#fortress answers within reason questions

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

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[undertheorangetree]

Our Gentle Sin

Aylesbure

Summary- The situation at Aylesbure results in a need for comfort.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Mild angst. Dry humping. Thigh riding. Titty sucking. Handjob. Loss of virginty. Cunnilingus. Fingering. Porn without plot.

Author’s Note- This is the third part of Our Gentle Sin so I added more here cuz it's longer. Link to the full story below!

find the series masterlist here

dividers by firefly-graphics

She finds him in his rooms, just as she expected too. 

Aylesbure is a large fortress, big enough that they had all been given rooms of their own to rest and recover in through the night. A privilege, as far as she is concerned, considering all Uhtred has done to incite Alfred's wrath. Though a piece of her still thinks he would have preferred to throw them all out, it seems his Christian charity had won out in the end. Even if it did only allow them a single night of rest within the fortress's walls. 

Still, she cannot help but wonder if this pious act truly is charity, with the look on Osferth's face. Though he had tried to seem as impassive as possible in the hall and in the yard, that impassivity has long since died. He had left them all rather quickly after Edward had finished speaking with Uhtred and Finan, complaining of some pain he would not elaborate on before disappearing into the fortress. She had wanted to go after him the moment he ran off but had forced herself to wait, striving to show nothing more than friendly concern. In truth, her heart hurt for him, more than it likely should, and she ached to do all she could to help him. But she knew how suspicious that would look so instead she had forced herself to remain seated, fingers tracing the wood grain on the table anxiously. It wasn't until she had met Sihtric's eye and he had jerked his head in the direction Osferth had run off in that she had gone after him, not bothering to come up with an excuse. 

"May I join you? Or would you prefer to be alone?"

He does not answer her. Instead, he shuffles down on the bed to clear a place for her, glancing from her to the now empty space beside him before staring back down into his lap. She decides that is permission enough and closes the door behind her, padding her way across the room. He doesn't look up when the bed shifts with her weight, staring determinedly at a stain on the side of his knee. One finger scratches at it idly, but it has long since set into the fabric and does not give.

The silence is near deafening and she gnaws on her lip as she tries to come up with something comforting to say. She turns to face him, bringing one leg up to rest against the mattress, shin pressing into the side of his thigh. 

"I'm sorry for all you have suffered today," she finally manages. "Seeing the king. Having to watch him with Edward and Aethelflaed both and then Edward coming to speak to Uhtred... It couldn't have been easy for you."

His face scrunches up for a moment as if he is trying to push back a sudden onslaught of tears and she presses herself closer, prepared to do whatever she can to help him. He manages to calm himself, letting out a slow breath as his finger continues to scratch at the stain. 

"He looked right at me," he says, bitter sadness tinging his words. She knows the moment he is referring to, when Alfred had cupped Aethelflaed's cheek and declared that the only reason Uhtred was still permitted to live was because he had seen her safe. His eyes had flicked away from his daughter's face for half a moment and she had watched as they landed on Osferth, on his bastard son. They had only stayed there for a moment before he had carried on, but she is sure that moment was more than enough to send a thousand questions running through his head. To rip open decades old wounds that would never really heal. "And I thought for a moment that perhaps he thought of me similarly to how he sees Aethelflaed. Edward. I know that I could never compare to them but... I am his son too. And when he looked at me, for a moment I thought... maybe he would at least consider Uhtred’s request for my own sake. For his son."

Her heart breaks for him all over again and she reaches a hand out, squeezing at his arm as her face falls. His eyes move from the stain and turn to look up at her face. He tries to smile at her, but it is a miserable failure, only one corner of his mouth able to turn upward before he looks down again. She shifts her hand from his arm to his hand, linking their fingers and holding fast. 

"He does not deserve to have you as his son. If he cannot recognize what a good and kind person you are in spite of him, then he does not deserve you. He never has."

His eyes have darted over to their joined hands rather than the stain and she rubs her thumb along the side of his hand. He watches it move for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before he says, "How good could I ever be? I am a living reminder of his sin, proof of adultery and-"

"His sin," she interrupts immediately, refusing to listen to this any longer. Keeping hold of his hand, she shifts to sit on her knees beside him, taking his chin in her free hand so that he must look at her. "Not yours. Bastard or not, you are a better man than he could ever hope to be. I do not care if he is a king, he is far more selfish and cruel than they give him credit for. To spurn you over something you could not help, to disregard you entirely..."

She cuts herself short, as he is staring at her with wide blue eyes, entirely unreadable. For a moment, she thinks that perhaps she has gone too far and releases his face. She would drop his hand as well, to make her retreat total, but he is gripping it like a lifeline, so tightly his knuckles have gone pale.

She swallows a lump in her throat as she looks up at him, trying not to sound too pleading. "Tell me how I can help you."

The hand in her own loosens somewhat, but it does not go far. Slipping free, he slides it up her wrist, her forearm. He doesn't meet her eye as he says, "I would have your comfort, lady, if you will give it."

It is not a completely out of the ordinary request but there is something in the way he says it that strikes a fire within her. She shuffles a little closer, trying to keep any expectation she may have to herself. "How would you have it?"

Again, he does not respond, but the way he looks at her seems answer enough. She meets his eye for one breath, two, and then his hand has curled around the side of her neck and he is pulling her into him, kissing her with urgency. He has yanked her forward too suddenly, stronger than she is used to, and one hand slaps against his chest, fingers tightening into the chainmail that lays below his neck. It does not give under her touch, chain links merely shifting, but it gives her something to hold on to as she chases his mouth, tries to keep up with the kisses he gives her. 

Read the rest here

[animatorweirdo]

When the Dragons Fly (book 2)

The battle had come to an awful start when Morgoth succeeded in luring out the west host with a mortifying execution of an innocent soul. You witness the war that unfolded after, but to your sorrow --- your suspicions and the woman's prediction came true.

Chapter 16

Warnings: violence, lack of sleep, brutal prisoner execution, dismembering, balrogs, war, Glaurung makes an appearance, people burning to death, Fingon's death, and war coming to an awful end.

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

As the night passed and morning arrived, an air of restlessness and anxiety settled over the hidden army like a heavy fog. Fingon struggled to keep his host calm and contained, as orcs arrived at Ered Wethrim, taunting and trying to lure them out. Even his brother’s presence gave little comfort as the army was ready to charge and face the enemy on the field. 

"My king! We should meet the enemy on the battlefield!" one of his captains exclaimed.

"They are aware of our presence. We should attack while we still can!" another urged.

“The eastern host is taking too long to start the march. We should continue from here,” 

Fingon sighed, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain order among his men. It was disheartening to realize that Morgoth was aware of their plans. How else could he have known that they had assembled in secret? And now it seemed the dark lord was trying to draw them out before the start of the second phase. 

It also didn't help that Maedhros hadn't yet marched across Anfauglith to lure Morgoth out of his fortress. Why was he taking so long? Had something happened?

"My king! I see no reason why we should not face them now that they are here," one of his lieutenants insisted.

"It's obviously a trap. Morgoth is trying to draw us out before the signal. We should follow the plan and wait for the signal to attack. If we don’t, things might end badly,” Hurin advised. 

"Hurin is right. We should not deviate from the plan even if the enemy is aware. Who knows what might happen if we go charging on our own,” his brother Turgon interjected.

“My king. What are your orders?” one of his people questioned. 

Fingon thought for a moment before answering. “We will wait for the signal as planned. We are not to engage the enemy before Maedhros has given us the sign,” he ordered. 

“But my king…” one of his people started. 

“That is an order, and if someone else has different thoughts they are free to answer to me,” Fingon stated. “Is that understood?” he questioned. 

“Yes, my king,” they bowed their heads. 

"Good. And if we do not see the signal at the end of the day, we will send a scout to check if something has happened to the eastern host. You are all dismissed," Fingon said, and the short meeting came to an end.

Upon the hill where you and Mika were still observing the army, the night had passed without much issue or notice, save for Mika’s occasional bouts of snoring and your brief rest before sunrise.

“(Name)--- when are they going to start the attack?” Mika whined impatiently. 

"It’s been half a day already, and the guys on this side are starting to look restless too,” he motioned toward the western host, who had been constantly harassed by the orcs and appeared on the verge of breaking formation at any moment.

“I don’t know. Maedhros should have already been trying to draw out the forces of Angband, “ you stated, looking toward the east where there were no signs of activity. 

It didn’t look good. Morgoth was aware of the plan, and now he was trying to lure the western host and break the plan. He was either more aware when it came to warfare and since the Noldor were separated on the west and east sides of Beleriand, it would have been too strange for Maedhros to attack alone, or he had people within the hosts, sending him information. 

The thought began to bother you. There was no way the Noldor or the dwarves could be in league with Morgoth, leaving only the Edain of Hithlum and the Easterlings. You can’t see the people of Hithlum being secretly allied with Morgoth, but the Easterlings on the other hand. It had not been too long since they arrived in Beleriand, and you have heard a thing or two about the Easterling chieftain Ulfang. 

You started to feel worried. Morgoth was aware of the western host and something was making Maedhros wait to continue the plan. There was of course a chance that he had been attacked, thus stalling the plan, but you saw no signs of fire or fighting. 

What was happening? Should you return and see if something has happened? Is there really a possibility of traitors in his ranks? 

"(Name)! (Name)! Look! There are orcs coming from the north, and they seem to be different from all the other groups," Mika tapped on your shoulder and pointed at an approaching group of orcs.

You used the lenses to look at the incoming orc group. Through them, you saw them holding an elven prisoner, tied and blindfolded. He was most likely a thrall from Angband.

“What are they doing?” Mika questioned while you watched them through the lenses. 

You had a bad feeling. You had a suspicion that the orcs are not intending to ransom or free the elf. 

“My king! An enemy group is approaching from the north, and they seem to be holding a prisoner!” one of Fingon’s guards alerted. 

“What?!” Fingon questioned as he came to see the group. 

Fingon and the rest of the forces arrived to witness the scene as the orcs came to a halt, holding the prisoner in their grasp. One of the elves among Fingon's forces recognized the captive.

“Gelmir,” Gwindor uttered in disbelief as the captive was his brother. 

You and Mika were unable to hear what the orcs said as they presented the prisoner to the elven army, but then they commenced a brutal dismemberment. The elf's shrieks echoed across the plain until they subsided, leaving only a grim silence as the orcs dropped the bleeding corpse to the ground, leaving the poor soul to bleed to death in agony.

“Oh god, poor bastard, “ Mika uttered, horrified by the sight. 

The orcs cackled and looked toward the elven host. “Where now is the boast of the Noldor?” they said and began leaving. 

Fingon and the rest of the army were stunned and horrified by the act. Gwindor was nearly unable to breathe as he watched his brother’s corpse bleed on the ground. Soon, he began to see red and raised his sword.

“Charge!” he yelled in fury.

“No! Stop!” Fingon shouted in panic when he saw Gwindor and the company from Nargothrond charging in a blind rage.

“Oh no… it was a provocation,” you said as you two watched a small company charge after the orc group in fury and rage. "The prisoner must have been someone important to cause such a rampage like that," you added, then got up, preparing to run. 

"The plan is broken, the signal has not yet been lit," you said urgently as you started running down the hill, with Mika following closely behind.

"What might happen if you do not follow the plan?" Mika asked as you two reached another hill, affording a wide view of the plain below.

“Something catastrophic,” you said as you used the lenses to see the charge. 

You saw the elven company rapidly chase after the orcs, killing all of them. Fingon was following the company behind them, so you knew it was not he who broke the formation. The one leading the charge shared similarities with the dead prisoner, so you guessed the two must have been family. 

You two could hear the sounds of their yelling and fighting as they charged toward Angband like a pack of mad dogs. 

To your surprise, they managed to get through the front yard of the dark lord’s fortress. You could barely see since they were far away but you saw them going through the gates. 

“They’re banging on the doors,” you said. 

“Then… that’s good right. The plan might be broken but they might still be able to pull this off,” Mika said hopefully. 

You then saw something flaming coming in sight. 

“No… they have trapped themselves inside the mouth of the beast,” you said as you witnessed a massive flaming creature emerge from the shadows.

“Come out here Morgoth!” Gwindor yelled in rage as he and his men were pounding the gates.

From the swirling wisps of flames and ash emerged a creature wrought from fire and shadow, roaring at Gwindor and his companions. When the creature swung its axe, Gwindor's men were hurled backward, their screams mingling with the chaos of battle. With fear within their hearts, they watched as before them stood one of Morgoth's most dreaded captains—the lord of Balrogs, Gothmog. 

Several doors within the courtyard were then opened, and from within them, came orcs. 

“Kill them all!” Gothmog yelled as the orcs began to swarm Gwindor and his company. 

Gwindor and his companions fought fiercely against the overwhelming horde of orcs, but the tide of battle soon turned against them. Swarmed by the relentless onslaught, they were gradually overwhelmed and swallowed by the mass of enemies.

Meanwhile, Fingon and his host arrived on the scene, but their efforts to reach Gwindor and his men were thwarted by the fierce onslaught of orcs attacking them. Despite their desperate attempts, they were unable to break through the enemy lines in time to save their comrades.

“They’re going to lose,” you stated as you witnessed the onslaught through the lenses. 

Your skin still tingled with fear at the sight of the Balrog, and the battle had taken a dire turn. The orcs relentlessly pursued High King Fingon and his host, surrounding them with no escape. Without aid or reinforcements, they would face imminent defeat.

“(Name)! Look! There’s a second army coming out to help them!” Mika exclaimed, pointing toward something. It was another elven army, who came charging swiftly to help Fingon and his forces. You were surprised as you had mostly suspected that there were only the elves and humans of Hithlum. 

“(Name). Is there a chance they could still get through this with an army like that?” Mika questioned. 

You assessed the situation. High King Fingon’s forces had been greatly thwarted by the charge and the rescue attempt, and the second army seemed to possess only ten thousand soldiers. That was still little compared to the hordes of orcs that continued pouring out of Angband. There was no hope for victory and if they wished to retreat and save as many as they could, they needed Maedhros and his forces to come to their aid.

Your ears then caught the sounds of horns coming from the east. You and Mika then saw Maedhros’s host arrive from the east. For a moment, your heart was lifted with hope. 

“Now they might have a chance,” you said. 

Maedhros’s eyes narrowed when he saw his cousin’s host surrounded by hoards of orcs. He started to have suspicions when he kept getting delayed by orc attacks, and now his cousin was surrounded, barely protected by Turgon and his army. He had no time question, his cousin needed him. 

He pulled out his sword and raised it high above his head. 

“Our comrades need our help! Prepare to charge and save them!” he yelled and the horns were blown. He and his army then came charging. 

You and Mika watched as Maedhros led his army to aid Fingon, and when he came to face with the orcs, you two heard another horn, which came from Angband. Quickly using the lenses, you saw several doors being opened around the fortress and the hills of the mountains. From inside emerged countless forces of orcs and creatures, some you had never seen before. You saw wolves, warg riders, flying creatures, and more balrogs pouring out of Angband. It seemed Morgoth was unleashing all the forces he had to face the elves. 

You sincerely hoped Maedhros would take the wise decision to simply help Fingon and his host escape rather than try to claim victory against such forces. 

Something then roared. It was so loud that even you and Mika could hear it. For a moment, you thought it was the black dragon from your dream, but then you saw a large wingless serpent come forth from the black gates. 

It was a wingless dragon, golden in color, and nearly bigger than any dragons you had seen. 

