherwise didn’t complain.

“She needs a more experienced healer for her hand,” Malekaiah said, looking up at the guard, who had withdrawn his sword to its sheath.

“I’ll take her to the temple,” the guard growled. Taking her unhurt hand, he helped the jeweler stand. As they began to walk off, he turned his head and said, “Keep your nose clean, orc.”

Malekaiah knelt there numbly for a moment. But eventually her close proximity to two corpses and so much blood became too much, and she forced herself to stand. She examined her robes, and found them surprisingly spared, save for the cuff she used to wipe the blades clean.

The market was almost completely empty now, save for a few late-arriving guards come to gather the bodies. But there was another man, fast approaching Malekaiah. His smile did nothing to disarm her anxiety after the preceding harrowing events, and she reached instinctively for the dagger through her robes.

“Easy there, friend,” said the stranger. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced at the dead woman being carried off by a couple of guards. “Gods. A woman attacked, right in the streets.” He seemed to notice the blood on Malekaiah’s cuffs, and asked, “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

“I was right there,” Malekaiah answered. She ran her hand across her bare scalp and looked away. “He killed that woman, and then…tried to kill the jeweler.” Her words felt like lead dropping from her tongue, seeming to almost hang from her lips, not wishing to be said. Her voice didn’t feel her own. “So I…I…I killed him.” She covered her face so the stranger wouldn’t see the unbidden tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. “I hope the Nine give you more peace in the future.” Malekaiah lowered her hands to look at him, just as his expression suddenly changed. He quickly reached out his hand, shoving something into Malekaiah’s. “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped this.”

Malekaiah jumped at the sudden movement, but calmed a bit when she realized it was just a piece of folded paper. “Is this…yours?” she asked, confused.

“Mine? No, yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket in the commotion.” He offered a little wave and then turned to leave.

Malekaiah was positive she didn’t have any parchment on her before this man gave her this note. She unfolded and read the brief note scrawled in an uneven hand: “Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.”

Malekaiah looked back up at the man, who was now halfway across the square. “Shrine of Talos?” she hollered. “Where’s that?”

He stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her. “Huh?” He scratched his chin. “Not sure. I don’t worship Talos, myself. I think I heard someone mention it was underneath the Temple of Dibella, in the big crag in the center of the city.” Then he turned and walked away.

Malekaiah’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then she glanced at the note again, and sighed. She folded the paper back up and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

She looked up toward the center of town, at the crag where she had just come from the Temple. It truly was an enormous feature, dominating the city’s skyline.

She checked for her dagger again, and against her better judgment, she made her way towards the Shrine of Talos.

-----

It took some walking around the crag to find the correct path to the shrine, as well as walking past its unmarked doors on accident several times. The doors were large and notable: huge brass double doors twice her height, surrounded by ornate ancient masonry. But there was no indication they belonged to the shrine of a Cyrodiilic war god.

Malekaiah pushed open the heavy doors with some effort, and stepped into the dark corridor, faintly candlelit and sloping downwards. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, but her Orcish vision quickly acclimated. At the bottom of the slope she could make out two figures: one, surely a statue of Tiber Septim, stoically leaning on a sword; the other, a man kneeling before the altar, head bowed.

Malekaiah slowly descended the corridor towards the shrine’s sanctum. She tried to be quiet so as not to disturb the man’s prayer, but despite her best efforts he still somehow noticed her approach as she neared the end of the ramp.

The stranger from the market quickly stood and turned to face Malekaiah. “You came,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems, but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time.”

Malekaiah blinked rapidly. “What?”

Breathlessly, the stranger continued, “You want answers? Well, so do I. So does everyone in the city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

Unbidden, images flash into Malekaiah’s mind: a torn open throat, poppies, and a demon staring back at her in the bloody blade.

It was as if her head detached from her neck, and began to float away. She responded numbly to the stranger in an automatic process seemingly devoid of any conscious intention. Her conscious attention was no longer in the room.

The entire conversation grazed past her like a breeze. She may have agreed to something, but the memory of precisely what was slippery. She was vaguely aware that at some point, the man - suddenly she remembered he called himself Eltrys - left the shrine. But she remained, standing before the altar, invisible to herself.

