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pennybells · 4 years ago

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Consummation (warning, contains sexual content, occasional bad language)

As you gaze into each others eyes, his arms around your waist, you raise your hand to caress his face. He responds deeply to your touch, and covers your hand with his, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he kisses your palm tenderly, then places your hand on his chest. His heart is pounding as fast as your own, and you can resist each other no longer. You lean into him, and kiss for the first time. His full red lips are soft and sensuous, and his kiss is intoxicating, flooding your body with raging desire, you have never felt so alive.

When you pull away, you stare into his beautiful face, you can see the lust in his eyes, it matches your own, and in that moment, you realise that you are about to be fucked by a monster. It's all the encouragement you need, and you smash your lips into his. He deepens the kiss and you explore each others mouths with ardour. Without warning, he grabs your hair and pulls your head back exposing your neck. He kisses, licks and gives you a little bite occasionally, and you gasp with pleasure. Lost in your lust, he scoops you up and gently lowers you onto the animal skins and lays down on top of you. He feels so good, and kisses your sweet mouth again, and you run your fingers through his auburn hair, it is so soft, and he seems to like you doing this, moaning into your mouth as he kisses you harder. You wrap your legs around him, and he starts to grind against you. Whatever it is hidden in his pantaloons is huge, hard and screaming to be freed.

As you writhe together in unbridled passion, he traces one gloved hand from your chin to your navel, and slides it under your top, stroking your belly. He grabs the hem with both hands, and you arch your back to allow the garment to slip over your head. For a few seconds he stares at your bra. "This is pretty, cerise coloured lace, it is beautiful against your skin, but now it is coming off."

With the skill of an expert lover, he unhooks the back and slides it down your arms, freeing your breasts. "Oh, what have we here? Toys for Penny to play with!"

He lowers himself onto you and kisses one of your nipples, then suddenly pulls back. He is fascinated that it has hardened because of his kiss. He gives the other nipple the same treatment with a little bite that makes you wince, but sends shock waves to your sex. "Eeee he he he heeee," he giggles like a child, a sound that is music to your ears.

He continues his exploration of your body, placing gentle kisses on your belly whilst you stroke his hair. Your need for him is reaching fever pitch. "Penny, I want you naked, but I need you to show me how to get this costume off."

"All in good time my sweet, I haven't finished undressing you yet."

He sits up and removes your shoes and socks, then tickles your feet, making you cackle like a maniac. This makes him laugh too, and you feel like you are two star crossed lovers.

When he stops tickling you, he pulls down your pants, leaving you naked except for your panties.

"You are beautiful, I have waited so long for you, and I am going to make you mine, forever."

With a Devilish glint in his eyes, he removes your panties and lays down on top of you. The feeling of the silver silk of his costume on your naked skin drives you wild. You wrap your arms and legs around him whilst you kiss passionately.

As you caress his body, he sits up and starts to remove his costume. First he undoes the ruff around his neck, slowly, teasing you. Then he reaches behind his waist where there is a secret fastening to remove his belt. He tickles your nose with the pompom and steals a quick kiss. You can see there are hook fastenings behind the pompoms of his jacket, you reach up to undo them, and he stares into your eyes with raging desire as you unhook each one. He slips the jacket off, which reveals another layer of fabric attached to his pantaloons. There is a zip which starts at his neck and stops where the pantaloons begin. You pull the zip down, and he slides the garment down his arms. To your surprise, he suddenly stands up. He towers above you, and he lets the pantaloons fall to the floor and steps out of them. You can now see just how big the bulge in his pants is, and you know instantly that you are about to be pleasured in a way most women could only dream of.

He drops to his knees, and removes the white silk shirt which is the last piece of clothing on his upper body except his white gloves. Slowly and seductively he peels them off, and you realise just how long his fingers are. He cups your breasts in his hands and you close your eyes, his naked skin against yours is the most beautiful feeling, and as you enjoy his caress setting your body on fire, you feel his lips on yours. You run your hands down his back, pulling him closer. When you reach the waist of his pants, you slide your hands inside over his naked buttocks and he moans into your mouth, kissing you harder, his hands stroking every part of your body he can reach, and then he finally settles on your sex. Gently he strokes your pubic hair, and you close your eyes enjoying the eroticism of the moment, then he slides two fingers inside you.

"Ooooh, you are so wet for ol Pennywise."

"Yes Penny, that's what you do to me."

He slides his fingers in and out, whilst he massages your clitoris with his thumb, and you are so close.

"Please Penny, I need you inside me, I want you so much ."

He slowly withdraws his fingers and sits up, his fiery eyes burn into yours, they seem to see into your soul, and as he holds your gaze, he hastily removes his boots and socks, then his pants.

He stands in front of you in nothing more than a pair of white silk briefs, a wicked glint in his eyes. He laughs with a filthy gutteral laugh and you give him an ear splitting smile.

Slowly he removes his briefs and let's them fall to the ground.

He is a sight to behold, his body is as beautiful as his face. Incredibly tall, lean and perfectly toned, with an erection any mortal man would envy.

You stare at him, drinking in his physical beauty. His skin is flawless, and his erection is huge. Completely humanoid in form, but larger, not only in length, more importantly for you in girth. A light dusting of pubic hair as red as the hair on his head adorns his armpits and testicles, and you so want to bury your face in his testicles and take him in your mouth, but that would be a treat for another night, the first time he must be inside you for you two to become one, giving yourself to him completely.

He walks towards you with purpose and drops to his knees, climbing on top of you. Eyes burning with desire, drool dripping from his mouth onto yours, which you lick off and he smothers your mouth with his, fisting your hair. When he pulls away, he buries his face in your neck and holds you tightly. He doesn't move, it is as though his very existence depends on the warmth of your skin and curves of your body.

After a few minutes he starts to caress you, and you do the same to him, feeling the muscles of his back and arms. You are completely intoxicated, his sweet scent, the romantic setting, the sexual chemistry between you, is like nothing you have experienced before. He looks into your eyes, his erection pressed against your thigh.

"Fuck me Pennywise, fuck me hard."

He smiles at you wickedly, and places his enormous member at your entrance, and slides into you with ease.

"Aaaaaaahhhh," you both cry out in unison, overcome by the sensation. He fits you perfectly, stretching you to the max. You are all sensation, every nerve ending on fire. This entity that everyone calls a monster, in Its favourite form of a beautiful clown, who kills your own kind for sustenance, has chosen you to be his mate. This is real, visceral, dangerous, and you love it, and Him.

He starts to move, and it feels divine. He growls into your neck as he nuzzles you, and your hands begin to explore his wonderful body. He likes this, throwing his head back and his eyes rolling back into his skull, breathing through gritted teeth as he loses himself inside you. He kisses you hard, pinning you to the ground as he thrusts into you harder. His cock is so huge that it is almost painful, but this only intensifies your pleasure.

As he quickens the pace he becomes more animalistic, revealing the beast he truly is. The sounds he makes are inhuman, and every now and again he yips and cackles as he loses himself inside you.

Holding him tightly, you know that you cannot hold on much longer. He kisses, licks and bites your neck, then nibbles your earlobe with his buck teeth, and it is your undoing. You cum, harder than you ever have in your life, crying out his name repeatedly as your entire body goes into spasm. You have never felt pleasure like it, and as you come back down to Earth, He finds His release. Throwing his head back whilst pinning you to the ground, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, he shoots load after load of his hot seed inside you. It is all you have ever wanted, and at last you feel complete.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck and breathing hard in your ear. He is completely spent, and as you stroke his back, he starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Hey Penny, are you OK?"

His eyes meet yours, and you notice that his eyes have turned blue, and are full of genuine warmth. He kisses your mouth clumsily with trembling lips.

"Penny, did I just pop your cherry?"

He looks at you with an expression that you can only describe as coy, and you know that he is desperately trying to guard his ego, because you have discovered his secret. The only things that betrayed him were his shaking, and the fact that he was so fascinated by your nipples turning hard from his kiss. You would never have known otherwise, he was the most incredible lover.

"Oh Penny, how lucky am I."

You kiss his forehead, his cheeks and his mouth, and wrap your arms and legs around his beautiful body, cradling him, and eventually his shaking subsides.

Having calmed him, you notice he starts to breathe deeply, and to your complete surprise, he starts to make a noise that you can only describe as purring. It is the sweetest most adorable sound you have ever heard. This demon who eats children and everyone calls an evil monster, has not only given you the best sex of your life, not that you had been promiscuous, but you had enough experience to know the good, the bad and the completely useless, was an incredible lover, and purrs like a cat whilst asleep. He is adorable to you, and no mortal man could ever compare to him.

As you lay there in your post coital bliss, a thought creeps into your mind. You knew he had lived for eons, but he had been a virgin all that time, never having experienced the joys of the flesh. Sleeping most of the time, and waking only to eat. What a pitiful existence, no wonder he was angry all the time.

The thought is almost too painful to bear, and a silent tear rolls down your cheek onto his hair. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly, as feelings of love for him wash over you, and in your heart you promise he will never be alone again as long as you have breath in your body.

You listen to his contented purring, and the sound of the water in the cistern. He is so heavy, but you have no intention of moving him, you bear his weight gladly, and as you lie there in your euphoric state, sleep finally overcomes you too.