The beast roared, leading hoards of similar creatures. It then released its flaming breath upon the forces of elves 

The sight was horrifying. You were shaken by the sheer size of the creature and had no doubt that the beast before you was none other than Glaurung, the rumored first dragon and the father of all dragons. Baleria, though fierce, was barely half his size. While she was formidable and had flight on her side, even you knew she would have a hard time defeating him.

“By the gods…” Mika was horrified at the sight. 

“Now this is war,” you uttered as you both witnessed the battle that would decide the future of Middle Earth. 

The night passed agonizingly slowly. The battlefield was engulfed in flames and death. The clash of swords and the screams of dying men provided no respite, preventing any chance of sleep. The adrenaline and the anticipation of the battle's outcome kept you alert, overriding any sense of fatigue.

The Noldor fought hard against the hoards of Morgoth. 

You anxiously kept watch for Maedhros while allowing Mika to search for his father among the masses. Briefly, the idea of summoning Baleria and joining the battle crossed your mind. However, with the overwhelming number of enemies, including balrogs and a dragon larger than her, you knew she would be unable to change the outcome of the battle. Moreover, she would be at risk of severe injury, a risk you were not willing to take.

"They look like they are retreating," Mika remarked as you both observed the chaos of the war. To your relief, it seemed that Maedhros had decided to prioritize saving as many lives as possible and withdraw from the battle. 

Your ears suddenly picked up another horn from Angband. It was strange. Why would they need to signal a horn? Unless...

Out of panic, you used the lenses and looked toward Maedhros's forces and witnessed the Easterlings turning on them, attacking and killing all the elves and people.

“What’s going on?” Mika asked after noticing your hastened action. 

“The Easterlings… they had been in league with Morgoth this whole time,” you said with a heightened tone as you watched the battle turn for the worse. 

“Traitors!” Mika cursed angrily. 

Using the lenses, you find Maedhros and then witness his steed being killed. 

An arrow suddenly struck Maedhros's horse, causing the steed to scream in pain and collapse, throwing Maedhros to the ground.

Maedhros managed to roll without injuring himself and quickly got back on his feet. His gaze shifted to his fallen horse, a moment of sorrow flickering in his eyes before he refocused on the imminent danger. Gripping his sword tightly, he prepared to defend himself on foot.

You released a breath you held when you saw him fall, but then you noticed one of the Easterlings set their eyes on him. 

Your heart pounded against your chest as the Easterlings charged toward him, his back turned and unaware of the imminent danger. Silent prayers formed in your mind, though you knew there was little time for intervention. Just as you feared the worst, a dark-haired elf intervened, swiftly dispatching the Easterling leader and saving Maedhros from certain death.

A relieved sigh escaped your lips as you witnessed the timely rescue.

"Maedhros!" Maglor's voice cut through the chaos of battle, his urgency clear amidst the yelling and clashing of swords.

"We must retreat! With the Easterlings turning against us, our chances of survival grow slimmer by the moment!" he shouted, fending off an attacking orc with swift motions.

Maedhros hesitated, surveying the dire situation. They were surrounded by the dragon and the beasts attacking them. The escape seemed impossible. 

The dwarven king, Azaghal, then directed his attention to Maedhros. "Retreat while you still can! My people and I will hold off the dragon," he declared, his resolve unwavering.

"Azaghal..." Maedhros uttered. 

"Do not give me any speeches. My people and I knew what we were getting ourselves into, and we would be damned if we did not do anything to save our brothers in arms, and besides, we are much more resistant toward fire," Azaghal said, gripping his axe. 

"Now go, my friends!" he said strictly. 

"Thank you," Maedhros replied gratefully, before turning to rally his people and those still fighting on.

"Prepare to retreat!" he ordered while Azaghal stood before the dragon. 

You watched as Maedhros fled with his brothers, the dwarves putting up a fight against the dragon. Then, you quickly switched your attention toward Fingon, only to find him alone, standing before the lord of Balrogs.

Fingon stood before the flaming demon. 

"Come out here and fight, High King of the Noldor!" Gothmog roared. 

Fingon was alone. His guards laid long dead around him, his brother was too far away from him, but he held on to his sword. 

"I accept your challenge!" Fingon yelled and prepared to fight. 

You watched as the battle between the elf king and the balrog ensued. For a moment, the elf king stood his ground and even seemed to be a match to the giant flaming creature. But then you frowned when you saw another balrog coming from behind, and trap the elf in whips of flames. 

Fingon yelled painfully as whips burned through his armor and clothing, burning his skills and rendering him helpless. He dropped his weapon and was unable to move. 

Gothmog laughed in mockery and Fingon glared at the creature in anger. 

"You dishonorable fiend! Don't you dare to face me on your own!" Fingon yelled. 

"I am one of Morgoth's greatest captains. Of course, I never intended to fight you fairly," Gothmog said then raised his axe. Fingon watched as death came before him. 

You then witnessed as the balrog hewed the elf to the ground, killing him on the spot. You looked away from the scene and quickly tried to find Maedhros, finding him witnessing the horrifying scene. 

His face went pale and his body was frozen with shock. It took one of his brothers to take him away, otherwise he would have most likely stayed. Your heart ached for him and the pain he would face after this. You could already guess from the look that he and the elven king were friends. 

After seeing him and his army flee, you switched your attention to those who were still on the battlefield. The whole western host had been defeated. Only the second elven army and the people of Dor-lomin stood before the enemy. It was a hopeless battle, but you then witnessed how the people of Dor-lomin formed a line and the elven army swiftly retreated from the battle. 

You and Mika watched as the people of Dor-lomin defended the line to the last man till there was only one, holding an axe and yelling through the battlefield. 

“Aure entuluva!”  you heard his voice repeat till there were only corpses and you could not see him anymore. You felt conflicted as you knew what he said, meant the day will come again, even though you did not fluently speak elvish. 

You and Mika then saw how the battlefield was soon filled with only orcs. Maedhros and his brothers had long fled and the wasteland was now covered by ash and death. The battle was lost devastatingly. 

“God… Now I’m kinda glad I didn’t go” Mika uttered as he stared at the view horrified. “You were right. The battle failed,” he added with despair in his voice.

You saw the blue banner of High King Fingon burn in flames, then you noticed birds in the sky. Birds of all different types were flying in flocks toward the south, filling the sky with the flap of their wings and sounds. 

You became dreadful as you realized the woman’s prediction had come true. The blue banner of the king is set ablaze and all the birds flee south...

“Did… did my father possibly escape the battle?” Mika questioned, but you only shook your head. “He’s most likely one of the dead now,” you replied, then turned toward him. 

“We should go and share the news with the village. We need to get started with packing and leaving toward the south while we still have a chance. This will not end here,” you said and he silently nodded as you two returned to your horses. Though the ride back to your village was a grim one, you hoped you still had time to prevent the worst scenario from your dreams.

Taglist: @natchayaphorn​ @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain

[headlinxr]

𝐡𝐢𝐦 ─── 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

SYNOPSIS !  Jeon Jung-kook is your new literature teacher. As the class's top student in that subject, you have to make a good impression on him. But you do more than that.

GENRE. teacher x student, teacher's pet, forbidden relationship, non idol!, au, f!reader

WARNINGS.  reader is younger than Jung-kook, slight smut.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The classroom door opened with a creak that shattered the stillness, and a murmur slithered among the students like the prelude to something unexpected. A young man crossed the threshold with a posture that radiated confidence, accompanied by dark eyes that seemed to guard ancient secrets, as if he could decipher the most intricate enigmas with just a glance. He was Professor Jeon Jung-kook, the new literature teacher, and his arrival transformed the air in the room into something almost palpable, thick with expectation.

From the moment he placed his briefcase on the desk, his presence filled the space with a unique magnetism: A harmonious blend of authority and closeness that only the most charismatic spirits possess.

—Good morning, class— he greeted with a deep voice, with a musicality that evoked the rhythm of a well-composed sonnet. —My name is Jeon Jung-kook, and together we will explore what literature has to teach Not just as an academic discipline, but as a mirror to understand ourselves—

His words were not mere formalities; each syllable seemed chiseled with intention, like a chisel sculpting the marble of a statue. For you, that initial greeting resonated like a tacit promise: Those classes would not be a monotonous repetition of theories and grammatical structures. They would be intrepid journeys into the depths of the human condition, expeditions to the far reaches of emotions and reason.

As the weeks went by, Jung-kook confirmed that he was much more than a conventional teacher. His lessons metamorphosed into existential dialogues, into debates laden with meaning that dissected the nature of being, the inexorability of decisions, and the eternal struggle between light and shadow that resides within each individual.

—A hero is not the one who defeats the dragon— he stated one day, as his gaze swept over the students —but the one who confronts their own darkness, the one that lies in the deepest recesses of their soul—

Those words were not mere reflections; they were arrows precisely aimed at the heart of each student. For some, they provoked admiration; for others, discomfort. For you, they were a revelation.

You had always been the outstanding student, the one who offered impeccable answers and outstanding projects. But your academic success was a fortress built to isolate you, a refuge where your most intimate thoughts remained inaccessible. Jung-kook, however, seemed to have an unsettling ability to read between the lines, not only in the texts they analyzed but also in the pauses and hesitations of your responses.

One rainy afternoon, while discussing "Nausea" by Sartre, his words emerged as a gentle yet unavoidable challenge:

—And you, (Y/N), do you think the choices we make define us or, rather, strip us bare before the truth of who we are?—

The classroom fell into an expectant silence. The question was not just philosophical; it was personal, as if he had glimpsed something beyond the facade she displayed. You felt that Jung-kook's gaze pierced through you, not with judgment, but with a sincere invitation to be authentic.

You hesitated, carefully choosing each word, not because you didn't know how to respond, but because you understood that honesty requires courage.

—I think... I think our choices are like mirrors— you murmured finally, with a trembling but firm voice. —They don't transform us, but they reflect what we have been all along, even the parts we refuse to look at—

Jung-kook smiled faintly, a barely perceptible curve on his lips that seemed to contain the approval and respect that your words had inspired in him.

From that day on, something in you changed. The walls that had protected you for years began to crumble, revealing a torrent of thoughts and emotions you had never shared before. Jung-kook's classes became a kind of sanctuary, a space where I could speak without fear, where my ideas were listened to with the same attention one gives to studying a complex poem.

For his part, Jung-kook also revealed glimpses of his own vulnerability in his teachings. His literary interpretations were laden with personal nuances, as if the demons tormenting Dostoevsky's or Kafka's characters were reflections of his own internal struggle.

—The great authors— he said one day, while holding a worn copy of "The Brothers Karamazov," do not write to give us answers, but to show us that our questions are universal. The demons in their pages are ours, and confronting them is the price of our freedom—

For you, those words were a revelation. Jung-kook was not just a teacher; he was a beacon in the fog, a guide to unexplored territories of your mind and spirit. Between literary quotes and metaphors laden with meaning, the connection between them deepened, not as a romantic bond, but as an intellectual and emotional dance where both learned and transformed.

So , the classroom ceased to be just a physical space and became a theater of ideas, a place where literature was not only studied but lived, felt, and confronted as the mirror that reflects who we are and who we could become.

Time, in Jung-kook's classes, did not follow a straight line, nor did it adhere to the conventions of the clock. Its passage was a dance of smooth glides, like a current that bifurcates and loses itself among the shadows. What began as an orderly analysis of literature soon dissolved into abstractions that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the classroom. Between the words of a Rilke poem or the contradictions of a Camus essay, a microcosm was woven where language was no longer just heard, but felt on the skin, like a vibration that coursed through every corner of his being. Jung-kook spoke with the certainty of someone who knows that literature is not a dead art, but an immense and pulsating river that flows between bodies and minds, pushing towards deeper waters, towards what lies hidden beneath the surface. And you swam in those waters with a skill you seemed unaware of, diving deeper than anyone into the depths of that ocean of words.

Over time, Jung-kook's praises became sharper, more specific, as if each word that left his lips were a flash of light revealing what only he could see.

—You have a unique sensitivity to grasp what others leave in the shadows of a text— he told you one afternoon, after an analysis of "The Stranger” —It's as if you could hear what remains in the silence between the words—

His words fell upon you like petals swirling in the air before gently settling on your soul, each one released with a precision that was not casual. There was something in his tone that suggested a deep truth, a sincerity that surpassed the empty and fleeting compliments he threw at the rest of the class. You began to feel that you sought his attention more and more frequently, like a gravitational force that irresistibly attracted you, his eyes taking an extra moment to focus on you, as if everything in the classroom fell silent to allow time to stop in that brief but immense exchange of glances.

At first, you interpreted those moments as mere recognition of your academic potential. Jung-kook was an exceptional mentor, the kind of person who saw what others couldn't or dared not perceive. You felt honored, even grateful, for that selective attention, as if you were being admitted to a world reserved only for those who managed to cross the threshold of deep understanding. However, soon, cracks began to appear, fine, barely perceptible, but enough to suggest that something else was brewing in the air.

His comments, always masked under the guise of academic interest, began to take on a different weight, as if a whisper laden with hidden intentions slipped between the words.

—The way you write... There's something in it that touches on the intimate, the visceral— he told you one day, handing you an essay he had graded. Jung-kook's fingers brushed briefly against yours as he handed your the paper, a contact as fleeting as lightning, but it left a palpable warmth in the air, a spark you didn't know how to extinguish.

Then came the messages, those that slipped in during the late hours of the night, when everyone was immersed in the silence of darkness. At first, they seemed innocent, simple reminders about readings or literary reflections that extended the boundaries of the class beyond the classroom. But over time, the tone began to change, each word seemed to acquire a weight that transcended the academic.

—I read your analysis on Baudelaire again tonight. The way you captured the melancholy in his work... It's as if you could feel the pain of their soul. I am impressed by the way your soul understands suffering in a unique way—

They were words that came when the world seemed to be asleep, imbued with a closeness, a subtle but undeniable touch, that had nothing to do with a teacher and his student. You tried to convince yourself that his thoughts were just misinterpretations, but Jung-kook's words slipped between the lines, like an unspoken poem, inviting you to read beyond the obvious.

And then there was his presence. There was something about Jung-kook that transcended the physical, as if his body were imbued with an energy that surrounded you, that attracted you. His gestures, that subtle inclination when he listened, his hands drawing circles in the air with invisible ideas, his voice, capable of sliding from the firmness of a paternal advice to the silky whisper of a secret shared in the shadows. You began to notice details that had previously been indifferent to you: The curve of his jaw when he turned his head, the glint in his eyes when he spoke passionately about some author, the way his smile, though rare, seemed to contain entire, infinite universes, waiting to be deciphered.

One day, while the rain softly tapped on the windows of the empty classroom, Jung-kook approached you after class, his presence enveloping the air around him.

—Have you noticed that the most talented people are often the loneliest?— he said, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see something inside you that you yourself did not yet understand.

You felt your heart beating harder, a rhythmic thump vibrating in your chest, as if that phrase touched a hidden fiber of your being.

—Maybe— you replied, trying to stay calm, although your voice betrayed a slight tremor. —But solitude, sometimes, is as much a refuge as it is a curse, isn't it?—

Jung-kook smiled, and that smile slowly stretched, like a curve containing thousands of unspoken meanings.

—It is a truth that few come to understand— he said, and his hand lightly rested on the back of the chair next to yours, coming close enough for the scent of his cologne, subtle yet penetrating, to reach your senses.

It was at that moment when you realized something you had tried to deny, something that had always been there, beneath the surface: How attractive Jung-kook was. Not just for his appearance, which was undeniable, but for the way each of his gestures, every word, every glance, seemed calculated to get you tangled up, to draw you into an abyss from which you didn't know whether you wanted to escape or plunge even deeper.