Malekaiah returned to her body, and found herself kneeling at the altar, hands clasped, muttering an unintelligible half-prayer to - presumably - Talos. She stopped herself. She had never worshiped Talos; it struck her as odd that Skyrim had shrines at all, as he was chiefly a Cyrod’s god. She felt nothing stirring in her heart from the attempt. Oddly enough, though, she felt something stirring in her gut.

Oh. She was hungry. She stood, dusted off her knees, and left the shrine.

———

Not even the warmth of the inn could take the chill from Malekaiah’s bones. She shuffled into the threshold, and suddenly all of the many eyes of the crowded tavern were on her. Whispers accompanied them:

“Is that…”

“Did she really…”

“She really is a…”

Malekaiah pressed her thumb into her tusk hard as she shambled towards the bar. She vaguely recognized that she was falling into her old bad habit, but it seemed to keep her head screwed onto her neck, so she allowed it this time.

She clambered onto a stool at the far end of the bar. She knew she needed to order dinner, and rent a room for the night, but she was an immobile statue, unable to speak. So she folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.

After a moment, a gentle male voice reverberated, “Hey, lass.”

Malekaiah lifted her head to see the barkeep looking at her.

“You’re the Orc who killed Weylin, right? Saved Kerah’s life?” He didn’t look angry, but it felt like an accusation to Malekaiah nonetheless.

Without speaking, Malekaiah nodded slowly.

The barkeep reached underneath his side of the counter and placed something on top of it. Malekaiah recoiled immediately, but her alarm softened as she saw what it was: a tray filled with food. A bowl of steaming potato cabbage soup; a thick rye-bread trencher, topped with a hefty slice of goat cheese and an entire roasted goat shank; on the side, some kind of dark-berried pie, and a large mug of what smelled like mead.

“You did good, lass,” said the barkeep with a smile. “Food’s on the house. Bed too, if you need one for the night.”

A holler went up through the room, all the whispering mouths turned to joyous raucous. A nearby Nord reached over with his mug. It took a moment, but Malekaiah realized she needed to lift her own and clank it against his. Both cups overflowed, and the coolness of the splashed mead felt good on Malekaiah’s hand.

Malekaiah was afraid to eat at first, not sure her appetite would be up to the massive challenge. But she didn’t miss a bite. She even drank the whole mug of mead, despite never having had alcohol in her life. The barkeep, whose name was Kleppr, led her to her room after the festivities became too much for her. It wasn’t long after her head hit the pillow that she fell into a deep sleep.

-----

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s dark face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull brown eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Nine forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It’s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Nine forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

-----

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the burning hot talisman hanging from her throat and, through her tears, saw Da’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

-----

Blessedly, the ancient stone walls of the inn seemed to be thick enough to stifle her screaming and sobbing. At least, no one came knocking on her door to get her to shut up.

Malekaiah knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was too afraid of further nightmares. She decided to get dressed and go for a walk.

Before she left the room, she glanced back at its dark corner. A faint gleam caught her eye; the demon talisman from her swaddling cloth. She approached it and retrieved it; it was still slightly warm. She reasoned she couldn’t blame it entirely for the dream, and after all, it could prove useful in Wrothgar - it could open some doors. She tied it back around her neck.

Malekaiah quietly left her room and passed through the stone corridor into the inn’s main chamber. Although packed and active last night, in these early hours before dawn it was dead. Everyone had retired to their beds, except for a single drunkard passed out in the corner.

In the lingering light from the fires, she caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on her cuffs. She decided on where her walk would take her.

The air outside was near freezing. Malekaiah wished she’d packed a pair of gloves. She pulled up the hood on her robes in an effort to protect her cheeks from the chill.

It seemed the guards of Markarth kept the streets lit overnight; she saw one a ways down who was tending to a brazier with her torch. Malekaiah considered asking the guard if she had a torch to spare, but she wasn’t brave enough. So she carried on by the occasional light of braziers, hoping she remembered her way back to her destination.