#clownfucker #it movie #penny fluff #it fandom #Pennywise #Penny smut #Clown love #Pennywise the Dancing Clown

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ragingpancake · 3 years ago

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I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part 2

It’s ten days before Carson deems Rodney “well enough” to return to his quarters. To date, this has been the longest infirmary stay that Rodney’s ever had and truthfully, he should probably stay a bit longer. His kidneys still aren’t functioning as well as they should, which means Carson’s been closely monitoring his water intake and urine output and a whole host of other things that John knows Rodney is embarrassed about. He’s also not entirely steady on his feet, courtesy of the muscle spams that wrack his calves and his thighs, bad enough sometimes to nearly bring him to tears. It’s ten days before John, Carson and Elizabeth have a very real, very difficult conversation about what a prolonged stay in the infirmary will likely do Rodney mentally, left with nothing really to occupy his time except, well, time to think about just how close he’d come to death. Carson is reluctant to release him; they haven’t yet gotten him back to solid foods and of course his kidney function is still a concern, but John knows Rodney, knows that he needs to be anywhere but here and he argues his case: Rodney can come stay in his quarters. His team is grounded for the foreseeable future, courtesy of John who is unwilling to go off-world without his entire team and while he’s offered to temporarily reassign Teyla and Ronon to Lorne, they share his line of thinking. Rodney can come stay with John, but he has his whole team who’ll be watching out for him, who will bring him for twice daily check ins, if needed, who will monitor any time spent in the lab, who just want Rodney to have some semblance of normalcy during his recovery. It must be an impassioned speech, because by the time he’s done, Elizabeth nods her consent and John finds for the first time in ten days, it’s a little easier to breath.

--- Rodney, predictably, complains about the arrangement. He’s not keen on having a babysitter and that hurts John’s stunted feelings more than he’d ever admit out loud. But when Carson makes it clear that the only option is an extended stay in the infirmary, he relents pretty easily and all that’s left is to prepare John’s quarters. Easy peasy. Right? Wrong. It turns out that the room John’s claimed for himself isn’t quite meant for two people. It’s small and while it’s fine for just him, he knows that it’s going to be too cramped, too claustrophobic and so he spends the eleventh day scouting out some of the larger quarters near the East Pier with Teyla, pretending to understand when she makes suggestions based on where the light from the rising sun falls and which room has the best view of the ocean, which she believes will aid in Rodney’s recovery. He’s never been much into new age bullshit that seems to be pretty common across two galaxies, but he’s willing to shove a couple of crystals up his own ass if it means getting Rodney better.

He enlists Ronon, Lorne and a couple of marines to help move their things. John leaves his own quarters to Wallace, Gregory and Barnes despite how uncomfortable the thought of them seeing his own personal effects makes him, and he takes Rodney’s room with Ronon and Lorne. Rodney, for his part, has a lot of stuff. It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything moved over, including Rodney’s deceptively heavy prescription mattress, his four laptops and the whiteboard that he’d swiped from the labs within the first week of their arrival. John’s stuff, save for his own bed, mostly fits in a couple bags. By the time they’re finished, he’s tired, shoulders and back aching, reminding him just how fucking old he’s getting, but still, he trudges down to the infirmary, plastering a smile on his face for Rodney as he steps in through the paneled doors. “Hey buddy,” he greets. “Got us all set up in some new digs. Wait until you see the tub in this one,” he says, nodding as Carson comes over, Rodney’s chart in hand. “He all good to go, Doc?” “I suppose he’ll have to be, now won’t he?” He asks and there’s a scowl there that John cheerfully ignores. “I expect him back here at 10 and 2, Colonel. A minute late for either appointment and he’s back here, d’you understand?” “10 and 2, just like a steering wheel. Got it, doc. How about the food situation?” “Yeah, what he said,” Rodney frowns and John knows from previous experience just how miserable a clear liquid diet can be. “I’m alright with him startin’ on solids, but take it easy,” Carson warns. “Nothin’ too heavy,” and Rodney waves him off, but despite his lackadaisical nature, John really is taking this seriously, committing everything to memory. “Got it. We good?” Carson pauses for a moment before he sighs. “Aye. But not a moment late, Colonel!” He warns as Marie and Simpson come, pushing a wheelchair that Rodney tries to vehemently refuse. John settles a hand on his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. C’mon. Easy. It’s a pretty long walk to the pier, alright? Let’s not push it too much on your first day.” “Traitor,” Rodney mutters under his breath and John actually does smile because it feels a little like it used to before those God damned Carneans. John steadies the wheelchair while Marie and Simpson maneuver Rodney into it and after what feels like forever, they’re finally on their way. “You did get my laptops, right?” “Yes, Rodney.” “And what about the Athosian soaps from the bathroom? Those were made specially for me by Gita and, and, and the medicinal properties-- “We got ‘em.” “My mattress?” “Of course.” Rodney harrumphs like maybe he’s expecting John to have forgotten something, as if John would ever. “What about—” “Your favorite red pen that you use to mark up all those damn physics journals? Yep. Got that too. We grabbed everything, buddy. And if there’s somethin’ you need that we don’t have, just say the word and we’ll make it happen.” Rodney falls strangely quiet at that. --- It’s easy to live with Rodney. Lorne had very nearly pissed himself from laughter when John said so after the first few days and honestly, John took a little offense to that on Rodney’s behalf. Sure, he’s messy and he’s loud and the longer he’s out, the more of his biting sarcasm is returning, but John’s all for it, especially when he considers the alternative. (And he does consider it, frequently, usually in the dead of night when he wakes up from nightmares of vomit and grey skin, of an antidote recovered too late). But honestly, save for the fact that John now has to deal with Rodney’s dirty clothes strewn across the room and the stupid whiteboard that takes up the space that John’s surf board should be occupying, not much has changed at all, a testament to just how much time the two of them had spent together even before this. John follows Carson’s instructions to a T, and okay, maybe that’s a little different too because John’s always been the one to avoid the infirmary at all costs when it comes to his own health and

well-being, but he’s not taking a chance with Rodney’s. He takes him to his appointments and at nights, when the muscle spasms seem to be the worst, John sits with him on that stupidly comfortable bed, kneading the tight muscles in his legs as he tries to distract Rodney with shitty 80s movies and random banter about anything and everything that he thinks will goad Rodney into a tirade that’ll take his mind off of the pain. He even lets Rodney have four hours a day in the labs, split into two hour segments with an hour break in between. Normalcy. That’s the goal here and Rodney’s always at his best when he’s in his element, berating scientists and defying all laws of physics. That’s where Rodney is when everything goes to hell. --- It’s been twenty days since the Carneans. Ten days of the two of them cohabitating, ten days of Rodney slowly working his way back to normal. He’s been subsisting entirely of power bars and MREs, which, while not entirely healthy has been cleared by Carson if only for the fact that they provide sustenance without being too taxing on Rodney’s still delicate system and John’s just thinking about whether or not he can try to convince Rodney to try something a little more substantial from the mess later that evening when the call comes in over the radio. “Zelenka to Colonel Sheppard, please respond.” He sounds harried and John closes the latest mission report from Lorne’s team, already on his feet and moving when he taps his comm. “Sheppard here, go ahead Doc.” “I need you in Science Lab 3 please. There is a… situation.” “What do you mean by situation, Radek?” But when Radek keys up his comm again, John can hear the panicked wheezing in the background and he picks it up to a swift jog. “I believe Rodney is having a panic attack,” he says. “I have tried to bring him around but nothing is working and I--.” “I’m on my way. Sheppard out.” He meets Ronon in the corridor and he doesn’t even have to say a word before the Satedan is altering his own course, following after John. They can hear it before they even open the door. Rodney’s on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of his ragged breaths interspersed with pained moans and Ronon is quick to clear the lab of well meaning scientists who are gaping at the scene while Radek tries to shield Rodney from view as much as possible. “Hey, hey,” John says soothingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. “I’m here, buddy. Rodney, look at me. Hey, hey,” and he reaches out, finger under Rodney’s chin as he tips his head up, wild blue eyes meeting hazel. John wants to take Rodney’s hand, but his arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching his stomach so tightly and John glances over at the toppled plate on the floor, shards of glass now mixed with what looks like not-meatloaf. “Talk to me, Doc,” John calls over his shoulder at Zelenka. “What the hell happened?” “He was out of power bars, but hungry, so Miko thought perhaps he might be enticed to eat by something from the mess, knowing that this,” he gestures, “was Rodney’s favorite. He managed a couple of bites and everything was fine until… until it was not.” “Cramps,” Rodney rasps, reaching out to grip John’s wrist painfully. “Cramps. Poison, I—I can’t--.” “Get Carson down here,” John snarls, voice softening as he turns back to Rodney. “Hey. Listen to me, buddy. Carson told us this could happen, remember? The cramps. That’s why we started light. You’re okay though. I promise, Rodney. You’re okay, I’m right here and I need you to breathe.” It takes a bit of manhandling but John manages to get Rodney up enough that he can slide behind the other, drawing Rodney back against his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rodney.” That’s how Carson finds them a few moments later, Rodney trembling against the other, but thankfully no longer hyperventilating. “He’s alright,” John says, glancing up at Beckett. “Panic attack when