Your attraction began as a whisper, an ephemeral thought that could have easily dissolved. But over time, that whisper transformed into a persistent echo, resonating every time he entered the room. In your dreams, his face blended with verses you had never read, and his voice became a hypnotic, almost dreamlike song that called to you from the depths of his being.

However, alongside that growing fascination, a question arose that she couldn't shake: How sincere was his interest? Were you really special to him, or just another piece in a game that Jung-kook mastered with the skill of a violinist playing the strings of your emotions?

The classes continued, but now everything had a different hue, a latent tension that permeated every word, every gesture. Jung-kook's teachings were no longer simple lessons, but enigmas you felt compelled to solve, metaphors of a game from which you didn't know whether to escape or let yourself be caught.

As your confidence grew, a subtle shadow was woven into your soul, but increasingly heavier. At first, it was just a delicate feeling, like the breeze that brushes the skin on a summer afternoon, a whisper telling you that there was something unique in your relationship with Jung-kook. He, with his impeccable presence and calculated words, convinced you that there was something special between you, something that went beyond the relationship between a teacher and his student. He spoke to you as if you were the only one capable of understanding his thoughts, as if you were the only one who understood his visions of life and literature. Every word Jung-kook said seemed to open new doors for you, revealing secrets you didn't know existed.Your mind, once curious but with clear boundaries, began to merge with the ideas he shared, as if each one were a point of light in a dark labyrinth to which only he had the key.

The way he looked at you, with that intensity that never faded, made you feel as if the rest of the world were irrelevant, as if its existence were reduced to those moments when he paid attention to you. Each compliment, each comment, seemed to reinforce that feeling: —You are different, (Y/N), you are special. No one else has this ability to see what you see, to feel what you feel. You are unique— He spoke with a softness that was almost dangerous, like the song of a serpent luring its prey before devouring it.

The feeling of being above everyone else intoxicated you. She was so used to hearing those words that they became ingrained in your mind, making you feel as if you were floating, disconnected from everything else. Your friends began to seem distant to you, their voices monotonous and boring compared to the passion with which Jung-kook spoke, the depth he offered you.

In fact, you started to isolate yourself without even realizing it. The messages that used to make You smile now seemed to be your only source of comfort. —Your analysis on Sartre was brilliant, (Y/N). I see something in you that I don't see in anyone else. That ability you have to get to the bottom of every thought, to unravel what hides in the darkness. You have a mind that few can follow— Each word, each praise was a dose that kept you bound, as if somehow you could no longer live without their approval, without that constant validation of their superiority.

The voices of your friends, those that had once made you laugh, began to lose relevance. Their laughter, their trivial conversations, no longer seemed capable of filling the void that Jung-kook had left inside you. His messages, the long talks after class, became the only truth that inhabited your mind. Even your family, which had once been your refuge, became a distant echo. Family dinners, outings with friends, faded away like scattered clouds. Jung-kook needed you for something greater, and that consumed you in a way you couldn't even understand. It was as if the very air you breathed depended on him.

Manipulation, always disguised as affection, admiration, genuine interest, was an invisible fabric that surrounded you more and more. He showed you the world as if it were a closed box, only showing you what he wanted you to see. Every time you perceived something that didn't add up, some gesture or word that made you doubt, Jung-kook made sure to silence that inner voice. —What you felt is not real. Why doubt me, when I only want the best for you?— His voice slid over your thoughts like a slow poison, dragging you into an uncertainty that prevented you from trusting your own instincts. Was it really your intuition guiding your emotions, or were they just fantasies fueled by the need to be seen and understood by him?

The power Jung-kook had over you did not lie solely in his knowledge or his position as a teacher, but in his ability to manipulate your reality. Like an artist sculpting a perfect marble statue, Jung-kook shaped your mind, molding it to depend on him, so you couldn't see beyond his influence. His physical contact, his words, his looks, everything had a purpose: To make you doubt, to make you want more, always more. When their fingers brushed against each other, when their gaze became more penetrating, you felt the space between you become unbreathable, a tension that made you fear and desire with equal intensity.

Sometimes, you find yourself looking for signs in every gesture of his. Was he really that worried about you, or was there something more behind those eyes that seemed to read your soul? The uncertainty grew within you, but there was always something in his voice, a tone of absolute certainty, that disarmed you. —You have to understand that the world doesn't always see what you see.You have to understand that the world doesn't always see what you see. But I see it. I see what is in you, what no one else can see. You are unique, (Y/N), and that attracts me— Each phrase, each compliment, seemed like a rope tied around your neck, and at the same time, a drug I couldn't stop consuming.

It was impossible to escape. The emotional dependence you felt towards him became increasingly urgent, like a fire you couldn't extinguish. The more you saw him, the more you needed him. The more you needed him, the more you desired him. And Jung-kook knew it. He played with you like a lover with his prey, sometimes gently, sometimes with a firmness that destabilized you, always returning to you like the wind returns to its predestined direction.

Every time he looked at you that way, as if he were stripping you of your layers, you felt the world fade away. The multitude of voices that used to surround you, the advice from your friends, the warnings from your family, faded away. Only he remained, the central figure that revolved around your existence, guiding you, manipulating you, shaping you in his image. And you, like a puppet that still doesn't know it's tied up, let yourself be carried away, without questioning, without thinking. Because deep down, there was a part of you that no longer wanted to escape. There was something unspeakable in that game. Something that attracted you like a magnet.

The class had come to an end, but the air was still charged with something that (Y/N) couldn't identify, something that floated in every corner of the classroom, as if Jung-kook's words had seeped into the walls. While the other students gathered their things and left in opposite directions, you remained there, as if suspended in a moment you didn't want to end, like a fallen leaf clinging to the tree before surrendering to the final fall.

Jung-kook, standing next to the desk, loomed as a dominant presence, almost a monolith of silence that expanded throughout the classroom. His eyes, dark and deep as unfathomable abysses, found you instantly, trapping you in his gaze with the force of an irrevocable destiny. No words were needed. With just a slight raising of an eyebrow, so subtle it seemed like an invisible caress, his gesture pierced your soul like a poisoned arrow, awakening something within you. A tiny, insidious fire ignited in his chest, a spark of hidden desire but as bright and overwhelming as the full moon illuminating the clear sky of an endless night.

—(Y/N), stay a moment after class…— he said, his voice low and soft, but with a gravitational weight that trapped you and made it impossible to ignore. The words floated in the air, dense as an invisible fog, laden with something that transcended the academic. In that instant, the world seemed to stop. The voices of the other students, the murmurs in the hallways, even the monotonous buzzing of the fluorescent lights, all vanished in an almost mystical sigh. The only sound that remained was the rapid beating of your heart, echoing in your ears with the force of an unspoken truth. Should this be a simple request for an academic topic? Maybe yes, but something in the cadence of his voice, in the way he wrapped you with each word, told you that there was much more behind that invitation, something that moved in the shadows, lurking and tempting.

A simple nod of his head was enough for you to agree, almost without thinking. you nodded, slowly and deliberately, and in that instant, a heavy silence settled over you, like a warm and dense blanket. You couldn't help it. The way his eyes looked at you, that unyielding intensity, attracted you with a force you couldn't rationalize, much less resist. Jung-kook was a magnetic man, not only for his physical presence but for the way he moved, for the cadence of his voice, so deep and fluid, like a river of words that swept you into its current, leaving you lost in the whirlwind of your desire. He was a soft poison, almost imperceptible, that slid through your veins, carrying you away without mercy.

As the other students dispersed, the classroom slowly emptied, leaving a tense calm in the air, like the stillness before a storm. The echo of footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving only the dense silence of his presence. Jung-kook didn't move, his eyes remained fixed on you, unyielding. You felt the space between you narrow, as if the classroom walls were slowly closing in, trapping you in the invisible web he had woven around himself. A shiver ran through you. You felt vulnerable, like a flower yet to bloom, waiting for the sun to give it permission to unfold its deepest splendor. The anxiety that used to keep you on edge melted into something new, something strange and tempting: An anticipation that coursed through your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your being.

The clock, cruel in its advance, marked the time with the precision of an executioner. When the door finally closed, the classroom was enveloped in an almost palpable stillness, the air charged with an electric tension that could be felt on the skin, as if each breath were a latent threat. Jung-kook took a step towards you, his movements measured and calculated with the precision of a hunter approaching his prey, but without haste. As if time were at his feet, and not the other way around.

—Does it bother you to stay a few more minutes?— I just want to talk about your latest essay—he said, and although his words were rational, his tone, soft and grave, carried a barely contained sensuality, like a taut string, about to snap

A sigh escaped your lips. You tried to smile, but you knew that expression couldn't hide what was overflowing in your chest. His closeness enveloped you like a thick fog, like a tide that swept you away without remedy. It wasn't just his body that occupied the space; it was something intangible, something that passed through his gestures, his fixed gaze, that confidence with which he moved. Each word he uttered was an invitation to the abyss, a whisper laden with unspoken promises. His gaze, deep and serene, never stopped searching for yours, trapping you in a game from which you neither could nor wanted to escape.

—Of course, professor— you murmured, your voice lower than usual, as if you didn't want your words to escape your mouth. They were more a sigh, an unquestioning acceptance, a permission given without reservation. Upon saying it, you felt a little more vulnerable, as if an invisible thread tied you to him, leaving you in the web of his own desire, a desire that now felt as clear as water, but that you still tried to suppress.

Jung-kook took another step, getting closer, so close that you could feel the heat of his body, so palpable that it almost hurt. A subtle scent of men's cologne, something more, something indefinable, filled your nose, enveloping your senses, making your breath heavier, more conscious. You could hear the beats of your own accelerated heart, as if you were on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into the vastness of the forbidden.

—The essay…— he said, now with an even deeper, denser voice, laden with an intention you couldn't ignore. It's... Excellent, (Y/N). But I know you have much more to offer. I see that spark in you. That... Depth. Not everyone has that— his voice slipped softly, like a warm river surrounding you, caressing your ear with the promise of something much greater, something you couldn't avoid, nor wanted to avoid.

His closeness became intoxicating, a constant pressure that made it hard to breathe easily. Each word he spoke, each movement, became a song, a melody that resonated in your chest. Each phrase from Jung-kook seemed like a promise, a promise of something beyond the classrooms, something that couldn't be named, but that touched You with a breathtaking certainty. Something forbidden.

—I think you are more perceptive than you realize, (Y/N). Not everyone can grasp what you understand... What you see in the texts, in the nuances that others overlook. Have you noticed that?— he asked, his tone seductive and soft, each word woven with the intention of disarming you, making you succumb to the trap he had set without your knowledge.

You wanted to respond, but your words got stuck in your throat, choked by the intensity of his presence. The sound of your ragged breathing joined theirs, marking the rhythm of something that seemed inevitable. The beats of his heart echoed like drums in your ears, and although your mind tried to rebel, your body desired it without remission. The distance between the two of you was becoming increasingly dangerous, every second more explosive.

Jung-kook leaned towards you, the air between them charged with a tension so palpable that it seemed any movement could shatter that delicate balance. His face was just a few centimeters from yours, and his warm breath caressed your skin, like a wordless promise.

—You have no idea how special you are, (Y/N)— he murmured, and that softness, that whisper, completely disarmed you, leaving you defenseless before him.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, as if the entire world were fading away around them. The classroom, the chairs, the desk, everything disappeared, and only he and you remained, trapped in an atmosphere laden with unspoken promises. The line between academic admiration and something much deeper blurred, as if everything in his being screamed that this was much more than a mere meeting of minds. It was a meeting of souls, and neither of them could leave there without something having been transformed forever.

You didn't know if your body had reacted first, if your thoughts had overflowed at his proximity, but what you did know was that you couldn't go back. You could no longer escape the gravity that kept you bound to him, that invisible force that drew you in mercilessly, without compassion, as if fate itself dictated that there was no turning back.

Without warning, as if time itself were swept away by a whirlwind of primal instincts, Jung-kook drew You towards him with an unstoppable force, a firmness that whispered both protection and possession. It was an electric contact, a palpable tension, like the crossing of two worlds destined to collide, a fusion of contained desires and a need so visceral that it overflowed the limits of reason. In that suspended moment, their bodies drew closer with frantic urgency, as if the entire universe had stopped, holding its breath before the magnitude of the moment. The air, thick and laden with expectations, became dense between them, like a forbidden perfume that intoxicates the senses.

Their lips, barely a whisper apart, met in a kiss so intense that it seemed to transcend the physical realm. It was an incendiary touch, an explosion of repressed passions, as if everything they had desired, everything they had feared and longed for, was unleashed in a single eruption. The kiss, voracious and unrestrained, swept away any trace of doubt, overflowing the boundaries of decency and sanity. A fierce kiss that spoke without words, that whispered on their skin what they hadn't even dared to think, a language as ancient as desire itself, resonating with the depth of a soul that had been waiting for the exact moment to surrender.

Each brush of their lips was an invitation, a challenge, and a promise. A forbidden dance woven in the shadows, where bodies moved in unison, shedding all restraint, advancing towards a union that could not be stopped. It was as if the air around them were on fire, each breathless gasp amplifying the electricity overflowing between their skins, a burning current that united them in a whirlwind of contradictory sensations: Pain and pleasure, need and surrender. The intensity of that kiss not only tore through the silence of the room but marked every corner of their existences, as if every second spent there was imbued with a desire so strong that it overflowed any notion of time or space.

His touch was a lightning bolt, a flash that illuminated the deepest part of you being, stripping reality of its shadow, igniting every forgotten corner of desire. And in that fervor, in that boundless surrender, everything else ceased to matter. The forbidden, the unthinkable, everything faded away, leaving only the fury of an uncontrollable desire that fed on their closeness, that grew with every spark that was born between them. A desire that knew no bounds, overflowing in an incessant torrent of pure need.

With a movement as smooth and deliberate as if every muscle in his being had been invaded by the certainty of his destiny, Jung-kook leaned in, like a painter approaching his blank canvas, aware that the moment of creation was about to culminate. His lips, burning and fascinating, began to explore the delicate and vulnerable curve of your neck, an uncharted territory that seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, echoes of promises woven in the air with the fragrance of a desire that was eternal, profound, like a truth that only the soul could comprehend. Each kiss he placed on your skin was a whisper of complicity, a pact sealed in a language that transcended words, an echo of passions dancing to the rhythm of an ethereal wind, like golden leaves swept away by the current of a perpetual autumn.

Your skin, as soft as velvet or the purest silk, became an intimate and secret stage, where light and shadow played an eternal dance. Each caress of his lips on you was a fleeting spark, a flicker of fire that reverberated deep within his being, unleashing a torrent of emotions that swam in the turquoise waters of their connection. Jung-kook, with the sincere devotion of a poet desperately seeking the perfect words, traced a path of kisses that flowed with the grace of a winding river, dragging towards the abyss of shared desire, an abyss that was not terrifying, but full of promises to explore, of territories never before conquered. It was an act of veneration, a ritual in which every touch of his skin transformed into a sacred verse, each inhalation into a stanza narrating a deep and infinite story, a story known only to them.

As his lips gently rested on the skin of your neck, time itself seemed to fade away, as if the entire universe had paused, holding its breath in absolute respect for the beauty of that shared moment. The warmth of his breath, suspended by the palpable intensity of the connection, intertwined with the intoxicating aroma of his skin, creating a sensory symphony that enveloped each of their senses, awakening them with the subtlety of a poem unfolding in the breeze. It was as if everything that existed beyond them faded away, leaving only the resonant echo of two hearts beating in unison, marking the rhythm of an eternal melody, resonating only in their souls, each heartbeat vibrating like a perfect chord in the vastness of their shared universe.