After some searching, Malekaiah arrived: the small stream by the blacksmith’s. (The old Orc woman didn’t seem to be there yet.) She wasted no time undoing the red sash around her waist, and then pulling her ochre robes off and over her head. All that remained was her woolen underclothes, but they still covered her neck-to-ankle.

“Pretty wiry for an Orc, aren’t you?”

Malekaiah jumped and dropped her robes into the stream. She tried to snatch them out, but the flow was too strong. She turned to try to make out who had addressed her in the dark.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t alone, so you didn’t strip all the way down.”

Malekaiah strained to focus her eyes. The woman a ways down the stream had a crate of objects that glimmered in the moonslight, and a bandage wrapped around her waving hand.

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. “You’re…”

“My name’s Kerah,” answered the woman in the darkness. “I figure the least I owe you for saving my life is my name.” She waved her hand again. “Can I have yours?”

“Malekaiah.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kerah said. She reached out with her uninjured hand and grabbed Malekaiah’s robes as they passed by her in the stream. “Come here, Malekaiah. You might want these.”

Malekaiah slowly obliged, drawing closer to Kerah. As she did, she noticed the box was filled with blood-spattered silver jewelry.

“Cleaning the merchandise before we open,” smiled Kerah as she handed Malekaiah the robes. “It needs to be presentable, of course.

Malekaiah knelt beside Kerah and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Kerah tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said with a light wave of her bandaged hand.

“No,” Malekaiah said, “I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own shaved head.

Kerah’s face hardened a bit. “It’s fine. Such is life in Skyrim. Especially the Reach.” She pointed at the bloodstains on Malekaiah’s robes. “Not the first time blood’s been shed in this city, and it won’t be the last.”

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. Attention having been drawn to the bloodstains, she began to scrub futilely at them in the stream.

Kerah idly watched Malekaiah’s attempts to clean her robes while fiddling with a necklace from her crate. Finally she said, “That’s not going to work. Here.” She reached beside her and offered Malekaiah a small round object.

Malekaiah took it gently, and her fingers brushed against Kerah’s. She had expected them to be soft, but the tips were rough and calloused. Malekaiah realized Kerah wasn’t just a jeweler - she was a silversmith. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for Malekaiah to return to her senses. She examined the smooth object in her hand. It was yellowish-white, with darker flecks throughout. “What is -”

“Soap,” Kerah interjected. “Goat tallow, potash, and a little lavender imported from Whiterun for the scent.” She waved towards the robes. “Give it a try.”

Malekaiah gave the bar of soap a sniff - it did smell faintly of lavender. She began to scrub at the blood stains with it, and gradually they began to fade until all that was left were patches of slightly darker ochre.

“Thank you,” Malekaiah whispered when she was done. She tried to hand back the soap, but Kerah pushed it away.

“No, keep it,” Kerah said. “I have plenty. Margret taught me how to make it a while back.”

“Margret?” Malekaiah asked.

Kerah winced. “She is…was…a customer of mine. She was…the one at my stall this morning. When you were there.”

It took Malekaiah a moment to piece it together. Then the image of the woman’s bleeding throat flashed before her eyes, and she quickly shut them tight. But it didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Kerah wiped a moonslit tear from her eye. “It’s okay.” She sighed, her entire body shuddering. “I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Skyrim, we celebrate our dead. Even when they’re taken from us.”

“Anvil,” whispered Malekaiah.

“Hm?” replied Kerah, tilting her head.

“I’m from Anvil. In Cyrodiil.”

“Oh. So was Margret. From Cyrodiil, I mean. Not Anvil.” Kerah smiled. “She was here to buy a pendant for her sister in the Imperial City. Have you ever been there?”

Malekaiah shook her head. “Never left Anvil county. Not until I came here.”

Kerah reached out her hands. Malekaiah accepted the offer with some hesitation, placing her hands in Kerah’s. They certainly weren’t the pampered hands of a merchant; this woman worked a forge. And judging by the quality of her wares, she was good at it.

“So what brings you to Markarth, Malekaiah?” asked Kerah.

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella,” Malekaiah answered. “I’m on my way to Orsinium to proselytize.”