he tried to eat and cramped up.” “I thought—I thought--.” John pets through Rodney’s hair gently. “I know. You thought it happened again, but it didn’t, right? We’re gonna go down to the infirmary with Carson though and let him check you over so you can see for yourself.” “Easy, lad,” Carson says as Ronon comes over to help Rodney to his feet with more care than he’s shown anyone else, guiding him over to the gurney before he tugs John to his feet as well. “John—” Rodney rasps, the name catching his throat as the cramps hit again and he curls on his side, swallowing hard against the panic beginning to rise again. “I’m here,” John reminds him again, moving to take Rodney’s hand. “You’re alright, I promise.” And he is. He will be. John will be sure of that. --- The panic attacks don’t last long. He still cramps painfully when he eats, but the team is always with him at meal time to help him through it, John always, alwayseating a third of his food before switching his tray with Rodney’s for him to finish it, confident that there’s no poison. The effects of what had been done to him still linger, still present often and painfully, and sometimes, John doesn’t think what he’s doing is enough. That he should be doing more, that he should’ve done more back on that fucking planet to have saved Rodney from this entire ordeal. But Rodney’s getting better. John can see that when he goes longer and longer without a muscle spasm, or the first time he pees on his own and calls John in to see how clear it is, proof that his kidneys are finally starting to function normally. “You know,” Rodney says one night after they’ve pushed their beds close enough together that if they each scoot over to the edge, their shoulders are touching, “it probably won’t be too much longer until we can go back to our own quarters.” There’s an uncomfortable knot that twists itself up in John’s stomach at that but he swallows against the lump in his throat and says casually, “oh yeah? That’ll be cool. I guess.” “Yeah,” Rodney says and then he falls silent for a moment, as if waiting for something. Apparently, his impatience has returned full force because he doesn’t even give it a half a second before he’s speaking again. “I mean, unless we just… don’t?” Okay. That’s unexpected. “I just… this has been incredibly difficult, Colonel. Uh, John,” he corrects, “and you’ve… I know that this is probably because of some weird, misplaced guilt you’re harboring, because that’s how you are, Lieutenant Colonel Martyr, but… this has been okay… hasn’t it?” “Rodney, I--.” “I know I’m difficult. I’m messy and I’ll be going back to keeping weird hours soon enough and, and, and I know I can be annoying, but you’ve put up with that remarkably well and so I just thought--.” “I don’t want to go back to being alone,” John blurts out and he can feel the tension leaving Rodney’s body beside him. “Good. Me neither.” They fall into a comfortable silence then for a moment, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the sound of the ocean waves through the open window. (Teyla was definitely right about picking this room.) “It’s not guilt,” John says after a moment. “I mean, not that I don’t feel guilty, because I should’ve never--.” He clears his throat and stops himself before he goes down that road. “You’re… I dunno. You’re McKay. Rodney. And I… when I found you that day, I thought you were dead,” and he can feel Rodney flinch at that, but he needs to get this out, he thinks. “I thought you’d died and I just… realized that I would’ve gone out of my fucking mind if you had, Rodney. Like, legitimately crazy because you’re… You’re you and I’m--. I’m yours. However you want me. If that means we forget this conversation ever happened and go back to how it was before all of this, I’m okay with that, but I just… I had to tell you because I came really fucking close to never getting another chance to.” Rodney is quiet, doesn’t say anything but after a moment, John can feel the other’s hand brush against his own before he

squeezes two of John’s fingers. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time in all the time we’ve known each other.” And John laugh out loud at that, an actual laugh, and as he does, he feels that knot inside of him loosen just a bit. “Which is to say,” Rodney continues, “that I… would very much like to notforget this happened. I… suppose that I’m yours too. Maybe I always have been.” John doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. He’s under no delusions that this will be easy, any of it, but when has it ever been? All that matters though is that they have time now to work through it, to figure it out together. Maybe they’ll fix each other.

#mcshep #hurt/comfort #hurt rodney mckay #whumped rodney mcay #john sheppard #rodney mckay #sga #stargate atlantis #fandom: sga #angst #poisoning #panic attack

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hlcreators · 4 years ago

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AUTHOR REC: only_angel_28 / @beau-soleil-louis

Don’t forget to leave kudos and comment to show some love! ♡

a week and thirteen days (1k)

Harry falls in love with the morning sun.

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“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?”

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“Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long.

Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

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Louis is a disaster gay on a skateboard. Harry is a beautiful, quirky stranger on a bicycle. Their first encounter really makes a splash.

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“Do you ever think about boys?”

The words fall from Louis’ lips casually, but they’re fragile like a gossamer thread, a single silken strand from a spider’s web of labyrinthine thoughts. They’re the product of literal months of careful introspection, of soul-searching and agonizing and over-thinking. They’re words that he’s never dared to utter aloud, a mirror of his own swirling inner-turmoil of thoughts. Thoughts he previously held tightly to his chest, locked away in his heart along with all his other feelings regarding his best friend.

*Or the arrival of spring brings a new beginning for Harry and Louis.

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Louis honestly doesn’t know how he gets himself into these types of situations.

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Shouldn’t be a problem, right? All he has to do is lock lips with a (hopefully) fit bloke, collect his money, and be on his way. Easy peasy. Little does he know, fate has other plans for him in the form of one adorably quirky art student who goes by the name of Harry Styles.

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*Or the one where Harry has been in love with his best friend for four years, and New Year's Eve at his family's holiday home in Switzerland is perfect for finally telling Louis how he feels.

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The story of what happens when Harry finds a stranger sleeping inside the car his late grandfather left him.

“Louis?” Harry queries softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Why are you living in my car?”

Louis sighs, and this time it’s laced with a mixture of sadness and exhaustion, the sound of it tugging at Harry’s heartstrings. “Long story,” he says finally with a weak smile.

“Will you tell me?” Harry prods gently, his demeanor akin to that of someone approaching a wild animal with their arms outstretched in a gesture of submission. “You don’t have to, like—I mean…it’s just, I’m a pretty good listener, and you seem like maybe you could use a friend?”

“What gave me away?” Louis jokes dryly.

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“No!” Harry shrieks, his voice bordering on shrill. “No,” He repeats a little quieter, calmer, “I just—I’m, er, kinda…big, I guess.”

Louis rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “That’s hardly a problem, curly.”

*Or Harry is insecure about a certain rather large part of his anatomy that is apparently intimidating to the point where it has actually scared off potential shags. When he ends up confessing this to his best friend and roommate, Louis takes it upon himself to prove that Harry’s size doesn't have to be a curse, and decides to help show him just how perfect he is.

Please Be Naked (17k)

Louis starts squirming, desperately needing something to do with his hands. Needing to do anything, really, to distract him from the perfect male specimen standing naked in front of him. In the end, the only thing he can do is strip out of his own jeans and briefs, which he does with trembling, clumsy fingers, his heart beating out a violent, chaotic rhythm in his chest the entire time.

He hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath, and slowly raises his eyes from where he was staring at his own bare feet to meet his gaze.

“So,” Harry says bashfully, his voice gone even deeper somehow. “We’re naked.”

“Yup,” Louis squeaks.

“You okay?”

No!

“Yup,” Louis repeats, sounding just as unstable as he did the first time.

This is the last favor Louis Tomlinson is ever doing for Zayn Malik. (Because, after today, he’ll be dead, but that’s neither here nor there.)

*Or the one where Louis agrees to help out Zayn with one of his art projects and ends up getting much more than he bargained for.

Hey I Heard You Were A Wild One (If I Took You Home It’d Be A Homerun) (12k)

"Are you out?” Louis huffs a long suffering sigh as he studies Harry from the other side of the bar, the neon from the beer signs making his eyes glow an unnatural shade of blue, and causing Harry to question - not for the first time tonight - if he is real or just some fever dream-esque fantasy conjured up by Harry’s alcohol addled brain.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Harry laughs incredulously.

Louis is resolute in his posture as he continues to observe Harry, the slight arch of a brow his only acknowledgement of Harry’s question. That’s fine, Harry decides, it was mostly rhetorical anyway.

“A gay cowboy who rides for a living, can you imagine all the Brokeback Mountain jokes I’d have to endure on a daily basis? I don’t really fancy being compared to Jake Gyllenhaal.”

A hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of Louis’ pursed lips. “Now you’re the one who must be joking, because you are so clearly Heath Ledger in that scenario.”

*Or Harry came to the bar to forget. Louis gives him a night to remember.

Your Love Is My Turning Page When Only The Sweetest Words Remain (8.4k)

“Crying already, Styles?” Louis chides him teasingly, unable to contain the smile that’s breaking across his face.

“So what if I am? What are you going to do about it?” Harry sniffs indignantly.

Louis makes a show of pretending to consider this, steepling his fingers in front of his chest and giving Harry a contemplative once-over.

“Marry you.” He decides, smirking at Harry.

“Guess you won’t be able to call me Styles much longer then.” Harry counters, biting down on his own barely-contained grin.

“Guess not.” Louis agrees happily.

Say You Won’t Let Go (5.7k)

Harry hates flying. Louis is the kind stranger who helps him when he gets sick in the airport restroom. The rest, as they say, is history.

Back To You (5.8k)

"Hello?" His voice came out all high and breathy like an anxious school girl, and he cringed internally at how wrecked he sounded already.

"Lou?"

Harry's voice was the same as ever, deeper than the sea and somehow both gravelly and smooth as silk. Harry was full of infuriating little contradictions like that. It drove Louis crazy. He had spent a good portion of his life questioning if Harry Styles was actually even human; on paper he just didn't make sense. He was an enigma, an anomaly, the exception to every rule.

*After dropping his new single, "Back To You" Louis gets a text from Harry inquiring about the true inspiration for the song.

#writer appreciation week #1dsource #hljournal #fics #author rec

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eorzeanalmanac · 4 years ago

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Sastasha Seagrot - The Reaver’s Lair

Excerpt from ‘The history of Vylbrand, from Nym to Limsa Lominsa’ by Archon Niniri Niri.