Each kiss was not just a physical touch; it was an act of revelation, a delicate yet profound exploration of the vulnerability that resides in total surrender. As if, through those gentle touches, it not only bared your skin but also touched the most secret corners of your soul, reverently tearing away the layers of insecurity and fear that often enveloped you like a protective shell. It was an act of emotional nakedness, a silent and respectful stripping away of every hidden corner of your being. With each kiss, he not only touched you but also removed the resistance that life had cultivated in you, allowing you to be completely his, without masks, without barriers, just the purity of being, in its most naked and authentic form.

With an almost reverent gentleness, as if fearing to disturb the very essence of what he was about to explore, Jung-kook let his hands glide slowly towards your thighs, like a navigator venturing into uncharted territory, full of undisclosed mysteries and promises that only time could reveal to you. His fingers, warm and sure, began to trace subtle invisible paths over the soft and silky skin, as if weaving a map of sensations that awakened every fiber of you being, a route that called for surrender and submission. It was a touch that needed no words, an ancient language that spoke in whispers, resonating in the dense air, charged with an electric tension that was palpable, that was felt in every breath suspended between them.

Each caress was like a verse of a poem, one that was written to the rhythm of their intertwined hearts, where skin became the canvas and desire, the indelible ink that marked their story. Jung-kook, with the skill of a consummate artist, traced the contours of your thighs with silent admiration, exploring the geography of your body with devotion like a painter shaping a masterpiece, knowing that each stroke was part of a unique creation. His hands glided with the fluidity of a winding river, flowing between the stones of time, finding their way through the softness and warmth of your skin, while the outside world faded into the distance, reduced to a distant and irrelevant murmur.

As his fingers ascended with a delicious caution, the connection between their bodies became more palpable, as if the air surrounding them were charged with electricity, with a tension impossible to contain. It was a journey into the unknown, each inch of your skin explored was a revelation, an opening to what only the soul could know, where each touch unveiled a new layer of vulnerability, an unbreakable surrender that they both shared without the need for words. Jung-kook lingered on every curve, every line, as if the contour of your body told a sacred story, one that deserved to be heard in its silence and celebrated with the respect that only the purest desire could offer.

However, the conclusion of that story, the long-awaited climax that lay beyond the closed doors of that hall, remained suspended in the air, motionless, like an unfinished melody, a contained sigh that never reached its conclusion. It remained there, floating, pulsating, a vibration in space, an intangible echo of what happened between you.

The silence, dense as fog, laden with unspoken words, unfolded between you like a broken promise that would never find its fulfillment. What happened within those walls, in the refuge of those shadows that stretched like tempting arms towards the horizon, remained trapped in that refuge, hidden, like a forgotten whisper that only the wind remembered. In every corner, desire continued to throb, persisting in the shadows, without the need to be fulfilled, without requiring a conclusion. What was lived remained inscribed in the memory of their bodies, interwoven with the same essence that fills the air after a storm.

The memory, as fleeting as dawn and as eternal as the moon, became a persistent longing, suspended in space, like a distant lighthouse, always present but never reached. The mystery of the unlived remained like a soft shadow gliding through the folds of the soul, impossible to unravel, like a labyrinth one traverses without finding the end, but which becomes one's destiny. What happened, or perhaps what never happened, remained stored in the empty space between their souls, in the stillness of their bodies, letting the whispers of desire resonate only in the echo of uncertainty.

And so, that moment transformed into the unattainable, into a thick fog that could not dissipate, a sigh suspended in time that no one else could hear or understand. The hall, once full of life, now breathed only the intangible trace of the unreal, a vestige of what could have been but never was. All those who tried to reconstruct it with words or memories would never come to understand what really happened between you, for that story could neither be told nor remembered with accuracy. Only the persistent vibration of an unresolved desire remained, the void of the unconsummated, which would continue to exist in the air, like an eternal unanswered question.

[guhamun]

@dnangelic said (inbox):

' what's with that look? ' arrogant; breezy as ever, even cuffed, the chords of the great phantom thief's voice have yet to lose their brusque and hypnotizing melody, just as the cut of his devilish grin has refused to settle even a centimeter lower. ' ... if i had to take a guess, it's because you weren't expecting to ever see me like this. i know, i'm surprised too. ' it's a lie, but whether it was or not didn't really matter when he was already headed to the fortress, wasn't that the case? still, dark can't help but snicker a little. ' did you hate me? i never hated you, you know. it was never personal. a thief has impartially to steal, the same way a judge has to impartially judge ... you understand it, right? or did you just have some sort of burning question over myself as a person that you wanted to answer, and that's why you decided to send me off? ' he'd be flattered if he wasn't the one feeling like his terrible, infamous presence was infinitely more flattering in its own way, really.

     ❝I WAS NOT. WHICH begs to question… Why did you allow yourself to be captured? What game is this to you?❞ Neuvillette knew for a fact that Dark was near impossible to capture, his name ringing throughout the pages of history from place to place. It had taken some time for him to realize just who it was that was stealing valuable objects around Fontaine…until he caught sight of them arrogantly wielding his favored chalice with wings the color of the darkest night. Truthfully, he never thought that they would appear in Fontaine of all places, but the infamous Phantom Thief was known for their desire for risk. It was but a matter of time. Normally Neuvillette did not speak to those who were in Dark’s place, often leaving them to be dealt with by the Duke and his people until an official trial was set. Nevertheless, for a now, before that transpired and they were taken to the Fortress of Meropide and away from this temporary holding cell, he would speak to this thief himself and discern their thoughts. How rare it was, for him to be curious to this extent.

     ‘Do you hate me?’

     What kind of question was this to ask him? To hate would ruin his impartiality. If his emotions were that strong, he would have recused himself from this trial and had another take his place. Unprecedented; however, he was always, if anything, strict with following the rules. ❝I believe you misunderstand my reasons for being here. It is not to look upon you with disdain for your thievery. Despite my displeasure towards your more…lucrative habits, I am here for another reason entirely.❞ Gloved fingers tightened upon his cane, eyes narrowing just slightly. It was a subtle gesture within that dim lighting, so easily missed by one whose eyes were not as sharp as Dark’s. Were they truly trying to compare their two professions as if they were the same side of a coin? A thief could not be impartial. A judge must judge, on the contrary, a thief did not have to steal.

     They chose to.

     ❝A thief does not steal without reason, although, then again, a thief does not live as long as one whose title is ‘Phantom’. You speak as if you are compelled to do this rather than because you desire to do so. You are like a crow that sees a ring gleaming in one’s hand, swooping down to take it simply because it is shiny. It is the nature of the crow to do this…just as it might be your nature to take what is considered valuable to another.❞ He paused, such for but a second or two. ❝Do you steal because you cannot help but do so? Are you like the crow?❞

[mister-eames]

DUUUUDE! I am in love with your last ask/answer about Arthur but I am the greediest of all gremlins and now NEED your Eames version of this answer. What's Eames' reasons behind why it takes so long for him & Arthur to get together? Does he have his own version of he doesn't think he has a chance? Or whereas Arthur knew he had feelings for Eames & decided to lock them up in a box and hide them away, is Eames not aware of his true feelings for ages? Idk! I love this! No pressure of course!

Thank you for the question! Eamesie, my dearest darlingest Eames. I love him so much.

I don't know how well I'm going to articulate this (spoiler, not great), but here goes!

I suppose, at the forefront, is that my interpretation of Eames is him being incredibly vulnerable and guarded. Sensitive. He's a cancerian, I will die on this hill. There's a pervasive sadness to his character. It's in his body language, the way he speaks, the way he interacts with the other characters, how he is all ready to retreat at the first sign of warfare in the dream.

On this, and coming back to the concept of them being two sides of the same coin: where Arthur uses his persona like a weapon to ward people away from his heart, Eames has a thousand shields around his.

Eames is the overly cautious one. Arthur is the hothead with one hundred contingency plans and a smart mouth, but Eames is the one hiding under layers and masks and personas and misdirections and flowery words and tricks. Eames is not afraid of loving someone, as such, but he's profoundly aware of how deep his well runs when it comes to the depth of his feelings---and he knows without a doubt, were he to surrender to it, he would never be able to climb out of that well again.

If it doesn't work out he thinks there would be a part of him left with Arthur always, even if Arthur didn't know it - even if Arthur didn't want it.

If it doesn't work out, Eames believes 'well Arthur would just pick himself up and move on like nothing even happened' (not true, but he doesn't know that) meanwhile Eames would be riddled with craters in his very being. It's doomed to hurt, he thinks. That's a terrible bet to take.

Besides, what he has now with Arthur is fine. He's never had so much fun pulling pigtails before. Why rock the boat?

Does Eames think he is worthy of Arthur? Yes. Eames knows he would give anyone he loved his all - and it's just that - that's the scary part for him. Giving it his all. Losing himself when he has the option of being self assured. Sure, Eames has insecurities too, perhaps about his body, about being 'too much' for someone else, but at the apex? He has something inside him that would rupture easily, irreparably, and he's built a fortress within a fortress within a fortress to protect it.

In short, Arthur = love is a whole ass feeling, but not worth risking the pain/rejection/facing my own insecurities. Eames = love is a whole ass feeling, I will presumably decimate myself by giving in, therefore I should not. It's not that Eames is more in love with Arthur than he is Eames, but Eames' line of thinking very much leans towards catastrophising.

Neither Arthur or Eames are wrong in the way they think, but nor are they right. They place the riskiest bet with each other - their own soft sides and vulnerabilities. They admit to themselves, this person, this thing means something. But admitting that to each other would be passing a point of no return.

I also think thats what makes the pairing so compelling to me - whether the events of the film are pre-relationship, established or exes-trying again, its so clear to me how inextricably intertwined these two are. In the way way they seem to have a piece of each other without explanation - the way they tease each other, their banter, how they talk shit about each other to others, their little tête-à-tête - 'be back before the kick', 'merry chase', their nicknames? hello?? who else talks like that in the movie??

They have evidently carved a part out of each other without realising it. You might as well dive in, boys.

[pumpkinmagekupo]

Dusk Vigil

Dusk Vigil seemed to be frozen in permanent hiatus, the clouds blocked out the sun and snow consumed the fortress. Mizuki had denied Alphinaud's help with the mission. He was so persistant, she was close to using magick to put him to sleep whilst she left.

Snow crunched under her boots as she finally found the entrance to the keep. She shuddered as the creaky wooden door slammed shut behind her.

"Hells, it's not much warmer in here." She whined, brushing snow off her hat. The long burnt out lanterns, glowed with an eerie blue light.

Corpses came to greet her and Mizuki laid them to rest rather quickly. The waking dead was quite unsettling and put her more on edge than she had been prior.

During her descent into the fortress, she found scraps of parchment, shedding some light on what occurred within the fortress walls.

And then she found them.

Frozen in place, partial decayed. The bodies of some of the remaining knights and the source of the never-faltering blue flames.

Mizuki offered them a prayer. One of them had a piece of parchment under his hand. It's words weighed heavy on Mizuki's heart.

"Trapped here after the calamity... the Holy See never sent aid and-"

"They prayed.. and prayed to Halone for aid..for salvation and none answered.." Mizuki was overcome with grief and anger. Left to the biddings of Yuhelmeric who was fast losing his mind. They looked to him for guidance and he took them down a path of depravity.

In such overwhelming desperation, it can drive good men to the brink of madness.

And such the knights followed their Lord Commander.

"These men needed your help... why did you not heed their pleas?" Mizuki had never been much of a believer in the Twelve: she had her reasons.

Though a recent incident had her question her disbelief.

If they truly did exist as the Eikons did: why would they have let them suffer so..

The cold walls of Dusk Vigil had become their tomb, to encase their souls forever in permafrost.

"Why would you save me? An outsider, a non-believer but not these men who believed in you so readily? Called your name in prayers and looked to you for protection in battle?"

"Why would you forsake them to such fate?" Mizuki knew her answers would go unanswered. The scales of her belief were in constant imbalance.

Mizuki felt her grief wash over her. She sat and cried for these knights. People she didn't know and reading their accounts only served to tell her how their lives were completely changed.

If the Holy see had sent aid, would things have been different?

Could they have been saved?

I didn't know Yuhelmeric was a cannibal or an npc in 1.0.

Mizuki shouldn't have read too much in the keep.. She keenly aware of peoples emotions and a place drowning in such sorrow

Just some silly and probably not accurate rambles, in between tomestone farming

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Eruri is my favorite ship but for personal reasons, I have very strict limits when it comes to fictional content and find very few fics that I am comfortable reading. I feel really alienated within the fandom because everyone has tastes that are not mine and can enjoy the most extreme content without any problems... As an eruri veteran, what do you think of the tastes of the fandom and how Erwin and Levi are generally perceived within it? What is your opinion on the evolution of tastes in the fandom as it grew? Do you feel more in tune with how Erwin and Levi were perceived before or today? And finally, what kind of fics do you like to read and (if you don't mind answering) what kind of fics will you never read?

I’m glad you are clear about setting your own boundaries, but I’m sorry you’re struggling to find content you’re comfortable reading.  I know it can be dispiriting if you feel you’re out of step with your fandom, but preserving your own comfort is always important. 

In terms of your questions, I’m going to break this down if that’s okay. 

As an eruri veteran, what do you think of the tastes of the fandom and how Erwin and Levi are generally perceived within it?

The first thing to say here is that obviously the Eruri fandom isn’t a unified whole.  It’s a large and diverse fandom with many different communities spread across multiple platforms and continents so it’s almost impossible to make generalisations. I’m not on TikTok, but I know the Eruri fandom on TikTok is quite different to the fandom on Tumblr or Twitter.  There’s a huge Asian and Japanese fandom too of course, and their perception of these characters, their motivations and actions, can be very different from Western fandoms.  @tsuki-no-ura's excellent blog gives a fascinating glimpse into what gets lost in translation.  

I also think fans’ perception of these characters depends on when and how they came to the series.  Anime only fans will have a different perception from manga fans. I think that fans who followed the series in real time have a different attachment to the characters from those who came to the series after it ended and were able to consume the whole story from start to finish.  

If I was to make a sweeping generalisation though, I’d say that the fandom’s perception of Erwin and Levis is pretty true to canon.  Most Eruri fans perceive Erwin’s emotional depth, the burden of guilt he carries, and the toll that pursuing his father’s dream takes on him. Erwin is a visionary, he can be ruthless when the occasion demands, but he never sacrifices life needlessly, and every soldier lost under his command adds to his burden.  

If you step outside the Eruri fandom, which I do very rarely, you will find a very different perception of Erwin. In some quarters he is still regarded as the ruthless, heartless, military commander who cares nothing for the lives he throws away. These are the fans who will swear blind that Erwin would have supported the Yeagerists and Eren’s genocide. I can only conclude they read the series with their eyes shut. 

Levi is crude and awkward but also deeply kind and compassionate.  He is loyal to a fault and devoted to those he loves. Many fans perceive Levi’s love language as being acts of service, which is not out of keeping with the way he is portrayed in canon. There is a beautiful quote from Kamiya Hiroshi, who described Levi as the last stronghold of Erwin’s humanity and I think that really sums up how he is seen by the fandom. 

O: “However, in coming back to being a human, it was when he talked to Levi, probably” (K: *assents*) “Well, all this time, probably, Levi was the last fortress, I think, that he can be as human.”

Ono Daisuke and Kamiya Hiroshi’s Dear Girl: Stories translated by @tsuki-no-ura

What is your opinion on the evolution of tastes in the fandom as it grew? 