“Hm,” Kerah said. “That must be a tough crowd.” Malekaiah’s face fell a bit, so Kerah added, “But maybe they’ll listen to you, since you’re an Orc and all.”

Malekaiah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

The sun was beginning to rise now, Kerah’s crate of silver dazzling in the early dawn light. “Damn,” she blurted, pulling her hands away from Malekaiah’s and burying them in the assorted jewelry. “Sorry, I really need to finish this and get ready to open.” She smiled again, wide and sparkling in the sun’s golden glow. “It was lovely getting to know you, Malekaiah. Be safe in your travels, and good luck.”

Without the warmth of Kerah’s hands, Malekaiah’s fingers felt lonely in the cold Skyrim air. “Thank you for the soap,” Malekaiah said as she gathered her wet robes and began to stand.

“You saved my life,” Kerah said as she scraped hard blood from a sapphire. “It’s the least I can do.”

Malekaiah waved awkwardly with the hand holding the soap, but Kerah was now fully engrossed in cleaning her merchandise. Malekaiah nodded and walked away.

The robes tucked under Malekaiah’s arm were dripping wet. Looking up the stream, she saw the blacksmith’s forge again, situated on an island in the center of the flow. She squinted at it in the dull morning light, and could just make out a couple of aprons hanging from a line strung between two of the hut’s posts. She still didn’t see the Orc there, so she approached.

Malekaiah had to ascend a level of the tiered city to find the stone bridge crossing the stream. At the smithy, she glanced around. On a table near the anvil she found a pair of small iron clamps. She took them and used them to hang up her robes on the line with the aprons.

Exhausted from her short sleep that night, she sat at the stool by the table. She pulled her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm, and laid down her head on the table…

-----

Malekaiah was pulled awake by a firm hand wrapping around the back of her neck and yanking up her head. She yelped and reached up her hands, but her assailant slapped them down.

“What are you doing in my workshop, whelp?”

Malekaiah was just barely able to turn her head to see the fuming Orc smith gripping her nape. “I…I…I…” Malekaiah’s sudden rip from sleep kept her from forming a sentence.

“Not thieving, I hope?” continued the Orc woman. “You know what we do to thieves in the strongholds? We take their hands, whelp.” Suddenly, Malekaiah noticed a flash of light on the steel axe in the woman’s other hand.

“Uh, Ghorza?” It was a man’s voice, albeit a timid one, coming from behind the furious woman.

“Not the time, Tacitus,” growled the woman, presumably Ghorza.

“Look,” Tacitus continued anyway. He must have pointed, because Ghorza turned. She moved her whole body to look, letting Malekaiah see Tacitus was gesturing at her hanging robes. “She’s just drying her clothes,” Tacitus laughed.

Ghorza dropped Malekaiah and moved over to the robes. Malekaiah scurried into the corner.

Ghorza plucked the clamps from the line, causing the mostly-dry robes to fall to the floor. “These aren’t clothespins, girl,” she growled. “I’ll have your hide if these rust.”

Tacitus, a soot-faced young Cyrod, bent down to look at Malekaiah - he seemed to take notice of the sheath on her thigh. “Wait, Ghorza. I know this one! She was the one at the market yesterday, who killed the Forsworn!”

Ghorza huffed wordlessly. “Stand up and let me have a look at you, girl.”

Malekaiah felt heat rush to her cheeks as she slowly obeyed, keeping a hand hovering near the sheath just in case. Ghorza towered over her, but Tacitus in the corner was about Malekaiah’s height. Malekaiah began to wonder if she was short for an Orc.

Ghorza placed her rough smith’s hands on Malekaiah’s shoulders, squeezing as she moved down to feel her biceps. “Pretty scrawny,” she said before grabbing Malekaiah’s chin and tilting her head this way and that. “And maybe not so bright - no common sense, at least - but you know how to kill. A decent sign.” She let go and turned around. She pulled something from a rack and turned back to brandish it before Malekaiah. “Here. See how this feels.”