An extensive system of caverns on the western coast of Vylbrand, Sastasha was carved from the rock by eons of erosion. The cave’s initial inhabitants were the sahagin, an aquatic race of spoken hailing from the depths of the Indigo Deep. Common knowledge amongst the people of Western La Noscea dictates that the sahagin used the cove as a meeting place, and that the name ‘Sastasha’ derives from this, meaning ‘many shells’ in their native language. The cove is sometimes referred to by a longer name, Sastasha Seagrot, and Seagrot is likely a portmanteau of sea and grotto, with a grotto being a partially submerged cave system.

Roughly fifty years ago the sahagin were driven from Sastasha by the dread pirate Mistbeard, who went on to use Sastasha as his base of operations on Vylbrand. The structures found within today are relics of this period, and once acted as docks, crew quarters and recreational facilities for the pirate king’s crew. This era in Sastasha’s history drew to an end when Mistbeard disappeared with little trace twenty-two years ago, heralding the descent of the Seagrot into decrepitude.

It was not long, however, until the sahagin returned to the cove, spurred on by the effects of the Seventh Umbral Calamity which decimated the race’s existing spawning grounds. They commanded the Serpent Reavers, a large crew of pirates tempered by Leviathan, to retake the Seagrot in their name. After doing so the Serpent Reavers have made it a habit of theirs to harry the people of Limsa Lominsa as much as is feasibly possible.

The Wauling Pond

Upon first entry to the Seagrot one finds themselves in the Wauling Pond, an area of raised stone pathways over a rather sizeable drop to the cave floor below, surely a consequence of the erosion that created the Seagrot. Various forms of bioluminescent flora and coral can be found within, including common brain coral species that seem to glow a soft blue or red. Odd pillars of coruscating blue light litter the area, a sure sign of the abundance of water-aspected aether within Sastasha.

While the reasons behind the name of the Wauling Pond are not immediately clear, one can make assumptions based on the evidence provided. It is well known that for some time the pirates of Vylbrand have smuggled exotic beasts onto the island and that Sastasha was home to feline beasts such as the coeurl. To waul is to screech in a mournful tone, especially when applied to felines. Although there is no outright water in this area, there almost certainly once was judging by the erosion that carved out the chamber. This then must have been a pond where the cries of the felines from deeper within could be heard.

The Cattery

Further within the Seagrot is a vast cavern, partially submerged in water. The area can accessed by a series of stone platforms joined by paths of clustered coral. The ceiling of the chamber is perforated by a series of holes which let natural sunlight into this cavern, named the Cattery. This name derives from the coeurls that are stored within the depths of the area. A secret door exists in the rock at the terminus of the cavern, accessed by a small button in the stone. This was likely engineered by Mistbeard as a method for defending his holdings and was then adopted by the Serpent Reavers.

The Rambade

There are a pair of circular chambers within Sastasha commonly called Rambades by the pirates that inhabit the Seagrot. They seem to serve as storage facilities and defensive measures, acting as an airlock manned by members of the pirate crew. The Rambade aboard a ship is an area above the artillery that acts as an area for onboard combat or as a command post. This may be a reference to the presence of the captain within the area when adventurers sent by the Maelstrom cleansed the Seagrot of the Serpent Reavers.

The Dead Man’s Drink

Deep within Sastasha are the facilities constructed by Mistbeard for his crew. The central room of the area is a large chamber with a wooden structure used as storage and as the tavern for the crews of Mistbeard and later the Serpent Reavers. A number of side-chambers branch off of the center, providing quarters for the various roles in the crew, from rowers to deckhands, navigators and even the captain. There is also an additional chamber named the Hole which reports indicate acted as the communal cell for those taken captive by the pirates.

The Sultana’s Lap and Mistbeard Cove

The end of Sastasha is found in a large cove open to the ocean, originally occupied and constructed by the docks of Mistbeard’s crew. The cove under the Serpent Reavers was home to a number of storage facility as well as the residence of the Sahagin warrior chosen to oversee the Serpent Reavers and provide strategy for their operations.

The Bestiary of Sastasha

Black Bat

Taxonomy: Cloudkin (Bat)

Description: Bats reside within the dark places of the world, roosting in caves and other secluded locales. It is common knowledge that they are nocturnal creatures, but more dedicated research by the scholars of the realm has uncovered that they are capable of feats of extremely keen hearing and a technique called echolocation. Although most bats feed on insects and fruit, folklore has long held that some of them instead feed on blood.

Cave Aurelia

Taxonomy: Wavekin (Jellyfish)

Description: Unusual creatures, dissection has demonstrated that the Jellyfish is capable of a crude form of flight by expelling gas from its body. The tendrils of a jellyfish contain potent stinging barbs which can disable their foe.

Giant Clam

Taxonomy: Wavekin (Clam)

Description: A frankly bizarre specimen, the researchers sent into the Seagrot report that these giant clams were capable of emitting clusters of minor ashkin. The mechanism for how this might be achieved would take a finer aetherologist than I to divine, but some researchers have posited that they might gather the aether of those who perish in the Seagrot as sustenance which then forms into the corpselights and are released as defensive measures.

Shade Seeker

Taxonomy: Ashkin (Will-o’-the-wisp)

Description: Amongst the simplest of the ashkin, wisps such as these are found in folk tales across the realms as lures leading the lost into further danger. Theories as to their true nature abound, however, and alternate from orbs of burning gas animated by the aether of the corpse they emitted from to the souls of the dead themselves.

Fossilshell

Taxonomy: Wavekin (Crab)

Description: Giants crabs such as these, often called snipper crabs, are abundant across Eorzea and beyond. Their strength makes them a thoroughly inconvenient food-source however, and only the qiqirn rat-folk commonly eat them due to the effort needed to pierce their iron-hard shells. The true reasons for their naming by the people of Vylbrand is unclear, but one might posit that the fossils mentioned in their name refers to the beast’s habit of consuming limestone, a rock composed of long-dead wavekin, in order to reinforce their shell.

Sastasha Orobon

Taxonomy: Wavekin (Orobon)

Description: Previously considered myth due to the only reports of their existence coming from fishermen catching sight of something in their deepest fishing nets, the orobon has since become an uncomfortable reality. They, like the sahagin and so many other aquatic creatures, have been driven to the surface by the Seventh Umbral Calamity.

Etymology Notes: The orobon, or orabau, is named for a cryptid of Brazil reported by the priest Andre Thevet in the 14th century. Most noted for being foul-tasting, the orobon was almost certainly a misidentified reptile but the name serves to reinforce the pseudo-mythical status of the orobon in Eorzea pre-calamity.

Chopper

Taxonomy: Beastkin (Coeurl)

Description: When the adventurers returned from their purge of Sastasha they reported a most unusual creature found within, a fearsome coeurl named ‘Chopper’ by the Serpent Reavers that smuggled it into the cove. Indeed, it was rumors of a wild coeurl pack within Sastasha that kept the settlers of Western La Noscea away from the cove, allowing the Reavers to settle it without conflict. These beasts are native to the Near East, and are famed for both their savagery and ability to channel lightning-aspected aether through the long appendages attached to their face.

Capabilities: According to the adventurers that slew Chopper the beast was as capable as any coeurl at channeling lightning aether through its appendages, a technique we will name ‘charged whisker’.

Scurvy Dog

Taxonomy: Beastkin (Jackal)

Description: A subspecies of the common wolf found most commonly on Vylbrand, the jackal is an expert tracker and although they are usually content to scavenge their hunger can sometimes drive them to violence. So, it seems, can, the urgings of men, as seen by the ferocity of the guard dogs of the Serpent Reavers.

Captain Madison

Taxonomy: Spoken (Hyur)

Description: The former captain of the Serpent Reavers met his end at the hands of his sahagin overlords after failing to hold off the assault of the adventurers that purged the Seagrot. Madison was famously craven but managed to rise the ranks due to his low cunning. Records held by the Admiralty at Limsa Lominsa indicate that he was a simple navigator aboard a merchant vessel with crippling gambling debts, forcing him to flee from the city. He joined the Serpent Reavers and was quickly tempered by Leviathan, albeit only very lightly.

The Serpent Reavers

Taxonomy: Spoken (Various)

Description: The Serpent Reavers are an expansive pirate crew of sailors tempered by Leviathan and used as fodder by the sahagin in their offensive against Limsa Lominsa and the Maelstrom. Their ranks appear to be organized into groups named as Shallow, and then their role. A Shallowclaw is a pugilist, for example.

Denn the Orcatoothed

Taxonomy: Spoken (Sahagin)

Description: The sahagin assigned as the overseer of the Serpent Reavers stationed in the Seagrot, Denn was a warrior of renown amongst his kin and earned the title of Orcatoothed due to his viciousness and tenacity, compared to the fearsome orca. He was also a noted strategist, and the intelligence gatherers of the Maelstrom report that it was he who was pioneer of the sahagin’s use of tempered men in their invasion of Vylbrand’s coast.

Capabilities: Denn is capable, as so many sahagin are, of using water-aspected aether to cast watery spells to damage his prey.

Baleen Guard

Taxonomy: Spoken (Sahagin)

Description: Lesser sahagin, these were likely the personal guards of Denn dispatched alongside him by the Indigo Matriarch, monarch of all the sahagin. Baleen, my fellow archons tell me, is an array of filaments used by whales to strain their food through water. This may be a metaphor for the responsibility of these guardians in filtering who is allowed access to Denn, but who can truly gauge the intentions of the sahagin.

#Sastasha #Vylbrand #Duty Guides #La Noscea #Sahagin #ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv

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toxic-gorgon · 5 years ago

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Punishment: Yomi x Reader

Out of everything I’ve written, this one is the most character and lore driven. It’s one of my favorites.

The border between human world and demon world was a tad intimidating, would be an understatement, a barrier that only those sensitive to otherworldly beings, but the energy emitting from it was incredibly thick. Taking a step back, your heart pounds at the sheer size, and the possibility of what could be on the other side.