Like I said in the ask about Marley Erwin that I answered yesterday, I think that after Erwin died in the manga it freed writers to explore a myriad of AUs and what-ifs.  However it’s notable that there are still many new authors writing fics set in the canon universe.  Fics set in the period between ACWNR and the SnK manga are enduringly popular.  Obviously once Marley came into the picture that gave writers a whole new world to play in and many seized the opportunity enthusiastically. The various merchandise franchises and collaborations have also provided fertile grounds for writers.  The Sukiya AU was a gift to the fandom.  Ditto Mer Levi and King Erwin. 

Again, I hesitate to generalise, but I have noticed a bit of a trend over the last year or so for some writers to focus on darker aspects of Erwin’s character and his relationship to Levi.  Virgin Eruris also seem to be in vogue.  Not sure where that’s coming from. Trans Eruri fics have also grown in popularity over the last few years. 

One of the things that’s interesting about the Eruri fandom is that the ending of the canon series appears to be having no impact on the popularity of the ship.  The manga ended two years ago but the fandom is still growing. There are now a million different ship weeks and challenges to cater to almost every aspect of the ship. Last year we had Eruri Valentine Week, Femruri Week, Eruri Fluff Month, Eruri August, Dark Eruri Week, Trans Eruri Week, Bottom Erwin Week to name but a few.  There really is something for everyone. 

Do you feel more in tune with how Erwin and Levi were perceived before or today? 

Ooh that’s a tough one. Fandom communities tend to be transient by their nature, so if you stick around for longer than the norm, it’s inevitable that your interests may fall out of line with new influxes of fans. I’m not going to deny that I do sometimes feel out of step with large parts of the fandom, as though I’ve stayed in the same place but the fandom has moved on. I will always be nostalgic for the Midnight Sun era, it was such an intense time, and despite the pain of the Serum Bowl, I'm glad I experienced it.  But again, the Eruri fandom is so large and diverse that there are still plenty of corners where I feel right at home, where I can hang out with other fandom dinosaurs 🦕 At the same time, it’s really exciting to see so many new fans discovering this amazing ship.  The Eruri fandom has always been blessed with incredibly talented writers and artists and it’s great to see new generations of fans carrying on this tradition. I’ve been really blown away by some of the new creators that have come to the fandom over the last couple of years.

And finally, what kind of fics do you like to read and (if you don't mind answering) what kind of fics will you never read?

I don’t mind answering as long as we’re clear that these are just my personal preferences.  No shade on anyone who loves things I dislike and vice versa.  

My preference is for fics that stick closely to Erwin and Levi’s canon characterisation, but I love AUs as much as canonverse.  I adore fics that explore Erwin and Levi’s growing relationship.  I’m a real sucker for hurt-comfort and I don’t shy away from fics that explore the impact of grief.  I love reading smut.  Well written BDSM fics that understand trust, catharsis and consent own my whole heart, but at the same time I adore fics where Erwin and Levi teach each other that they are worthy of tenderness and love.  I’ve really grown to enjoy creature fics and you might even catch my reading omegaverse from time to time, but only if it’s written by seabear or @flecksofpoppy Historical AUs are absolutely my jam and I love fics that really inhabit a sense of place. 

In terms of dislikes, I won’t read fics where Erwin is gratuitously cruel or callous or where he mistreats or manipulates Levi. I also dislike fics where Levi is naive, incapable, clingy or weepy. I find jealousy a real turn off and avoid it like the plague.  I don’t mind reading first times but I have no interest in fics that focus on virginity. I’m not keen on mpreg, breeding kink, nesting and some of the squickier aspects of omegaverse. I dislike fics about marriage and weddings, with a few notable exceptions. I’m not a huge fan of parental Eruri fics, and I actively avoid fics where Erwin or Levi parent any of the Shiganshina trio. Zevi is an absolute hard nope from me, even when (especially when?) he is the abusive ex. Having said all that, there are always exceptions to the rule. As a wise friend of mine once said “you’re only one fic away from shipping your notp” and a really talented writer can make you fall in love with tropes or scenarios that you previously hated. 

Oof sorry, that was a long ass answer.  Thanks for your ask, it was interesting to sit down and think about some of this stuff.

[ace-writer-lani]

Preview:

“I understand that you must have a few questions.”

Bianca wanted to scoff. A few? A few was an understatement. It wasn’t like she had been assigned a project with vague instructions that barely explained what she was supposed to do because that, at least, she could handle. Instead, in the span of only a few hours, she and Nico had been attacked by a monster, saved by cultists, and now she was in the presence of a goddess who could probably end her life with a snap of her fingers.

That meant she didn’t just have a few questions that churned in her head like a soft storm, she had a whole hurricane of them. They fought each other ruthlessly for dominance, quenching their associative answer. However, if she asked them all, it would take at minimum the last few hours of the night.

And Bianca was sure Artemis had more important, godly things to do.

So she just picked the most pressing one. “Why did our, um, godly parent request for you to watch us? Wouldn’t it have been easier to do it themselves?”

Artemis shook her head, leading her and FiFi (or was she supposed to call her Phoebe now?) deeper into the tent. There was a small brazier in the center that created an atmosphere of warmth and dozens of animal pelts were hung along the walls. With an elegant motion of her hand, the goddess gestured for them to sit on the large, soft pillows that Nico would’ve loved to make a fortress out of.

“No, it would not have,” she said. “Any direct influence they have on your lives is bound to draw unwanted attention. That is why they turned to me. While I wasn’t able to interfere myself, my Hunters could.”

Bianca twisted her ring. “So you sent FiFi.”

“Yes. Phoebe already had connections in the hotel, which made her the most qualified.” At the mention of her name, Phoebe gave another two-finger salute.

“But why?”

Artemis hummed as she ran her fingers through the fur of a deer that had wandered into the tent to lay its head on her lap. “Two reasons. The first is because I am a protector, of maidens and children. The second, well, you still have trouble with controlling your Hellfire do you not?”

Bianca flinched. The chilling flickers that swirled beneath her skin sent shivers down her spine. “How do you know about that?”

“I am a Goddess, little one. I can sense it within you, threatening to break free. That is why I am extending to you an offer to join my Hunt.”

“What.”

[tf2-crew-mailbox]

Welcome.

This blog is managed by me, The Spy. It acts as a P.O. Box of sorts where you can send letters and gifts to both myself and the others. It is truly agonizing talking to only them, day in, day out. Every day.

All letters will be kept by the person they are addressed to. We will likely remember you if you talk to us more than once. Do with that what you will. If you are sending mail without a return address, give us something to remember you by. A signature will do. I will talk occasionally in the tags if I feel I have something to share.

Moving on. Terms and conditions are below.

What is allowed- Everything, within reason. Any and all interactions are encouraged, but to name a few: Questions, small talk, advice, requesting comfort, sending us things, etc. You can send however many letters you like per day. There is no limit.

What is not allowed- Solicitation or bigotry of any kind. This is not a safe place for you. If you send anything like the above, I will not answer you. Do not try to start arguments with us or anyone else.

Also, as a treat: @littleguyconnor <—- The author’s out of character main blog. Lots of Team Fortress shenanigans over there too. Check it out if you’d like!

[silentknives]

* VERSES.

all that we know may never be enough ; main

For some, there comes a time when neither sides work out — when neither have the answers. There comes a time where one needs to find their own way, and that is the conclusion Emily has come to. In the struggle to find her own path, she embarks on a search for her missing mother. She hopes that this search may provide answers to an alternative solution for this age-old war between Templars & Assassins. She hopes to find a way to tip the scale towards a more balanced society, and to keep it that way, but the possibility of that is a question she has yet to find the answer.

silence is no longer an option; assassin verse

Emily Beckett was born on 1757 in London to a doctor and a seamstress. Due to the high demand of medical assistance in the British colonies in America, her father was recruited there. Both parents sought a new life in this new land, but due to reasons unknown, her mother had to be left behind. Emily was four years old when she moved with her father to America, Boston specifically. When she grew older, she often helped her father with supplies by making frequent runs to the Frontier to trade and collect materials. She eventually learned to hunt, and she became a notorious hunter in the Frontier. Her skills eventually caught the attention of the Assassin Brotherhood and, at some point, was recruited.

a tale retold in the name of order ; templar verse

Same beginnings and motives, but a different encounter. She had eavesdropped a “secret” organization accidentally in passing – the Templar Order. Intrigued by what little she heard about them, she eagerly searches for this organization throughout her journey around the frontier and in Boston. Her search led her to the Green Dragon Tavern where she finds a small, but influential band of men who were in the order. They were reluctant and skeptical of her at first, for she kept her goals and motives a total mystery. However, she more or less shared the same values as them – wanting order and peace in this young and budding country.  After creating an alliance and working together on multiple occasions, Emily was deemed worthy of joining the Order. She hoped with the resources and skills the Order could give her, she would find a way to help her father without producing more chaos than she had already caused.

a fortress of distortion ; modern / reincarnation AU

Emily is an intern at Abstergo and a college student getting her masters in Archeology. Throughout her life, she has had strange dreams about being the same woman, but these dreams became frequent after getting in contact with some Isu artifacts. Dreams turn into nightmares. She becomes haunted by these familiar scenarios and embarks on a secret investigation of the woman she keeps dreaming about. Turns out one of her ancestors was an Assassin, but not only that, she hypothesizes that she’s a reincarnation of a rogue/vigilante from the late 1700′s. Emily makes it a personal mission to study the Animus and to, eventually, get herself into it to get answers. She juggles between being a good student, being an even better intern, and discovering who she really is.

two sides of the same coin ; alternate assassin’s creed AU

Similar background, different timelines. This is mainly for crossovers within the Assassin’s Creed franchise ( other than AC3 ).

to live by no one’s rules ; red dead redemption AU

Known to some as a trader and a huntress of the Ambarino Grizzles. To others, Emily is an infamous bounty hunter, and goes by the alias ‘ Silent Knives ’. Under that alias, no one really knows exactly who she is or what she looks like since she disguises herself beneath the dark of night. She has brought in quite a number of criminals and outlaws throughout the years, and she has become an asset to law enforcers, but not quite reliable enough to be in full allegiance with them. She’s only a bounty hunter out of necessity, and it isn’t a full time occupation.

[roses-boar]

Chapter 4: Warlords and Cowards

A company of soldiers traveled down the beaten path in a stream of worn iron and bloodied steel, barely a hundred strong. The company was a coalescence of colors having been formed from soldiers of many dedications. Knights of Rose, disciples of Bismuth, followers of Pearl, and worshippers of many other gems filled the ranks of the derelict militia. The Paladin of Rose Quartz stood at the forefront of the march followed closely by Marianne and Sergeant Dewey.

"Sire, I do not mean to question your authority, but might I ask what the deal is with this stronghold?" Sergeant Dewey inquired as darkness began to descend upon the party. "Considering the corrupted could still be lingering about, I don't think it wise to risk our lives in search of something that may not even help us."

The Sergeant was a balding, middle-aged man who served the order most his life. His dark-brown beard was unusually dirty and unkempt. Reaching his age in this day and age was unprecedented. He had quickly rose through the ranks of the legion, a feat many attributed purely to nepotism.

The Paladin peered through the thin slits in his great helm, eyes rapidly darting across the barren landscape in search of the corrupted. His flail remained wrapped around his arm since the last attack. The Sergeant may be a craven fool, but his concerns were valid.

The Paladin set aside his concerns and gave an honest, albeit vague, response. "Answers, Sergeant. During the war, all home world captives and gem artifacts were to be turned over to the crystal gems. They would almost certainly end up in one of the Crystal Gem's fortresses," the Paladin gruffly responded. "Best chance at finding Rose Quartz and bringing us closer to salvation."

Before she disappeared, Bismuth had been responsible for directing the construction of many of the forts located around the world. By securing vital locations nearby warp pads the Crystal Gems were better able to make use of their limited resources. Human soldiers could reliably garrison forts while the Gems conducted safe travel under their careful vigil. 

"And how's that supposed to help us out of this mess? Sounds to me like we're heading straight into a whole load of trouble," Dewey replied.

"You scared of a fight Sergeant? Dying's not so bad y'know" Marianne teased. Squire Nora followed silently, closely behind her. 

"Knight-Errant, I thought you would at least listen to reason. Can't you see this is a bad idea?" 

"With all that foresight your expressing, must think yourself a sapphire. Honestly, did you think we would come all this way without knowing the risks," Marianne did not hide her disdain for the Sergeant as she spoke. "Don't worry, if anything happens to you, I'll be there to deliver a coup de grâce."

"Come on you two, why are we arguing over this? Fighting amongst ourselves is not going to help us," Squire Nora chimed in. "At least the Paladin has a plan."

Marianne placed her hand on Nora's shoulder and leaned down. "Your right child, we must all be together on this," Marianne whispered.  "L'union fait la force. You would do well to remember that, Sergeant."

Sergeant Dewey did not deign to reply.

Their armor clanked with each step as weary legs carried them on a seemingly ceaseless march. They all knew where they were going, but they were not all so sure it mattered. Every town they had come across had either been abandoned or razed to the ground, so they did not have much hope the fort would be any different, but the Paladin felt it worth the chance.

As they got within sight of the fort, the Paladin noticed the walls were unmanned and only a gaping hole was present where a gate should have been. Not a good sign, but the Paladin knew better by now than to expect anything else.

Pressing ever onward, his mind turned to the thought of his men. A single company was all that remained of his once proud regiment. Just a month ago they were a battalion strong, a number which continued to dwindle since the day the war ended. Since then, relentless assaults from corrupted gems followed them everywhere they fled. 

Any attempt to fight back was futile as the corrupted would simply reform if they were ever poofed, and to shatter a gem was to be deemed a heretic.

As they approached the gatehouse the Paladin raised his fist, stopping the company's movement. Ruins, all that remained was ruins, the Paladin thought to himself, disappointed. Collapsed buttresses had given weight to an object of seemingly immense weight, or perhaps strength. Not a single sign of life in sight nor any bodies for that matter, the Paladin noted.

"Wismut!" the Paladin called out. A tall, broad woman stepped out from the line of knights. Carrying a warhammer, she wore silver plate armor with a square Bismuth gem painted on the right arm and a black star on the left. Several locks of hair hung out the back of her helmet which concealed her face. As a disciple of Bismuth, she was knowledgeable on many of the structures built by the Crystal Gems. "Why's the fortress unoccupied?  An abandoned village is one thing, but an empty stronghold is another" the Paladin asked.

Wismut stood before the Paladin, nearly matching his immense height. "This used to be your average stronghold, a small company of soldiers protected local supply lines and settlements. But shortly after Rose Quartz defeated Hessonite, the Crystal Gems took this place into their care and removed the Order's presence entirely," Wismut spoke in a smooth, hushed tone.

"You think they're hiding something here?" the Paladin responded, suspicious.

"Hessonite's defeat was a major turning point in the war. This place may give us some insight into what happened to the Gems," Wismut added.

The Paladin pondered her words for a moment. He was certain she was still hiding something, but her story seemed to add up and he needed answers.

"At the very least, I heard there was a shooting star kept in the armory, stolen from the gempire," Wismut said with a chuckle. "A few more weapons wouldn't hurt our cause."

There it was. "And what cause is that?" The Paladin asked sternly.

"Survival. It's what we're all after and as far as I can tell, we have a common enemy," Wismut replied. 

"They used to be our allies, our friends, and you would just turn your back on them when they need us most?"

"The Gems we knew are gone. When it comes down to it, you're going to have to make a choice. Us . . . or them," Wismut whispered as she turned her back to the Paladin.