It was a sword - Malekaiah guessed it was made of iron. She took it by the offered handle from Ghorza and waggled it around a bit. It was lighter than it looked.

Ghorza stepped back. “Give it a few swings.”

Malekaiah looked up at Ghorza’s eyes, anxious. But she did as she was told, and swung at the air a few times. They were clumsy swipes, and the sword nearly fell from her hand at the end of the last.

“Stop,” ordered Ghorza. “No training. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

Malekaiah laid the blade across both hands and inspected it. The metal was dull, without the sharp gleam of her Da’s dagger. She asked, “Is this…a gift?”

“No. It wasn’t going to be free, at least.” Ghorza retrieved the sword from Malekaiah with a delicate touch that betrayed a great respect for the iron. “But it wouldn’t do you any good without any skill. Swinging it wildly is ineffective, at best. Get you killed, at worst.” She pointed the sword at Malekaiah’s sheathed dagger. “Better off with something smaller. And staying out of trouble in the first place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Malekaiah as she watched Ghorza return the sword to its rack. She took the opportunity to retrieve her robes from the floor.

Ghorza turned back and looked Malekaiah up and down for a moment, arms crossed. Finally she said, “You did good in the market yesterday. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Malekaiah said.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes m-” Malekaiah began, but Ghorza’s eyes flared up, and so she hurried away, nearly tripping over her dangling robes in the process.

-----

Unlike in Anvil, the sun in Skyrim never seemed to rise very high in the sky, even by midday. But Malekaiah knew she’d be mostly keeping to this same northerly latitude for her journey, so she figured she’d have to get used to it.

Malekaiah had stocked up on food and supplies this morning, spending almost all of her remaining gold, before leaving the city about an hour ago. She followed the main road west as it faded from paved to dirt to cleared to tracks to footprints to complete obscurity. Now she and Magnus faced the same direction, the latter sure of his path over the mountains, but Malekaiah much less so. She knelt in the dirt and puzzled.

When overwhelmed, Da always taught her to take things one step at a time. She scanned the jagged horizon of slate-gray peaks, and looked for low passages between the rising slopes and cliffs. She followed a trail of them closer and closer until a nearby path emerged.

She stood and dusted off her knees. She was ready to keep walking, but then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see a woman there she hadn’t noticed before. She was a dark elf, a Dunmer, wearing shiny brass armor and a deep black cloak with red trim. Her hood shrouded her face in darkness, but two locks of white hair spilled out from underneath onto her shoulders.

“Muthsera?” croaked the Dunmer, betraying what Malekaiah understood as the accent natural to residents of the volcanic island of Vvardenfell, in the Ebonheart Pact.

Tentatively, Malekaiah responded, “Yes? How can I help you?”

The dark elf said, “I’m lost. Which way to Solstheim?”

“Oh, I’m not from here,” Malekaiah said with an apologetic smile. But she wracked her brain for memories from her geography lessons. “Solstheim…that’s an island, isn’t it? In the Sea of Ghosts?” She pointed east, behind the Dunmer.

The dark elf didn’t so much as turn her head to acknowledge the gesture. “Oh,” she said, staring exclusively at Malekaiah. “Thank you.” She broke eye contact briefly to glance up at the skies as she asked, “Seen any dragons lately?”

“Sorry? Malekaiah said, looking up where the dark elf did. She didn’t see anything, so she looked back down. “Dragons aren’t real, are they?”

The Dunmer’s lips spread open wide, revealing two rows of yellow, viciously sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, yes,” she said, her teeth not separating as she spoke, “Of course they’re real.” Her red-nailed fingers wrapped around the corners of her hood and peeled it from her face, the shadows receding to reveal her eyes, blood-red and wide, and the third, tattooed on her forehead, crimson ink glowing brightly. “You’ve just met one.” She rushed forward, grabbing Malekaiah by the face and pressing her thumb into her forehead.

“Praan.”

And nothing but thick blackness remained.

#tes #tesblr #my writing #skyrim #dibella #talos #oc: malekaiah #oc: dagoth valer #markarth #dunmer #orc #orsimer #nord #breton #forsworn #imperial #cyrod #cyrodiil #redguard

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