“I don’t know about this. Aria, are you sure?” you shakily spoke, gulping down your anxiety. She scoffs, pointing toward demon world.

“Aren’t you curious, Y/N? Traveling to a far off place, somewhere our kind’s been too scared to tread! We can be explorers or something!” she exclaimed. “Imagine, being the first vampires to be brave enough to cross the barrier.” The dark haired girl, who looked no older than a teen, placed her hands on her hips.

“I must admit, humans do get boring once in a while. No challenge and their blood is so mundane anymore. I suppose something new couldn’t hurt, but we should be careful.” you speculated. “What if the council finds out? We’ll surely be in a lot of trouble.” Aria shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we’re exactly perfectly behaved anyway.” she paused, grinning. “Remember when we used a cardboard cutout of a “vampire hunter”, so we can sneak out” You smiled at the fond memory “I can’t believe we got off with a slap of the wrist.” The back of your mind held every danger the elders warned you about, as they came flashing through your mind.

“We made it this far, I think that’s a win?” you reasoned with her, or rather attempt to. Gripping your wrist, Aria’s crystal blue eyes turned a dangerous red accent, boring into yours, pleading. Alarming, you’ve never seen her this way before.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of!” she growled. “Don’t chicken out now, please?” she begs, and like a sentimental idiot, your eyes soften, giving her a nod, you couldn’t let her go alone. If something were to happen, you couldn’t forgive yourself. Squealing excitedly, Aria hurriedly hugs you. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Fine, but don’t pull that crap on me again, ok? Let’s get this over with. The sooner we enter, the sooner we can go back home.” you groan, following your best friend through the forbidden boarder.

Demon world wasn’t quite what you would expect. You knew there would be some weird shit, but flying eyeballs and slime critters were just the tip of the iceberg. Uneasyness easily suffocated the air, but Aria seemed determined as ever. She drags you down the city streets, which were probably the most human thing you’ve noticed. Tall buildings like home, you sighed with some familiarity was nice, but one alarmingly large red flag appeared.

“Are we ready to go now? This place is giving me the creeps.” you whispered, placing a hand on Aria’s shoulder, forcing her to stop.

“But Y/N, we can’t! We just got here.” she whines, pouting. You shook your head, turning around.

“We need to leave, I can’t stand this anymore. I mean look, we’re the only people here. Don’t you find that odd?” your reason with her. She rolls her eyes, moving forward.

“Stop your complaining! We’re fine. Look!” she throws her arms in the air, yelling out. “See? Nothing, so stop being a whine ass.” Your eyes darted to the side when a shadow suddenly moved. Your heart pounds in your throat, the hairs in the back of your neck stood upright.

Gulping, you whispered calmly, yet shaky “Aria, we have to leave. I-I ju-just saw s-something. Turn around slowly and let’s go.” She glares over her shoulder, clear annoyance sprawled onto her features.

“Y/N, will you shu-“ From the shadows, jumped burly, monstrous creatures, adorned with armor, reprehending you and Aria effortlessly, keeping an iron grip onto your brittle wrists. “Let go!” Aria yells, thrashing about. You whimper, your fruitless efforts to be released all for not.

“Oi boys, what do we have here? Trespassers on Yomi-sama’s territory. Where you ladies might be from?” The tallest one snorts with his pig snout, looking you and Aria down. Aria scoffs, refusing to back down.

“Human world, now put me down you muscle bound bastard! Or I’ll drain your blood!” shit, her threats were going to get you killed! Guffawing, the ring leader (what you thought was their superior, given he was the tallest) gestures for the men to bring you in.

“Vampires eh? Female ones.” he pauses, whistling. “Pricy on the slave market. Looks like we hit the jackpot boys.”

One excruciatingly long month went by, and you were the only left. Aria long since been dragged off to god knows where, probably sold like the demons claimed was going to happen. Every day, you watched as the cell’s warden trotted around, taunting you with freedom. The ugly, wart infested fucker, you wanted to tear his throat out. A personal promise you made, once you had the chance.

“Oi, vampire skank!” The warden’s voice boomed, his clammy hand slamming against the bars, startling you. Snickering, he twirls his keys around his finger. “Getting lonely in there?” he questions, licking his massive toad lips with a bumpy tongue. Cringing, he did this to you everyday. It was like a game, he made a pass, and you snark back. This world was what the elders warned you about and more.

Not a day went by when you regretted not listening to them, but now you pay the price. You couldn’t stand it here much longer, either you were going to get killed, kill yourself, or by the slim chance, escape. Survival of the fittest was an understatement, but fuck, what were you willing to sacrifice for it? It killed you every time, the thought of that vile creature touch you. Today, you noticed scarce amounts of guards. Conflict with other territories, perhaps? Quite unusual, since such a place is always flooding with enforcements. Was this a sign?

Mustering the courage, you stood up abruptly, pushing disgust aside, all sake for the performance. Turning around and giving the grotesque creature a flirty smile, your slender fingers trace the cold bars. “The nights get unbearably cold.” you drawled. “Since my friend left, I’ve been keeping myself warm.” You hated every single word that passed through your lips. Vampire charm or not, the warden fumbles with his keys, a lusty blush dusted what you assumed were his cheeks. Pathetic.

Giggling, he flings open the cell door, his grubby hands reaching out for you like the fucking lecher he was. You only had a small window to make use of. Baring your fangs, you launch yourself at the toad, tearing through his jugular, using your nails to hang on. He drops to the ground, struggling to push you off, gurgling for his life. With his throat gashed, he convulsed dead within seconds, leaving you draining his blood. His blood was a five star meal compared to what you’ve had in the last month. However, now wasn’t the time to enjoy a full meal. You drank enough to gain your energy back, and ran out the metal, dungeon door.

Slipping behind a wall, you silently caught your breath, watching as two guards ran past you, cursing your escape. Scoffing, you wiped your warden’s blood off your stained lips, turning lightly to keep moving. Staying still for too long, they were bound to find you. When you were sure your breathing was under control, you tiptoed away from your position. Fuck, now what do I do?

You crept by yet another wall, glancing from behind it. An unguarded, large metal door could be the way out. Hell, she didn’t know where she was, but a door is a door, so, she took the plunge and rushed toward it. Your hand shakily grasps the knob, turning slowly, careful not to make any noise. Your breath hitched in your throat, while you opened it to reveal…

Gasping, the door suddenly slammed shut, and your back slams against the cold wall. Looking up with widened eyes, your mouth hung agape as a much taller frame held you in place with your neck, giving it an authoritive squeeze. Taking a deep breath, you stayed calm, regardless of your scarce air supply. The man, from what you can tell, smirked, as his eyes stayed closed, and his eerily calm aura easily overtook your shaken form.

“So, you’re the vampire causing such a fuss. How bothersome.” he observed, squeezing harder. Struggling to breath, your e/c turned a hint of red accent, as your long nails raked along his arm, in a desperate plea for release. “Your people are known for their tenacity, I’m almost curious to see for myself.” Growling, your legs start thrashing. He wanted to see tenacity, he’ll see it.

“Let me go, you demon scum!” you choked out, balling your right hand into a fist, and slam it against his arm. Chuckling, the demon male continued to watch your struggle, but found himself getting bored quickly. He releases you, tossing you to the ground next to him. Struggling to raise yourself up, you coughed, sucking in all the air you could for your shriveled lungs. Hatred clouding your eyes, as you shot up, weak from lack of sustenance, but more stubborn than ever. “I’ll kill you and get out of here.”

The demon doesn’t budge. Instead, he boisterously laughs, as if you were a comedian. “Really now? I’m intrigued, you’re confident in your abilities to take down a king, little one?” You purse your lips, speechless. Fucking king Yomi blocked your path, of all the rotten luck. One bad decision after another, cursing your now presumed dead friend dragging you into this. You’d nearly flat out regret your whole relationship with Aria, but there’s no use placing blame.

“King or not, I’ll drain your blood!” you snarl, launching yourself toward the man, fangs out and ready to maim. Effortlessly, the king moved slightly to the side, catching your arm, and brings you close to him. His free, rough hand traced your cheek, humming in approval. A Wild flush cascade your face, as you squirmed against his chest.

“Not bad, almost pleasing if you weren’t kin to humans.” he taunted, gripping your arm hard enough to leave bruises. You slap him with your free hand, snarling. How dare he! The king’s smirk falters to a frown, his amusement over. “Troublesome woman, you should learn your place. “ he snapped, as his smirk tugged his lips once again with a tantalizing thought. “Perhaps I should train you. Who better than a king to make example of obedience to such defiance.”

Groaning, your eyes flutter open, stinging from the light. Fuck, I must’ve passed out. Pulling on your heavy, metal restraints, you sighed with no avail. Shit, I’m stuck here too. After a few minutes, your eyes got use to the light, and quickly you took in the sight. Another fucking dungeon, but not one you’ve been living in for the past month. No, this one was much different. Strange contraptions, restraints, whips, and other questionable instruments lined the area.

“Ah, you’re awake. I hope you got enough rest.” Fake concern from a man’s voice you recognized all too well now. The so called king of Gandara. “You’ll need it for what I have in store for you. Whatever it takes, you’ll be punished thoroughly.” he drawled, now coming into view. Snarling, you turned your head, refusing to meet his features. Grinning, he steps forward, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Come now. I promise if you behave and receive your punishment like a good slave, you’ll go back to your cell peacefully.”