He had made up his mind. "Secure the fort! Scavenge what you can and dig in, we may be here a while," the Paladin bellowed out the order. 

The men quickly shuffled through the gate, lighting torches and dispersing throughout the fortress. As they stepped foot into the courtyard the ground seemed to shake beneath their feet, cracks widening in the earth ever so slightly. The men paused for but a moment before returning to the task at hand.

Amongst the ruins the Paladin focused in on the keep, it was the only structure still intact. "Marianne, I need a moment alone to think. Check in on the Sergeant will you, then come meet me in the keep."

"Understood, sir" Marianne replied, swinging her hair around as she turned towards Sergeant Dewey, her smile disappearing as she saw him conversing with his men. "Ugh, let's get this over with," Marianne said with a sigh, but as she saw Nora eagerly looking back at her she quickly switched up her tone.

"I've got a bad feeling about this whole situation," Sergeant Dewey murmured. "I mean, what exactly is the Paladin's plan here? Find some magic Gem tech an-" The Sergeant was interrupted by a light nudge to his side.

"She's coming this way sir," a knight whispered to Dewey, trying to hide his finger pointing towards Marianne.

Dewey became flustered as he quickly wiped the sweat from his balding head and a few of his knights tried to dust off his surcoat.

"Do I look alright?" he frantically asked.

The knights nodded their heads. "Nice," one said giving him a thumbs up.

The sergeant heard Marianne's light steps stop behind him as he spun around. "Oh hi, Knight-Errant, and you brought your um, sister?"

"My squire?" She asked with a raised eyebrow, confused.

"Of course, my mistake. Now, how can I be of service?"

"Looks like your workin up a storm over here. Why are you lot cowering in the corner?"

"Cowering? How insulting. The ground just feels more stable over here. Look at all those cracks in the ground. I'm not trying to be swept into a sink hole," the Sergeant confidently replied.

Marianne looked along the ground, she did not remember there being this many cracks when they arrived. She rubbed her chin as she considered what could be causing it. Perhaps the caverns beneath the fort had become unstable. "Just stay outta trouble."

The Paladin pressed on the door, but it refused to open as if it was fighting against him. With a firm kick the doors were swept open as he entered the decrepit keep. As he wandered the sanctuary, he noticed several vein-like tendrils protruding from the ground and extending along the walls. the veins consumed many of the statues resembling various members of the Crystal Gems. Berly, Jasper, and Bismuth among the many faces the Paladin recognized, but three much more familiar faces loomed above the altar.

A particularly ornate trio of statues resembling the divine forms of Rose Quartz, Pearl, and Garnet seemed to look down on the Paladin. These three were untouched by the tendrils, instead Roses sprouted from the crevices of the structure, a good omen he hoped.

This was but one of many once sacred sites constructed by the Order. Here people would gather to worship the Crystal Gems and present offerings in their name. Though extravagant in its own right, the Paladin could not help but feel it paled in comparison to the likes of the Lunar Sea Spire or Sky Arena which the Paladin had travelled during the war. 

The Paladin knelt before the altar facing the visages of his dear leaders. As he removed his helmet an unfamiliar feeling began to creep up on the Paladin like an assassin in the night. 

Doubt. Doubt in his purpose. Doubt in his ability to lead. 

Things had been so much clearer with the gems around. Rose always had the right words in the worst situations. Rose's right hand and closest confidant, Pearl, while brusque in manner, was an exceptional leader as she led from the front and taught the Paladin the art of the blade. In return he had taught her many things about his culture like the concept of knighthood. If Pearl was Rose's right hand the Paladin would reckon Garnet was the left. She was always there to give counsel and often offered guidance on the right path to take ahead. However, he may not have always taken this advice, often to his own detriment.

"Where did you go?" The Paladin exclaimed. "What did we do to deserve this?" 

"Could you have foreseen what was to become of us?" He whispered as he faced Garnet. "Or perhaps this is what was always intended to happen". The Paladin muttered these words as if the trio was standing before him. 

His head dropped, defeated. The thoughts slowly drifted away leaving the Paladin only silence and unanswered questions.

For all he knew they too were amongst the corrupted slaughtering his people. Yet, he could not help but recall what they had done for him - giving him hope and a purpose in a time when all else seemed lost.

Before he could continue the faint sound of footsteps could be heard approaching from behind. The Paladin remained knelt as the sound grew gradually closer until it stopped directly beside him.

"ça va, Paladin?" said a familiar voice.

"I feel lost. Things are tough and only getting worse by the day. The men expect me to guide them, but I don't know what to do," the Paladin Responded before falling silent.

As the Paladin remained knelt, lost in contemplation, she took a seat on the altar facing towards him. She looked into the Paladin's hazel eyes, it had been so long since she last seen his face. His short hair had turned a light pink like his skin and his facial hair was well trimmed despite the fact he insisted on keeping his helmet on all the time. Several scars stood out on his face, failing to match his skin.

Rather than consider her words, Marianne decided that openly speaking her mind was best. "Their scared, confused, and quite frankly in desperate need of leadership. That last attack has them all spooked and I sense their loyalties may be wavering," the knight expressed her thoughts to the Paladin.

She stood up and ambled around for a moment before stopping in front of him. "Things are getting desperate, and I'd rather that leadership come from you before Wismut gives them too many ideas. I don't know what the hell is going on, so I guess what I'm trying to say is, what's the plan sir?" She reached her hand out towards him.

The Paladin looked back toward the form of Garnet before gripping Marianne's hand as they both rose.

"Nice pep talk. You perfectly embodied the flourish and careful consideration of Pearl," the Paladin said sarcastically. "I got an idea. If we can find a warp whistle and a whaling stone, we can locate the Herald of Sapphire. If anyone knows where Rose is, then it's her. We'll need to head deeper into the fort to scavenge supplies."

"Sounds like a plan I can get behind. Lead the way sir,"

Outside the militia was gathered around the courtyard aside from a dozen men who manned the walls, keeping watch for the corrupted. 

Wismut stood at the center of the crowd, preaching her gospel. "When the corrupted arrive do not hesitate as the immortal legions did on that fateful day! The Crystal Gems are gone! The Order is gone! All that remains is us and them! Rose Quartz's chosen Paladin would-" 

"I would what?" the Paladin asked, his voice steady and firm. The men quickly dispersed to make way for the Paladin as he approached Wismut, bringing himself closer so that he was standing directly over her. The two clutched their weapons tight as they faced off.

The crowd began to split into two nearly even sides backing either the Paladin or Wismut. Marianne and Nora stood beside the Paladin while Sergeant Dewey remained reserved to the corner. 

"You would lead us to our deaths in a futile pursuit to save the damned," Wismut said calmly. "Just as you did with your own men."

The Paladin tightened his grip on his flail, the chains digging deep into his skin. But before he could respond Nora forced herself between them and struggled to push them apart. The two reluctantly stepped back as the young girl stood boldly before them.

"Please stop fighting! Just stop!" Squire Nora's voice cracked as she tried to shout. "I don't want to see anyone else die for nothing. Isn't it enough the Gems have turned against us? So, why turn on each other?" The squire asked to no one in particular.

The courtyard was deathly silent. Before anyone had the chance to speak the ground shook once more., and this time it did not stop. 

Another tremor? The Paladin thought as the ground shifted beneath his feet. Something wasn't right. "Get to high ground!" The Paladin bellowed out, but it was too late. 

Several small, grey, ant-like creatures emerged from the ground. They came out in force as they assaulted the soldiers, pulling them into the earth as their comrades struggled to hold onto them. 

The Paladin fought back striking at the creatures causing them to poof away, yet they did not leave behind a gem. The Paladin did not have time to ponder the enigma as he helped his men from being pulled under. He continued to strike down, but for every one he poofed two more took its place. There were far too many for them to handle and they did not stop coming. 

As men retreated to the high ground on the walls, the Paladin was still frantically fighting below. There was no sign of Sergeant Dewey, but a familiar scream caught his attention. He turned around to see Nora overwhelmed by a half dozen of the constructs who began to pull her underground. 

The ground violently rumbled once more, causing the Paladin to lose his balance. The center of the courtyard sunk in as a massive beast emerged from the hole. It was similar to the other constructs except far larger and the Paladin noticed a gem in it's mouth which was unfamiliar to him. 

Wismut was the closest to the behemoth and charged right at it, but the Paladin had other concerns. He searched for Nora again, but she was gone. Marianne was still fending off constructs when the Paladin came to her aid. He swung his flail with ferocity as it crashed into the constructs, poofing them in a single blow. One leaped through the air, but he caught it in his hand and slammed it into the ground. 

Marianne was short on breath, but she desperately forced out her words. "They took her down below! We have to go after her!"

"We will, but first we need to help Wismut deal with whatever that thi-" the Paladin did not finish his words before the sinkhole widened once more, pulling him and Marianne into the darkness. The sounds of battle deafened as they descended deeper and deeper below. 

[fanatichistory]

Mushroom Story Part 8

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

"So...this Shadow...where do we start?" Aaron prompted again when the silence stretched on.

"Simple. Devana and I are creatures of light. Aaron, you're a witch with light magic and Zaviar a King. We wait for the Shadow to come to us, since it already is... It won't pass up the four of us in one place for long, hungry as it is and with everyone evacuating to the Council Hall." Tristan answered finally with a plan formed in his mind. 

A risky one, but one that seemed the only option with the least casualties to the greater population to their community in the Southern Kingdom. And the other Kingdoms it seemed as well, at this rate as far as things were going.

"What is the status on that, currently?" Zaviar crossed his arms in thought as he began to pace slow and deliberate, the wheels began turning in his mind. Unease was evident and no longer hidden behind his usual poker face.

"Ongoing. All hands are on deck to help the Guardians but there are still too many refugees enroute. Not all are accounted for and we can assume many are being picked off in this way." Tristan straightened as he knew where this was going.

"That includes my building. No one within my building has been notified of the evacuation notice, there is still 3rd shift arriving and clocking in as we speak for janitorial." Zaviar passed another glance at his computer and tapped his chin in thought as his mind whirled a mile a minute.

"Our first priority is always the citizens. We should follow protocol and get them to the Council Hall, but there is a high chance that the communication error that affected this building affected others as well. It could be that no one in any kingdom knows to evacuate."

"Or it could be that it's only the Southern Kingdom and the Council sees their opportunity." Tristan hated saying it out loud but knew by the look on Zaviar's otherwise smoothed poker face that his train of thought was right on the money and was why his friend was filled with such unease currently.

"Since one of the Council members is a host, in theory for now though most assuredly in my mind, it's likely they can create a shield to keep out the Shadow and that's why everyone's being told to go to the Council Hall. That means I might be able to as well. We can make our own safe haven." Devana offered, wanting to help and be of use. Especially with so many lives of innocent people being at risk.

"You're picking a hell of a time to try and find out." Tristan mused, Aaron nodded his agreement.

"Either way, we need to get everyone to a safe place. The Council Hall being on the other side of the city and now questionable for multiple reasons... This office is a modernized fortress to prevent attacks. We can easily have the employees that are already here to have the desks pushed and moved out of the way to make room for the refugees. The only thing I see being a problem is the food and water. We only keep the café stocked and staffed for lunches and coffee breaks." Tristan continued on with the planning as Zaviar typed the memos and sent the emails, apparently having already decided to go ahead with it and not wanting to put trust in the Council Hall either for whatever Devana couldn't fathom.

Aaron began sending the messages via social media and texts to the supernatural he knew and began that chain of communication through the witch community.

Devana...didn't know what to do. So she sat back down in the office chair, closed her eyes and bothered Mooshy again.

You do not bother me child, I enjoy our conversations. Though we will have to improve our topic matter.

Devana couldn't help but chuckle out loud at that, not noticing the glances from her friends before they returned to their respective tasks. They were beginning to get used to her tuning out and speaking telepathically with Mooshy now and only Tristan was really able to follow along now that he was connected too as a child of light.

'Is there any way to shield out the Shadow and keep the people safe? Can I do such a thing?'

Of course, with time and training. However, in this time of need I'm afraid this is something I must do to ensure it's success.

'What do you need me to do?'

Allow me temporary control. You will be back in the void, safe with me, and I will place the shield around this Tower. The Shadow will not be able to enter within it's walls, however...

'However?'

There runs the risk of the Shadow's host coming themselves, should the Shadow have one or create one. And it might. The Shadow has children after all, but not all beings have hosts. 

'So if the Shadow has a host, it could still get in...and the children? The rogue priests and priestesses from Temple can get in too?'

Yes. The shield will only work on spirits, shadows and other sentient beings like myself. You will still need to be wary of others like you and your friends.

'Okay. Let's do this then. We gotta save as many people as we can Mooshy, and they're all coming here. So you can take me over for as long as you need to keep them safe.'

Thank you...sweet child.

Tristan altered plans with Zaviar accordingly to accommodate for the Host and any rogue priests or priestesses who might try to crash through the Tower by physical force. He also couldn't help the trepidation the creeped down his spine at the mention of Devana allowing Mooshy control over her body. 

However temporarily.

You doubt me, my son?

'I hardly know you. Neither does she. We know nothing of your Truth that you speak of.'

You will in time. It is natural that you fear me, given what you have been exposed to.

'As I imagine Devana would say, stranger danger.'

Unlike the Shadow who uses it's children to fetch it's dinner and unlike the being of unknown origin within the Council Member who uses Guardians such as yourself, I am no such being. That is my Truth. Those who remain lost in my wood and refuse to see the light within night will remain lost. The creatures of the forest understand this. They live in balance with me.

'Then what is this void you mentioned with Devana? Why does she have to go there?'

It took awhile before Mooshy answered him. Zaviar still typing away on his computer and Aaron on his phone which gave him time to telepathically converse with the being.

Devana and I cannot exist without the other. She was in the process of dying when I made her my Host. The void keeps her spirit safe from those that would do harm to it. I keep her spirit safe, from passing on and completing the process of death or from being found and devoured by spirits or shadows in the otherworld.

'So...she was dead then.' He sat stone still in his seat as he tried wrapping his head around this. Their enemy was a Shadow and could easily be one of the things Mooshy mentioned that would devour her without the protection of this being within her. 

No. But she was going to be when I interfered. If anything were to happen to me, she will complete the process. The spirit I keep safely in the void will reconnect with her and she will pass on to the otherworld. Her injuries that were sustained were fatal after all and cannot be reversed.

Tristan did not like the sound of this. Mooshy just admitted to him that her soul was tucked away in a pocket dimension and that Devana was walking around without her freaking soul. There was no way she would even be able to enter the Council Hall for that damn meeting after all this is over, should they survive first, with the protections that were set up around the hall that keep the soulless dead and ghouls out.

Which Devana now counted as, being soulless and all with it tucked away elsewhere in deity storage.

It was a precarious position to be in for sure...not only did it put a target on her back with the Council with her newfound and otherworldly glowing powers of light that made them want to figure her out, Mooshy was also the only thing keeping her alive and her spirit safe from other 'things' on the Otherside from eating her very soul which apparently she didn't even have on her.

'We can't even heal her with magic? Are you sure?'

Tristan didn't know why he was getting so emotional over a woman he just met and barely knew. What he did know was that she was one of the good ones. In the short time he knew her he found she put her all in everything. In her farm work, the love of her animals, heck she even got the King to do farm work much to his surprise. 

Not that he would let on that he was watching from the sky either. He didn't want to come off that way, it was nothing like that. He just couldn't help but notice while he was keeping watch and patrolling the farm.

And now that they shared minds he could see her thought process. How much she put everyone else above herself. That she really was willing to sacrifice her autonomy to save a group of people she didn't know but knew were innocent.  

And he knew the Council wouldn't understand even half of what he knew from this conversation with being and would condemn Devana on not having her soul no matter the circumstances, whether she was innocent or not. 

He wanted to be her friend and as he already had concluded, she was one of the good ones. Like Zaviar and Aaron were to him.

Mooshy was also taking it's time again in answering him while he pondered his feelings as the protector in him rose and bared his teeth at the future threats that were looming before his family and now the newest addition to it. 

The vampire tore out her jugular with his bite. She was bleeding out fast. Magical healing is a possibility if one was prepared. Tell me, child of mine, are you planning to be rid of me so soon? Do you fear me so?

'I haven't decided. I don't know you well enough. I'm just worried about her and what she's about to do to help you shield this Tower and the toll it will take on her.'

I am used to being shunned by both creatures of light and other beings. 

Tristan felt Mooshy's light pull away then before he could respond and lay dormant within him. As if shielding itself from his words and thoughts like it was hurt by being doubted by him as he tried to process the information further. For a second he felt for Mooshy.

But only a second.

There was still much to learn about the being and it's motives. Unfortunately there was much going on and they were pressed for time. Tristan just hoped he could get through this war of of sentient beings, or gods, without hurting the feelings of the one he was connected with any further.

"Don't tell me you zone out and talk to this Mooshy too?" Zaviar questioned tiredly, pausing on the keyboard mid-type as if waiting for a reply from him.

"And the other Guardians. I'm telepathically connected to a lot of people Zaviar, it's quite noisy in here." He gave a joking tap to his forehead with the tip of finger as he smirked. Pointedly leaving out the fact that he was telepathically connected to Devana as well. 

He could certainly read her thoughts, he was just unsure if she could read his in turn. If it was only one way...or maybe she just hadn't figured out how telepathy worked with him yet.

"I can take to the skies and swoop in on anyone being targeted or picked off on their way to the Tower." He stated suddenly. Wanting to waste no more time in getting people safely within the building's walls and wanting to finally be able to something that lied outside of this office.

Zaviar began to nod his approval. "I agree. The dragons, harpies and those able to shapeshift into birds will be flying as well doing the same.  Everyone knows to stay glamored at all costs to avoid exposure. The Were clans are leading the respective foot patrols and keeping three main routes to the Tower clear and guarded for the coming refugees. The employees on the clock are already making ready moving office desks and chairs out of the way  on the floors below." 

Aaron nodded absentmindedly as he typed away on his phone, updating his social media and standing next to Zaviar's side as he typed sent the routes through the community.

Devana began to glow brightly once more, brilliantly blue beneath her dark skin. Her eyes shining with the light blue and her long curly brown hair lifted as if in a gentle breeze as she stood up from the chair.

It was like a stone lodged in Tristan's chest as he understood that Mooshy had taken control just then. He wanted to trust the forest being, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Not seeing how completely it had full control over her body as she lithely rose up from the chair.

"Dev?" Aaron asked cautiously, reaching out a hand almost instinctively. 

"No, I am the one you call Mooshy. Devana has given me control so that I may shield this Tower from the Shadow and other spirits."

Without another word, Devana/Mooshy walked over to the office window and raised their arms in a pattern as a rune of light appeared before dissipating into the window. 

They watched uneasily as Devana/Mooshy made their way to the elevator, eyes still glowing bright making it apparent they were otherworldly, they stepped into the elevator once the doors dinged and opened.

"Change of plans. I'm sticking with Devana until she's done doing her thing just in case there's trouble." Tristan announced as he made for the elevator, his large wings kept as neatly tucked to his back as he could but still trailing a bit behind him so he had to turn quick to sweep them out of the way of the doors in time to avoid being caught.

Zaviar and Aaron looked at each other apprehensively but otherwise both men glad that Tristan went with her.

"What do you think it meant by Devana 'giving control'?" Aaron asked him.

"I don't know. The one who might just walked out of here with her." Zaviar grumbled in response as he answered a few more emails that chimed in just then.

"Yeah well...I'm glad he did though. It's pretty obvious now that she's something else entirely. If anyone can protect her while you and I coordinate the evacuations, Tristan can." 

Zaviar looked up at his friend and gave him a small smile. He was right after all. If Mooshy hadn't walked it's happy mushroom deity butt out of there before he had the chance to put Tristan on guard detail while they set up the shield...well, it was the very call he would have made.

Tristan knew him well. 

He struggled to trust Mooshy. Tristan could tell even when he could not say and that alone reminded him to take a step back and remember to be wary. It was easy to get caught up in the wonder of magic the being had. The wonder of it all really.

Especially with her.

Being on her farm reminded him of times back when. The good days when things were less political and far more simple. Sure, there was responsibilities. Chores to do, creatures to take care of. 

But at least the farm animals didn't talk back.

"Zaviar?" Aaron drew his attention back to the present and he cursed himself. 

Now was not the time. To many people were being picked off on the road, being plucked from their homes even when they were to scared to leave. 

Now was not the time.

"Go ahead Aaron." 

"I'm heading down to Bloombury Ave to help evacuate the witches and others present there." He announced with barely concealed anxiety over something he had just read through his phone in one of the updates.

Zaviar was stoic but he couldn't help the hesitation he felt inside. With it being war out there he knew there was a good chance he was looking on his friend for the last time. He also knew that there was no stopping Aaron either, nor would he.

"Watch your back. I wish I could join out there." And boy did he. Zaviar missed his days as a warrior. Not the unnecessary death and bloodshed per se, but the saving of lives.

He wanted to be out there with his friends doing something, physically doing something, to help his kingdom.

"Careful what you wish for." Aaron teased back half-heartedly as he took the elevator and left Zaviar alone in the opulent office as his computer continued to ding email notifications that demanded his urgent attention.

[monkeyandelf]

Wandering portals of Crimea. Cases of a man moving more than 250 miles in a few hours and students being trapped in a time portal for 22 years

Does teleportation exist? Recently, Chinese physicists unequivocally answered this question. In the laboratory, they managed to teleport a molecule of a substance. For some reason it has not yet worked out with larger objects. However, Japanese physicists also teleported the water molecule to a distance. It is safe to say that this phenomenon exists. It is interesting that teleportation was seriously discussed back in the days of the Third Reich. Moreover, German scientists were sure that it was quite possible to move not only substances, but also living beings in this way. The possibility of getting from point A to point B was experimentally studied in one of the secret bases in the Alps.  Initially, animals took part in the experiments, but there is evidence that tests were also performed on humans. Their result is unknown, perhaps classified, or perhaps the documents were destroyed. The reason is very simple, the study of the possibility of teleportation was carried out from 1938 to 1944.  When it became clear that Soviet and allied troops were about to approach Germany, the laboratory was blown up, and only a pile of stones remained in its place. Whether they managed to take the developments out of it is a mystery.

However, the issue of teleportation is still open. We do not want to enter into polemics with anyone on this topic, since we are 100% convinced that this phenomenon exists.  Firstly, the Japanese and Chinese have already proved this in relation to the water molecule. Secondly, there is evidence of spontaneous movement in space and in large quantities. Hundreds of cases from different parts of the world. But until the scientific community “touches” the phenomenon with their own hands, as materialists normally do, they will not be paid any attention. Thirdly, there are living example of people who survived teleportation. And for us, these three proofs are more than enough to not doubt the fact of the phenomenon.

"Wandering portals" in Crimea

One of these cases manifested in 2008. Every year, a man traveled to the Black Sea coast with his family, and then by ferry to the Crimea, where he rested during his vacation. After swimming in sea water, as a rule, the family went to visit medieval fortresses, climb mountains or visit museums. This time the lot fell on the Mangup fortress. Fortunately, when sightseeing, it is not necessary to follow a guide everywhere. Time is given, and you freely bypass the cultural and historical monument on your own. The main thing is not to climb over fences. The father of the family looked at the ruins of the fortress city, and it seemed to him that something glittered in the distance. Having warned his wife and children, he moved a little away and disappeared behind overgrown bushes. For a while, his movement betrayed the stirring of branches and vegetation but then everything went quiet.  For about 5 minutes, the relatives stood waiting, but the man did not come out. The children began to cry, and the wife became very agitated. She did not want to leave the place where her husband was supposed to return, and she had to call for help, but there was no one nearby. A family friend had to leave the scene and, catching up with the nearest group of tourists, to tell about what had happened. Within 15-20 minutes, the guards and some who were not indifferent were inspecting the bushes and thickets in the indicated square. Even a chain of footprints was discovered, but, by a strange coincidence, it broke off. The policemen documented this fact and took the family members to where they lived. Late in the evening the man was found. He had symptoms of sunstroke.  It turned out that he wandered for several hours near the place where the Malaya Zybza river flows into the Zybza, Abinsk district of the Krasnodar Territory. Thanks to the locals who came for water, the tourist was saved.

People often go missing near the Mangup fortress. Then they are found hundreds of miles away.  In other words, he was found more than 250 miles from the point where he disappeared. How to explain such a thing? There is a hypothesis, a postulate about the so-called anomalous zones. These are places where physical processes operate not according to the laws that traditional science describes, but according to others. Because of this, spontaneous movements in space and even time occur. Scientists cannot yet reproduce this phenomenon in the laboratory, but nature can.  Fortunately, this case ended without casualties and the man was found in time. But everything could have gone according to a different scenario. That is why one cannot go into the anomalous zones unprepared. You may be in the wrong place. This incident interested the researchers of the Crimea. Near the Mangup fortress, people were reported missing in the 17-18 centuries. Probably, in this anomalous zone there are wandering portals, which become the reason for moving over long distances. At the same time, a person loses orientation, short-term memory and is caught unawares in an unfamiliar area. Local enthusiasts collect information about such cases and they have accumulated more than 50 over the past decades.

Students trapped in a time portal for 22 years

In 1980, near Sudak, vacationers encountered an inexplicable phenomenon. In the early morning of July 7, a group of students set off out of town. At about 12 o'clock on the same day, very frightened guys and girls turned to the local police. According to them, the two friends literally vanished into thin air. Search work was carried out for several months. Local residents joined the search, but to no avail. Only 22 years later, in 2002, on July 7 at about noon, two teenagers found themselves in the middle of an unfamiliar area. With surprise, they realized that none of their acquaintances were around, and everything in the district had changed. As if trees had grown, kiosks appeared, gazebos disappeared. There were enough people nearby, but their friends were nowhere to be found. The guys went to the house where they stopped for the rest, but there were already completely different guests. Caught in complete confusion, they had no choice but to ask to call their relatives. Having phoned, it turned out terrible - they were absent for more than 20 years! Although all this time for the guys themselves passed in a couple of seconds. Relatives, who had long lost hope, went to the Crimea to carry out a long-awaited meeting. Surprisingly, teenagers who fell out of reality have not changed over time. Parents, of course, recognized their children. It was hard to believe, but the guys returned after 22 years. The medical examination revealed no injuries or changes. Those who fell into the time portal, of course, experienced a shock. Imagine, in a few seconds, all your friends have aged 20 years, and the country you just lived in has collapsed.

Time travel is a reality.  Various researchers argue that there are wandering temporal and spatial anomalies in the Crimea. They cannot be seen and noticed, which is why all similar cases are spontaneous. In 2007, temporologist Yuri Ignatiev from Yalta went to Feodosia in search of these portals, where several dozen similar incidents are also known. Since then, nothing has been known about him. Investigators only managed to find the researcher's tent with personal belongings. Colleagues believe that he got into the portal and, perhaps, will appear in the same place in the future. Academic physics a few decades ago denied the possibility of the existence of portals in time and space. However, as we previously said, Chinese scientists managed to teleport elementary particles recently. Perhaps this discovery will help in the future to understand the principle of operation of such anomalies.  The conquest of portals in time and space on Earth will lead to the discovery of similar objects in space and will allow you to instantly travel to different parts of the Universe. This was stated back in the 70s by the famous Soviet ufologist Felix Siegel. He was probably right. Read the full article

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

272 of 2023

Do you hate it when people online tell you hi real quick before they leave?

...what?? What even is that question about? Grow up, please.

Have you ever talked to someone online while talkin to them on the phone?

My daily amount of WTF has exceeded the norm today.

Do you collect postcards?

Yes, I do. From all my travels.

What is the strangest e-mail you have ever gotten?

I had an account for trolling and someone took it seriously and sent me dick pics, no kidding. I laughed for two good weeks.

Have you ever forwarded a message because you were afraid?

...what?

If you could find a cure for world hunger, would you do it?

Is there anyone who wouldn’t?

Do you feel sorry for kids who have celebrity parents?

Kinda. Unless the parents arte like Rihanna, she’s admirable in protecting the privacy of her child.

When was the last time you visited an old teacher?

...never?

Have most of your elementary/primary school teachers retired?

I guess so, and some are deceased.

Someone gives you a horse as a gift. Your reaction?

“Look at my horse, my horse is amazing” 😂

Do you know anyone who owns a ranch or farm?

Yes. He was our coworker and he’s retired now, so he has more time to invest in his farm.

Who was your best friend(s) when you were 13?

There was a group of us, three boys and three girls.

Where do you think they are now?

One lives in Sweden, one is unemployed and has six kids with her husband (supposedly one of them is not his, though), one has a new boyfriend every year, and the last two I have no idea.

Has someone of the same sex ever called you cute?

Yeah. When it was the guy I liked, it was sweet. But when it was the man I wasn’t interested in, it was cringy.

Do you hold hands with your best friends?

I don’t even hold hands with my husband.

Has your friend ever held your hand and it made you feel uncomfortable?

I’m generally not very tactile person.

Are you afraid/nervous to speak aloud in class?

Not anymore.

Would you rather have some education or no education at all?

...what’s even that question?

If you have a pet is it skinny/average/or has some extra fat?

Both are within average, but one is kinda bigger than the other? Victoria has been always a petite cat lady. Susie is bigger by nature.

Are you afraid of being falsely accused of committing a crime?

If you don’t have a reason, you’re not gonna be accused. What’s the big fuss about?

Do you organize stuff when you’re bored?

I’m never bored. Boredom is for people with low intelligence.

What are you looking forward to?

Having the possibility to visit my parents.

What are you wearing?

White hoodie and white wide leg trousers.

Are you registered to vote?

I’m older than 18 and voting is mandatory where I live, so here’s your answer.

Have you ever won a trophy?

I kinda won an award in photography.

Last thing you bought at Walgreens?

I’ve never heard of that store.

Ever thrown up in public?

No, I don’t throw up at all.

Did you have long hair as a young kid?

No, it’s been always short.

When was the last time you cleaned out a bath tub?

We only have a shower in our bathroom.

Would you do your own surgery to keep yourself alive? (Ex. stitches)

Stitches are not necessarily surgery. I’m not a doctor, I wouldn’t risk.

Would you rather read poetry or write poetry?

No, thanks.

Have you ever had any really infected injuries?

Once, from self-harm.

Have you ever beat up someone because they had different beliefs than you?

...Jesus, what a stupid survey.

If you hair never got greasy again, would you still wash it?

My hair is dry, not greasy.

What was the last song you listened to?

Last.fm says it was Thousand-Arms Fortress by Returning We Hear the Larks.

If you could meet one famous person, who would it be?

Probably Baas B.

When was the last time you played jump rope?

I don’t think guys play it at all.

If you have ever jump roped, did you ever trip over the rope?

I haven’t.

Are you addicted to any energy drinks?

Great question to ask someone who has suffered a brain haemorrhage, right? I don’t even touch this shit.

what was the last thing you ate?

Chicken soup.

What’s the color of your front door?

Green.