Frowning, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a rebuttal, your e/c orbs stared him down. Hissing, you spat in his face. “Like hell I will! I refuse to be bought and sold like a common object!” Without a word, he slaps you across your face, leering down at your pathetic form.

“Have it your way, I like a challenge.” he mocked. Trailing calloused fingers along your bare thighs, he licks from your neck, down to your chest, not surprising it took you this long to realize you’re nude. Shivering, from a mix of cool air and intimate attention, your blush reared its ugly head once more.

“Y-Your big plan to discipline me is this? Forgive me if I’m not colored impressed.” you stutter, hiding your discomfort. Yomi cracks a smile, his hand reaching your core. Nervously, your eyes watched his every move, as you bit your lip when the king sucks your right nip roughly, while his free hand pinches and twists the other. Slowly he enters two fingers into your depths, his smirk widening.

“Oh? What’s this? Tell me, you’re a virgin, am I correct?” he questioned. His speculation was confirmed when you refused to answer him, embarrassedly shifting your gaze to something else. “I see.” he pauses to work your walls, stretching you out. “How rare, a virgin vampire wandering into my territory. I’m conflicted. Should I sell you now, which means you’ll be worth far more than the standard female vampire, or should I keep you for myself, until I get bored that is.”

Whimpering, you lost it when he jams his thumb against your clit, abusing it roughly. He returns to your breasts, as if deep in thought. Dammit, I can’t hold back! A scratchy moan flowed past your lips, as you closed your eyes, and tilted your head back. Lifting his head back up to your neck, he bites, drawing blood, and sucks the wound.

“Enjoying yourself? Don’t get too comfortable, we’ve only begun.” his sultry voice only added to the fire between your legs. Slipping his soaked fingers out, Yomi expertly removes his top, revealing a fine, almost marble-like chiseled chest. You didn’t even try to hide the fact you were staring. If you were anymore mystified, you would be drooling (which was tempting), sadly the demon took notice. “Hmmm? You’re so quiet.” he chuckles. “Don’t tell me I make you speechless.”

Rolling your eyes, you struggle to shoot an insult back, proving more difficult when his hands lay on his belt, pulling it loose, and no matter what, your eyes couldn’t look away. Fuck! Anger welled up in you, not so much with the situation, but mostly at yourself. You’re allowing the laws of attraction get the better of you, and your desires were winning the battle against your willpower.

Pushing down his trousers enough to spring free his hard cock, Yomi stepped closer, rubbing his hands between your thighs, bending down to give your engorged clit a quick lick. Your face contorts into painful, conflicted pleasure. You want to let go, but you can’t lose your sanity, not yet. Grinning, he lines his cock up with your pussy, wrapping a strong arm behind your waist, and pushing himself in down to the base, and thrusting hard without allowing you time to adjust.

Your body jerks in jolting pain, your cries growing louder with each thrust. “S-Slow down! Dammit, it hurts!” Yomi shuts you up with a hard kiss, his nails digging into the back of your restrained thighs. Grunting, he was having a wonderful time at your expense, while your poor pussy throbs from the painful tearing of your hymen. Your limbs lay limp, while he pounds into you relentlessly, waiting until he’s had his fill. No use struggling anymore. Instead, you bit his bottom lip hard, in faint protest.

Smirking, Yomi ignores the pain, and panted as his throbbing cock was growing closer to release. “You’re so tight.” he takes a deep breath. “I’ll shape you to only fit me.” You gasp, as his movements became sloppy, yet determined, and finally with a few more thrusts, he came. Wincing in pain and disgust, you refused to let your tears fall, so you blank them away.

Moments of silenced past, while Yomi regained himself. “Are you satisfied now?” you sneer, while he pulls out of you with a heavy sigh. Slapping your thigh, the demon walks over to a table with an assortment of tools, each more intimidating than the last. Whips, paddles, floggers, unlit candles, crops, everything one could want in a personal, kinky candy store.

“I told you, we we’re just beginning.” he trails off, lifting a bottle without a lable from the table, and turning toward you. You trembled at thought of it being poison, or some sort of flesh eating acid. Shaking his head, Yomi placed his palm on your cheek, a hallow attempt to calm you. “It won’t hurt you, I promise. A close friend of mine made this serum from the rarest plant in demon world. It’s been a long time since I used it, but this is a special occasion.” his voice lingers, while he tips the bottle and pored thick, lucid liquid onto his fingertips, strong floral aroma filling your senses, almost pulling you into a drunken state.

So incredibly strong, your heart thumps with excitement? The hell is this? The floral buzz clouding your head, slowing down your rational thinking. Without hesitation, Yomi kisses you again, his glazed fingers prodding into your freshly fucked depths, rubbing along the walls, and slowly slipping out, only to rub your swollen clit. You hated yourself for giving in, as you lost yourself in the kiss.

“You should be feeling it soon.” he whispers, drawing himself back. Panting, your eyes widen, and as promised, you felt heat rise almost instantly. Potent shit indeed, your throbbing cunt was testament to that. Whimpering, your legs pull their restraints in a pathetic attempt to cross them. A desperate, withering mess you became, waiting to be filled.

Pleased with the results, the king releases your shackles, allowing you to land on your wobbly legs. His strong grip held your hair, tilting your head up to look at him. “Your training begins now.” his perverse intentions echoed, yet fell upon deaf ears, as you made no incline to object.

Hours, or was it days that passed? Your hazy thoughts lost count. Sitting on a metal Spanish horse device with your wrists tied to the ceiling, you panted heavily around a ball gag, your captor was so eager to put on you to stop chanting insults. He switches the vibrations too low for your taste, watching from an ornate throne in front of you, propping his chin up with his elbow on the armrest. Your hips rolled between your over stimulated clit and plugged ass, close, but never pushed over that delicious edge.

The sadistic king watched with pure amusement, your whines of anguish music to his six ears. “Ready to be obedient?” he taunts, while your self-pride dwindles down to a trickle with every slow pulse. Keeping your eyes locked on his admiringly handsome features, you struggled to keep that last thread of sanity, but fuck, that serum was impossible. Deciding your silence was yet another form of defiance, Yomi kicked it up a notch, switching the horse to its highest, brutal setting.

Throwing your head back, your muffled moans became much louder. You arched your back, jerking the chains around your wrist and chain between your pert, clamped nipples. Your wiggling hips bucked against anything that could finish the job. Sweat beads dripped from your brow, your chest heaved, so damn close. Yomi turns the dial again, bringing it back down to the lowest setting. Growling, your eyes shot open, revealing red hued slits.

The king stood from his throne, and sauntered over to you, and removed your gag. “The fuck you do that for? I was close!” you yell, saliva dripping from the side of your mouth. Snorting, Yomi yanked your nipple chain hard, stretching your nipples toward him, in a pleasurably painful gesture.

“Did you forget our talk? A slave is never in any position to make demands.” he lectures, yet again. Drawing back, you bit your lip, holding in your complaints. A pleasing smile makes its way onto the king’s face, as he releases your chain. “Better, but you still have a long way to go.” he critiqued, turning off the horse, and undoing your bounds. “I suppose a reward is in order.” You stare blankly, still shook with desire to speak. Yomi helps you up, and for the first time since you met, gave you a genuine smile. “Don’t give me such a surprised look. I’m not an unreasonable man.” his gentle words mixed with an underlying danger, something you’ve grown to enjoy.

Picking you up over his shoulder, he strolls toward yet another device, this time a leather padded bench, supported by four, strong legs. He sets you onto your feet and immediately you eyed the strange contraption. Five plateaus, each adorned with leather straps, while the larger, middle plateau was up higher then the others. Gulping, who knows what your ‘reward’ will be. Glancing up questionably at him, he pats your head in reassurance.

“You’ll like it, I promise. But first-“ You dropped to your knees, before he finished his sentence, gripping his cock with your right hand, and licking under from base to tip, swirling around its head. Yomi hummed with approval, as you engulf his cock into your mouth, hallowing your cheeks, and bobbing your head. “Good girl, just like I showed you.” he praises, threading his fingers into your h/c locks. His pulsing cock grew with your every suck, as you take the plunge, and swallow to the base, allowing your throat to squeeze it tight.

A throaty moan seeped through the king’s lips, as he pushed your head closer toward his hips. Your eyes water, but gracefully you kept jerking your head back and forth, in rapid speed, gripping his sack with a gentle squeeze. His member pulsed within your maw, reassurance his climax was close. Your tongue toyed with his slit, before swiping past his sensitive head. Before he could reward you with his seed, Yomi pushes you off, your mouth relinquishing his cock with a pop. Your e/c downcast, almost disappointed you wouldn’t be able to taste his sweet nectar.

Pulling you up by your arms, he bends down, planting a passionately domineering kiss on your cracked lips. Surrendering into the kiss, you stayed motionless, allowing him to guide you to the bench, and breaking the kiss to turn you around. He leans behind you, nipping your ear, and whispers “Relax and enjoy it.” Taking a deep breath, you urged your jitters away, as he helps you lift your knees up, one by one, strapping them down, and doing the same treatment to your arms, and finally, your torso.

After tightening your bounds to satisfactory, he lingers his touch down your spine, stopping short near your anal plug. Helplessly laying flat on your stomach, you wait anxiously, as his hands caress your ass, and down to your dripping cunt. Cold fingers push past your petals, a familiar floral scent pass through your nose. Not this again. You pant, and after an extended amount of time of using this stuff, you stopped fighting, and instead enjoyed the ride. Staying quiet, you submit to your position, mewling when his digits stirred your insides, and slipping out.