Are you right or left handed?

I was left-handed, but then my left hand got paralysed.

Do you play any instrument?

No, you need two hands for that. Boring question anyway, everyone asks about it.

Do you snore?

I haven’t heard myself, so.

Have you ever worn a wig?

What’s the point?

Have you ever made a snowman?

Back in time when we had snow in this country.

Do you ever wish you were famous?

No. Lack of privacy is not worth it.

When was the last time you went bowling?

Never. I’m not interested.

Do you drink bottled water?

I don’t drink any water.

What was the last thing you drank?

Orange juice.

Do you believe in love?

I believe there are many types of love.

Last person of the opposite sex you texted single?

...can someone rewrite this question with correct grammar so I can understand it please?

Tell me about the shorts you’re wearing:

Who told you I’m wearing any shorts? It’s certainly one of the stupidest surveys I’ve ever taken.

How long have you lived in your current home?

Five years.

Have you ever talked to someone when they were high?

Yeah, one of my friends. He was weirdly cheerful lol.

What’s something you want to purchase at the mall next time you go?

Malls are the rarity in my country.

Would you rather be single all your life or grow old with someone?

I’m married not for no reason, I guess.

How long have you liked the person you like right now?

Five years, but I love him.

Do you like mac n cheese?

I hate it. One of the foods that could make me gag.

Do you listen to music everyday?

Almost every day.

Do you have a hard time making decisions?

No, but I always need to consider all possibilities.

Are you gonna be home alone tonight?

I don’t know yet, probably yes. Or maybe tomorrow.

Last book you read?

Answered it many times.

Last song you listened to?

Answered it as well.

Last show you watched?

Keeping Up Appearances.

What color shirt are you wearing?

Yet another stupid question. Have you ever heard about hoodies?

Last sport you played?

Basketball as a teen.

Are you one of those rare people that like to read?

Yes, but it’s not as rare. Maybe in your America.

You get to take free lessons of whatever you want! What do you choose?

Spanish language.

What were you doing 15 minutes ago?

Still this goddamn survey.

Do you wear contacts/glasses?

I do wear glasses, I’m very nearsighted.

Where’s your favorite place to get pizza?

Pizza is overrated.

What do you plan on doing for a career?

What I’ve been doing for the last nine years.

What are you wearing?

A hoodie and wide leg trousers, both white.

How tall are you?

180 cm.

Do you miss somebody?

Yes, my parents and my sister.

Are you too shy to tell people when you’re developing feelings for them?

Yeah, I never tell.

Do you wish you were with someone right now?

I’m good.

Do you always get along with your siblings?

Yes, but my sister is an awesome person. Sure we had some fights when we were kids, but who doesn’t, honestly.

Do you actually use the butter knife when buttering your toast?

I don’t butter any toasts. Disgusting.

What’s tomorrow going to be like?

Do I look like I predict the future?

Do you prank call people?

Not anymore.

Do you call fries “French fries” or “Freedom fries” or something else?

WTF is freedom fries?? French fries is creating the false history because France has nothing to do with inventing threm. Stop stealing Belgian heritage, you.

Do you like strawberry ice cream?

I do.

Where are your siblings right now?

In another country.

Have you ever swam while it was raining?

I can’t swim.

Do you take your time opening envelopes or do you just rip it open?

I have a disabled hand, so I can’t hold the knife with it.

Is your front door locked?

It locks automatically, you can’t open it without the key.

Is your lawn mowed?

What lawn? I’ve never had a lawn in my life.

Does anyone ever whistle at you?

I’m not a dog.

Last video you watched on YouTube?

Something about cats.

What did your dress for prom look like?

I’m not a crossdresser.

When you had the chicken pox, did you get it EVERYWHERE? And I mean EVERYWHERE?

I don’t remember if I’ve ever had it.

What was the last song you listened to?

Is it just me or did this question appear three times in the same survey?

What’s irritating you right now?

This survey, really.

Do long distance relationships actually work?

Didn’t work for me.

Have you ever lied to protect someone’s feelings?

I can’t recall any particular situation.

What does your last message in your inbox say?

Boring question, I’m not even gonna bother.

[zmasters]

The Emperor’s Shadows (A 40K Short Story)

Inquisitor Antonius Smyte's eyes wandered to the sky. The gas giant of Tsukuyomi took up the most of the sky, with only a brief glare of the sun of the Amaterasu System visible. At his flanks were two members of the Adeptus Sororitas, their black and red armor blending into the coming night.

The three waited outside of a small shuttle, the rest of the inquisitor’s aids waiting within. The ship was overlooked by a large and ornate temple-like building. The fortress monastery of the Emperor’s Shadows space marine chapter.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice asked. Inquisitor Smyte turned to the speaker, a woman wearing a black robe. Her eyes were a deep green that almost glowed in the fading twilight, and her hair a deep black that was almost invisible. She had a pair of curved horns on her head poking out of her black hair, and a patch of black fur lining from her chest to her neck.

"I wasn't expecting a beastman." The inquisitor said.

The beastwoman bowed to the inquisitor. "I am a serf for the Emperor's Shadows. The Chapter Master requested that I guide you too him."

“And why can’t the Chapter Master meet me himself?”

“Master Hiro has other matters he needs to tend to, but he should be available in due time. Now, please follow me. Yuro no Yosai is a dangerous place at night.”

The inquisitor and his bodyguards reluctantly accepted the serfs offer, following the clopping sound of her hooves into the fortress-monastery before the sunlight faded.

The monastery was decorated in darker shades, with dark brown wood flooring and black walls and ceilings. Even with the lamp lighting that hung from the ceiling and walls, the visitors still had issue seeing.

“Why is it so dark?” One of the sisters asked under breath as she turned on her helmet’s night vision.

“The five moons of Tsukuyomi spend most of their years in the shadow of their mother planet.” The serf answered. “Just as my Masters stand in the shadow of the Emperor.”

“These masters of yours are the reason why we’re here.” Inquisitor Smyte’s voice echoing through the quiet halls. "Bring me to one, now."

"Please calm down sir." The serf asked. "Like I said, the Chapter Master is occupied at the moment. His schedule was created long before he knew you were going to grace us with your presence. Please, just let me guide you to his quarter's, and I'll answer any question you may have along the way to the best of my ability."

The inquisitor sighed. "Fine. Just give me a short telling of the chapter's history."

"Yes sir." The serf returned to her walk. "The Amaterasu System was was reclaimed by the Raven Guard Legion towards the end of the Great Crusade. At the time, only the five moons of Tsukuyomi were inhabited with human life. The Daughters of Tsukuyomi, as we call the moons, spend most of their year in the shadow of their mother planet, so the human inhabitants had evolved to better live in the dark. As well, a prominent portion of the largest moon, Kage, had mutated in the variation of abhuman that certain groups have dubbed beastmen."

She looked over her shoulder towards the inquisitor. He couldn't make out her grin, but she could see him awkwardly advert his eyes.

She continued. "Thanks to the actions of Emperor and the Raven Guard garrison based on Yuro no Yosai, the people of the moons reunited. The two rival powers of Kage, the beastmen tribes and the knight houses, united for the benefit of the entire system. The moon of Fojishiti was turned into a proper forge world, helping repair the remaining technology from the initial settlers of the system, and replace what was lost. This assistance turned Kin no Machi from a feral world to an agri world, feeding the five daughters with special produce that can grow without sunlight. And the influx of industry and food helped repair and feed the growing hive world of Yami no Machi."

"This is the history of the system." The inquisitor interrupted. "I asked for the chapter's history."

The serf, trying her best not to call out the inquisitor for his rudeness, returned to her history lesson. "When the Heresy broke out, Amaterasu and the local garrison were separated from the rest of the Imperium. Thanks to the improvements to the Daughters, as well as the other newly founded colonies within the system, Amaterasu was able to survive on its own. We reunited with the Imperium once the Heresy was over, and the Raven Guard garrison was turned into the Emperor's Shadows Chapter during a sadly forgotten founding."

“And what of the chapter’s combat prowess?”

“The Emperor’s Shadows, just like it’s legion of origin, favors the use of stealth-based tactics. Our warriors excel in remaining hidden in the shadows and striking the foe swiftly and precisely, so much so that it would appear that the foe died for no apparent reason, or disappeared entirely if the astarte was feeling creative that day.”

Something about how the serf said or disappeared entirely if the astartes was feeling creative that day sent a shiver down the backs of the inquisitor and his bodyguards. He suddenly got the feeling that he was being watched from the darkness.

The serf continued. “Of course, that doesn’t mean the Shadows are dishonorable in any way. We just acknowledge that sometimes fear is a useful tactic. And we are here.”

The four had stop in front of a sliding screen door, identical to every other door within the monastery. The serf quietly slid the door open. The room on the other side threshold was fairly large. Towards the left corner sat a massive bed. In the center of the room was a large wooden table with short legs, short enough for someone to sit on the floor and still be able to use the table. Instead of chairs, pillows sat around the table.

The room was decorated with various weapons and war trophies. Bolters and plasma guns, various flavors of blades, and the skulls of multiple species of xenos. Behind the desk, standing up against the back of the room, stood an eight-foot-tall set of black space marine armor, with a blood red face mask and turquoise pauldrons. On each pauldron, instead of a chapter's emblem embedded directly into the pauldron, the emblem of a tree was painted onto a parchment that was tied to the pauldron.

"The Chapter Master will be here shortly. Feel free to sit down as you wait, and would any of you would like something to eat or drink?"

“No thank you.” Inquisitor Smyte answer for his whole group.

“Understandable.” The serf said with a bow. “However, I will be bringing in food and drink for the Chapter Master, as he specifically requested it for when he returns. He did say you more than welcome to try some if you so desired, and that offer goes to both of your sororitas bodyguards as well.” And with a second bow, she left.

Smyte was flattered by the offer, but given his experience with both astartes and mutants, the meal being human flesh wasn’t off the table.

The serf returned after a few minutes with a cart of plates and bowls. She pushed the cart past the group, now awkwardly sitting on the cushions, and parked it next to the bed.

"Is there anything sweet?" The sister closest to the serf asked under her breath.

"We have onigiri." The serf answered. "A ball of Kin no Machi specially grown rice wrapped in seaweed with a plum in the center."

"Is it similar to a jelly donut?"

The serf didn't verbally answer, merely handing her an onigiri.

"Enough with these games, beast!" The inquisitor screeched, even startling his entourage. "I want to speak with the chapter master!"

"I generally don't speak with those who are rude to my servants."

The inquisitor slowly turned around. Standing in the door was an eight-foot-tall man, with his black hair tied into a small ponytail and garbed in a robe similar to the serf, though with extra red details.

"You're the chapter master?" The inquisitor stuttered.

"I am Hiro, the Chapter Master of the Emperor's Shadows. Have it be known, inquisitor Antonius Smyte, I was in a good mood training the Primaris reinforcements. I can pass off your rudeness towards a loyal servant of the Imperium who was nothing but helpful as you having a bad day yourself, but don't test my patience."

The inquisitor composed himself. "That is understandable, chapter master. I just wish to discuss some issues with you, and we'll be on our way."

"Ok inquisitor, let's talk over here." The space marine said, gesturing towards the armor. "Cya."

"Yes Master Hiro?" The serf asked.

"Introduce yourself to the sisters, and enjoy the meal."

"Thank you Master" She said, moving the food and drinks to the table before kneeling on a cushion next to the sisters.

"What do you wish to discuss?" Hiro asked.

"I wish to discuss about the chapter's origin." The inquisitor answered.

"I would be happy to share the history of the Emperor's Shadow, though I am surprised that Cya didn't shared it already."

"The mutant did, but her story had some contradictions."

Hiro glared at the little man. "You question our history?"

Smyte glared back up at the astarte. "I do."

"What is this contradiction, and what evidence do you have that our chapter's records are flawed."

"I have discovered records of the Great Crusade, and they say that the Raven Guard, your supposed legion of origin, was never sent to the Amaterasu System."

Hiro was quiet for a quick few seconds, almost like he was pondering this information. "Than that would mean that what we thought our progenitor was is incorrect. If your statement is true, it would be unfortunate, but not unheard of."

"Whether your chapter's records are wrong or not isn't the issue." Smyte sharply replied. "What is important is what the records from Terra do say."

"And what is that, my friend?"

"The records state that the Legion that was sent to the Amaterasu System was not the Raven Guard, but the Night Lords."

"You accuse my chapter of heresy?" Hiro demanded, his eyes staring into the inquisitor's soul.

"I accuse your chapter of hiding important information from the inquisition." Smyte stared back. "I demand to see your records, and if you refuse, you will be dubbed as enemies of the Imperium and the Emperor."

The two's staring contest was interrupted with a sudden scream of pain. Looking towards the source, the two found a sister chugging a pitcher of water, the other sister and Cya the serf laughing at her, and a piece of fish coated in a green paste having been dropped on the floor.

Chapter Master Hiro joined in with a hearty laugh. "Antonius." He said, slapping the inquisitor on the back, almost knocking him to the floor. "You of all people should know that the Imperium's recording keeping is sub-par at the best of times."

"I'm fully aware, chapter master. That’s the reason why I want confirmation.”

"Fair enough my friend, fair enough." Hiro sighed. "I'll personally take you to our records. Sisters, you are more than welcomed to come along or stay here and enjoy your meal."

"No." The inquisitor interrupted. "Sister Abigail, come with me. Sister Ziri, stay here and watch the mutant."

"Yes lord." The two said. The sister who chugged aneniter pitcher of water put her helmet back on and followed the chapter master and inquisitor, while the sister who was on her second onigiri returned to her rice ball.

The three walked down the dark halls, passing space marines and serfs going on their way. Inquisitor Smyte noticed that the chapter serfs were different than serfs of other space marine chapters. There was a high number of abhumans (though their wasn't anymore beastmen), and many of the normal looking humans wouldn't look out of place in the imperial guard. There was even one female serf with the signature white of the sororitas, who scurried away when she noticed the inquisitor and his sororitas guard. "I want to know everything about your chapter."

"And it's all right here." Hiro answered, stopping in front of an ornate door. "Let me explain the situation to the librarians, and you can have your fun."

The inquisitor ignored his suggestion and braged through the room. The librarian marine on the other side, surrounded by scrolls, tapestries, and other parchments, prepared to kill this intruder, but was stopped by his chapter master.

"Inquisitor Smyte has some questions and I offered our records to answer them."

The inquisitor interrupted the chapter master again. "Let me download the records and I'll be on my way."

The librarian looked towards his chapter master. Hiro nodded and he nodded back.

The chapter master, inquisitor, and the sister bodyguard returned to Hiro's chamber. They found sister Ziri and Cya laughing about something, empty plates and cups littering the table.

"Sister Ziri." Smyte said, ending the sister and serf's conversation. "We are leaving."

Ziri launched to her feet and returned to formation behind her superior, not before quickly bowing to Cya.

Inquisitor Smyte looked up to chapter master Hiro. "We will be taking our leave. If I discover anything daming, expect my return."

"Well inquisitor, I hope we have a chance to meet under a less tense situation. Like a tyranid invasion."

Smyte turned face and started the return trip to his ship, his sororitas guards in tow.

Hiro closed the door behind them, and joined his serf at the table. "Did you have fun?" He asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Ziri was nice for a zealot." Cya answered. "Did the inquisitor get his records, my Master?"

"Only the records that would make him happy, but I doubt he will stay away. Maybe we can use your newly founded bond to our advantage."

"We'll see." Cya said, standing up. "I must return to my work Master. May the Emperor guide you."

"May the Emperor guide you, and may he forgive us for our sins."