His rough hands grip your hips, as he aligns himself up with you, dipping his tip between your folds. Your hips wiggle, hungry for his wide girth. Teasingly, he rubs against your wetness, taunting you. Shivering, you glance behind your shoulder, having the urge to demand he fucked you, but instead held back. The consequences were too much, and you needed that sweet climax, one he’s been denying you of for so long. This pains you, and what you were about to say killed you inside. “Y-Yomi-sama-“ you shakily sang. “P-Please, fuck my greedy pussy.”

“Since you asked so politely.” he purrs, slapping your ass, and burrows his cock to your womb, slamming his hips against yours. Sobbing with pleasure, your pussy tightens around his girthy length, ready to cum already. The king trails his claws down your thighs, scratching lightly, and aims his hips up to your most sensitive spot. Relentlessly, your trainer pounds into your depths, his right hand latches onto your hair, and pulling your head back, so better to listen to your pleasure filled melody.

“This is what you get when you’re compliant.” he pants, reaching down with his left hand, grinding his thumb into your clit. You arch your hips, gyrating between his thumb and his merciless thrusts, the sensitivity in your cunt driving you mad. Laying his broad torso onto your back, he trails kisses between your shoulder blades and the back of your neck, his jet black hair cascading around his face.

Your thighs tremble with his erratic thrusts. “Yomi-sama, oh god!” you chanted, quivering with electrifying pleasure. Approaching your edge closer, your walls clench around his pulsing cock, tugging and urging for climax. Hesitant if you should let go or not, you arch your ass, milking every inch of him.

Biting your shoulder, Yomi licks the trickling blood. “I give you permission to cum.” he encourages, you further by pinching and tugging your clit, causing you to arch your back. After a few ferocious thrusts, all senses drown in ecstasy, your intense climax showering you with one of the single best feelings you’ve ever felt, while you screams filled the dungeon. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bench, and shut your eyes while the king’s thrusts struggled to keep his pace, deeply grunting close to your ear.

Bursting within you, his nectar exquisitely coated your walls, while the excess drips down Yomi’s thighs, and onto the bench. Both of you lie in a steamy, panting heap, riding out your highs. He sits up abruptly; still having the energy to move after such an erotic display wasn’t quite surprising. Pulling out of your folds and letting go of your sweat covered locks, he strokes your back, allowing you a calming aftermath.

“A humorous thought occurred to me.” he pauses, taking off your straps. “I may need to keep you for myself, as a personal concubine. You’re far too valuable to sell.” Your head whips around tiredly, you tried forcing words of protest. Yomi just cracks a smile, his decision final. He bends down and gives you heavy kiss. “Hope you can keep up with my interest.”

#fanfiction #yu yu hakusho #yyh #old prompt #extra extra spicy #anime #manga #yomi #demon #vampire

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authorellenmint · 6 years ago

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A few spine tingling tales to get into the halloween and Dragon Age mood.

Hawke entertains three children who approach her doorstep with four stories to scare the pants off 'em. And who should she use for characters in her horror stories but those companions she knows so well?

Forgotten in the high hills of the Free Marches rested a monastery that seemed to have been carved from the very bones of the mountain itself. No one remembers when it was built, or by whom, some claiming that it once belonged to the elves. Magic seeped into every stone long before it was ever claimed by Andraste's faithful. The forest ensnaring the land was haunted beyond measure, the local farmers having tales as long as their beard about creatures who'd stalk the trees and drag grown men up into the branches to gobble them up whole.

Brother Sebastian paid no heed to the tales, he was proud of his little monastery that succored five men of the cloth away from the politics of sisters and mothers. Here they could revel in the chant of light, singing it to the shadow of the mountain. It was a shame really that none of the villagers made the long trek to the high peak of the monastery.

No one ever warned the monks, you do not open the door at night in the Shadowed Mountain. And you certainly don't do it during the full moon.

His knees bent against the altar, Brother Sebastian prayed as fervently as a soul could. He begged for Andraste's blessing, for the Maker's gaze, and for a much shinier belt buckle. Midway through the canticles of configuration, a great boom broke through the very foundation of the monastery. Brothers dashed out of their alcoves, heads covered in brown cloaks as they darted around to find the source of the sound.

"Brother Sebastian," they cried in one voice.

Sebastian smiled and rose to his feet. "It appears we have a visitor," he crowed to himself while turning towards another knock upon the great doors. Taller than a giant, carved from an ancient tree that stretched to the stars, there were whispers amongst the locals that those doors were designed to ward off evil in all its forms. But, they ceased to work when you opened them.

Wrapping a hand around the great brass ring, Sebastian began to tug upon it, when the monks as one grabbed onto his arm. "Brother Sebastian," they cried yet again, terrified of the night howling outside their door.

"We are servants of Andraste," Sebastian smiled, "and it is our duty to provide succor to those searching." Unhappy, the men released him, scuttling back towards the wall as the door opened.

Standing in the never ending downpour was a shadow cloaked in black. The rain suckered a cloak tight to the head and shoulders of what appeared to be a man with his arms folded across his chest. "Come in and be welcomed, my friend," Sebastian continued to crow, caring nothing for the trembling fear in his fellow monks.

As if floating over the stones, the stranger moved to step across the threshold of the chantry. He paused a moment, his head tipping skyward, and from beneath the impenetrable cowl a sliver of a smile broke. Framed against his tan lips was a white tooth as sharp as any dagger.

Whatever magic there was to keep unwanted outsiders at bay held no power against this man as he slipped inside and bowed his head. "Thank you," rumbled deep in the shadow's chest, his voice that of a landslide about to destroy an entire village.

"I am Brother Sebastian, this is my flock," he extended a hand towards the others who were all trying to vanish into the mists. "May I ask who you are?"

The cowled head twisted back and forth, surveying the occupants. Fingers emerged from deep in the cloak and gripped onto his hood. Slowly, as if revealing a terror beyond imagination, the man tugged down his hood and he stepped into the full flame of Andraste. Hair white as snow stood in massive peaks and valleys off his head, skin a shade of sandy brown from parts far beyond. While the ears may have given the monks pause, as steepled as any of the elves of lore who stole children for their blood and bones, what no doubt really caught them were the marks. White as his hair, they seemed to cover his entire body, tattoos of an unknowable meaning slicing against his chin and forehead. A few were even visible upon his naked hands, which he returned to the cloak.

"Fenris," he rumbled, giving out no more than need be said.

The others started, dashing away in fear that the stranger might begin ripping them to shreds, but Brother Sebastian would not be so moved. He had faith, and nothing could take that from him. "You must be hungry."

His lips lifted in a toothy grin, and the wolf twisted his head around at the five fat dumplings on display. "Famished," Fenris muttered.

"Come with me," Sebastian smiled, guiding their new stranger towards the dining hall. "I'm afraid it isn't much, but the gruel is warm and the mead is acceptable. Please, sit."

While the stranger sat bowlegged upon a bench, Sebastian went to fetch the evening meal. The other monks clustered on the other side, most keeping a watchful eye upon the unknown threat. The Brother tetched his tongue at such ill manners, but served them all and bowed his head.

Beside him, he heard the stranger scrape a spoon against the bowl. Coughing, he said aloud, "We always give thanks to the Maker for our bounty before eating."

Haunting eyes, as green as a soul, burned through Sebastian, but nothing could mar the monk's certainty. Dropping the spoon, Fenris clasped his hands together to join in the prayer. The other monks followed suit, but did not bow their heads. All were too focused on the wolf standing in the midst of their flock, watching as he did not speak any of the Bride's words. What unholy demon could not even mouth along to Andraste's chant of light?

"Very good," Sebastian smiled at the end, "let us eat. I am starving tonight."

The stranger offered no complaints for the meager meal, nor compliments. He funneled the weak gruel into his mouth without pause, as if the man had gone without food for days. Or was it simply the wrong kind of sustenance? When the meal was finished, Fenris remained sitting in place, his green eyes whipping from monk to monk as if he expected one of them to provide the entertainment.

One brother could no longer stand the scrutiny and staggered to his feet. "Forgive me, but I seem to have left my prayer book in my room."

"Very well," Sebastian gave his blessing, smiling proud at the man for intending to give into proper holy reading. He watched the lone monk dash out of the room, the man never looking back at the stranger seated in place.

A shame, for he missed the hungry eyes trailing his movements, the tongue lapping against the lips as he seemed to be sizing the portly monk up. Suddenly, the stranger turned to the Brother. "Privies?"

Sebastian smiled, "Allow me to show you, my good friend."

"Brother!" the monks sat forward, all well aware of the ravenous eyes that followed their fellow man out the door. But Sebastian would hear no ill word spoken of the man from out of the rain. He glowered at them for speaking out of turn, then offered a hand to the stranger.

Together, both Brother and Wolf vanished out the door.

The monks buried their heads together, whispering about their fear of the man. His eyes, they were so large. His ears, they were so long. His teeth, they were so sharp. Clearly no man of that cut could be formed in the Maker's love. Whatever brought him to their door on this full moon night could only be for malice.

A feral scream boiled all the blood in their veins as it tore through the monastery. Leaping to their feet, the monks dashed to follow the sound. It did not take them long to come across their lost brother, Sebastian sitting beside the broken body. His mutilated skin already ashen, the man's intestines spilled out of a massive gash in his stomach. They dangled like winter sausages, a wet slap bouncing against the man's bed frame as his body trembled in its final death throes.

Every brother fell to his knees in a panic, barely able to look at their fellow soldier in the Maker's army. "He's dead!" they screamed, prepared to rend their cassocks in terror and grief, when the culprit came dashing up from the far corridor.

"I heard a..." the man paused, a gigantic sword glinting by candle light in his arms. I mean, we're talking bigger than the biggest sword you've ever seen. So big you have no idea how he can carry it without falling over. Seems like one push and boom, but nope. Though he'd probably growl the whole way down and not give up the sword, come to think of it.

Where was I? Ah right, the intestines guy.

"He is dead," the wolf sighed, moving to slot his sword back in place.

"And you killed him," the brothers shouted, spinning on the stranger who came to murder them all.

His soul green eyes whipped around the group, a sneer rising against his lips and elongating the canine tooth. "Why?" He spoke in a wrath that would shake the Maker, "Why would I kill him?"

"Because..."

"Brothers," Sebastian cooed, rising to his feet, "you are being hysterical. You must calm yourself."

"But he's..."

"Dead, yes. I -- in fact -- have his blood all over me from finding his body. I can tell."

"And that man..." the monks all whipped their head to the armed stranger.

"Does not appear to have a mark on him. I dare say, nothing human or elven could cause this. It looks to be the work of a wild animal. Perhaps one is lurking in our monastery or it dashed out the window."

The monks all glared at the brother. A wild animal? What kind of animal could eviscerate a grown man with one swipe of its claws? A great wolf or bear would not easily hide within their monastery, its steps echoing and breath bouncing upon holy stones. But if it were to go in the guise of a man...

"Come," Sebastian clapped his hands, "I believe that this is no concern of our newest guest. In fact, I imagine what he requires most is rest?" He aimed the question at the wolf who nodded his head, the white hair dripping off his pointed ears.

"Then, I shall show you to a bed, and after we will prepare our fallen brother for the pyre," Sebastian smiled wide as if nothing bad was happening. As if it were normal to invite a werewolf into your home on a full moon, but the other brothers were wise. They knew what walked among them, and they were not about to be done in again.

Two of the remaining brothers followed Sebastian and the wolf, their eyes glinting by the powerful moonlight as their leader deposited him in a cell. Nodding his head in appreciation to the brothers, as if they were going to offer to tuck in the stranger, Sebastian left the creature alone in their care.

Even with their hearts pounding in fear, even with their lives dangling by a thread, both men stood impotently in the doorframe. Their hands were built for praying, not wielding a dagger. Their hearts picked by the Maker for love, not invoking death. Yet the creature wouldn't care. One by one it would pick them all off until...until only the hollow stones of the mountain would answer its howl.

His haunting eyes whipped from one brother to the next, a question burning inside that animal mind. Both men looked at the sword strapped to his back, well aware that they had no hope to rip it out of his hands before he attacked again. "Good evening," the first monk said, tipping his head.

The man looked about to speak, when the second slammed the door in the wolf's face. His clawed hand lashed for the latch, but they beat him too it, locking the creature in. The pawing of the door wouldn't stop, his fists banging like the undead cracking out of a coffin, but both brothers took a deep sigh of relief.

It would not hold forever, but it would hold long enough for night to pass, the storm to break, and their leader to insist the stranger leave. They would survive the night, regardless of what little Brother Sebastian did to aid them. Nodding and incapable of stopping the massive smiles of relief upon their cheeks, both men left the creature to bay and bash at its imprisonment. The first monk held the key safe in his pocket while they returned to their rooms.

There they found their third brother, who informed them that Brother Sebastian and the fourth were laying out the fifth. Tomorrow there would be a funeral, a sad occasion to be certain, though in truth no one really much cared for the man. He was sloppy in his calligraphy, terrible at finishing his chores, and left his toenails clippings wherever they fell. It was almost a relief to be rid of the sound of him clearing his throat nightly before vespers. With certainty shining hope in their hearts, the three men tucked into bed after prayers.

A scream, as wet and visceral as the innards of a bloated goat, erupted through the halls. As one, each brother leapt from bed and dashed into the hallway in a panic.

"I don't understand!"

"The creature is contained."

"Do you yet have the key?"

"Yes, here in my pocket."

The key was passed from hand to trembling hand like a holy relic of Andraste. Here was proof that they were safe from the creature, yet another of their brothers was screaming in agony.

"Could he have escaped?"

"I don't know how."

"We should check."

All three tonsures shook negative quickly, none willing to return to the door where they attempted to imprison a werewolf. He could be waiting there, prepared to gnash his teeth into the throats of those that dare try to impede him. But what other option was there? To flee into the night? To risk falling off the mountain, or freezing in the rain?

"Sebastian, Brother Sebastian. We must speak to him. Convince him to...to banish the creature. He can do it. He is the leader."

They may never be certain again, but all three heads nodded and together they walked towards the holy sanctuary. Here was where they gathered three times a day, their backs bowed, their knees bent to honor their most beloved Andraste. Here was where they worshiped with their very souls to the Maker's holy word. Here was where they found their idolized leader with his head thrust deep into the chest cavity of their brother.

Viscera dangled off Sebastian's white teeth, crimson rivers spilling off his lips while his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Smacking his ravenous tongue, he bit down on a scrap of intestine and yanked it against his teeth. The monk's final meal splattered against the holy fire of Andraste, forever dousing the eternal flame while their leader -- the man they all swore to serve -- devoured the dead man.

"Brothers," Sebastian rolled the word around in his bloody mouth, but his eyes...his murderous eyes glinted with the same ferocity for the light as they always had. They were the most pure of blue, as safe and true as the Maker's love. "Why are you trembling?" he asked, their dead brother's liver weighing in his hands before he took a nibble.

"Wh...what are you?"

The horrific monster grinned, a tongue lapping up the blood against his palm. "I am your leader. I am the man you turn to for guidance. For succor. I am your fellow Brother."

"Y-y-you cannot be," the second stuttered, stumbling back against the door. This was the man their once leader turned to, his chin twisting like the clockwork whipping of a bird. "You killed him, took his place. Assumed his face! You know nothing of the Maker's love!"

Sebastian's hand lashed out, pinning to the brother's throat. "As Andraste called out in a great voice," he laughed, his nails piercing through the screaming man's flesh. Blood burbled to the surface, slicking down the holy robes until they turned as crimson as the Sisters. "'Maker of the World, forgive them! They have lived too long in shadow without Your Light to guide them!"

Bundling his fingers together, Sebastian yanked, tubes wrenching out of the man's throat and silencing his screams. With a smile, the horrific creature finished the verse, "Be with Your children now, O Maker."

Eyes of pure evil glinted upon the remaining two monks. They huddled together, trying to slip unheeded towards the door, but their once loved leader tipped his head back and forth at them. "Do you not know the next verse, Brothers? We spoke it often. You said it gave you comfort in times of great distress."

Gibbering under their breath, both men tried to run but their legs wilted below them. Bending to a knee as if they were about to receive repentance from their leader, they clacked their teeth in agony. They did not want to die. What did they do to deserve death?

Please. Holy Maker. Show us mercy!

"Come now, men of the cloth," Sebastian clucked his tongue as he'd often do when he found the brothers lagging. The hand that eviscerated three grown men reached for them, "tell me what sins weigh upon your full hearts."

A blinding flash of silver struck through the air. Sebastian twisted, narrowly avoiding the swing of a massive sword. The creature dressed in a monk's flesh darted to and fro, moving faster than the eye could see. But one eye managed to keep up, the green unyielding orb of their visitor. Fenris snarled, lashing faster towards the creature while it danced bloody footprints upon the marble floor.

"I let you into my home," Sebastian cackled, "and this is how you repay me?"

Fenris grunted, his eyes narrowing as he plucked the sword back. "Die," slipped from his lips. Sebastian moved to the left, but it was a feint. The long hands ready to pierce that tan throat zoomed in to the right. As if sensing he would come, Fenris barely twisted an arm to drive the blade straight through the heart of their once beloved Brother. The massive edge of steel glittered by the lamplight, but no blood stained the blade.

Glancing down at his chest, Sebastian began to chuckle, "Foolish. You cannot kill that which is already dead."

The creature began to crawl its way along the blade, fingers reaching for the hand brandishing it. Fenris did not let go of his weapon. He did not cry in panic, nor run away. Smirking to show off that deadly canine, he tipped his shaggy white hair and smiled, "I know."

White light erupted off of the man, reaching out to envelope Sebastian. The creature screamed like a rabbit facing the killing knife, its lips shredding from such a powerful force while death ensnared it. Both monks had to turn away, unable to stare at a truly holy sight, but they could not escape the sound shaking their souls and robbing them each of a decade of life.

When the light vanished, and the screaming ceased, they both turned to find the tattoos upon the stranger lit up bluer than a vial of lyrium. They glowed more beautifully than the holy fire of Andraste, who must have sent him here in their time of need. Tumbled upon the ground at Fenris' feet was the holy brother's cassock, the only remaining piece of their once illustrious leader.

Stretching his arms wide, Fenris slotted his blade upon his back and slowly dimmed the glowing tattoos until only the white stripes remained. His eyes darted over the pair of men huddled together in fear. With a single huff, he turned on his heel and marched towards the door as if his job was finished. Yanking upon the handle, he lifted the cloak's hood to protect his head and moved to return to the storms outside.

In a voice as soft as a chantry mouse, the first brother called out, "Thank you."

Their savior paused, twisted his head to gaze back at the two people he saved that night, and he grunted, "First time I heard that. You're welcome." Without another word, he stepped into the dark night of shadows and magic, and was never seen again.

Confused and terrified, the monks gazed around at their fallen brethren shredded to pieces of meat, but one matter clung tight to the first's mind. "How did he escape his room?"

"Perhaps he picked the lock," the second insisted, already walling off the terrors that befell them. "Or broke the door."

The brother nodded his head, wanting to embrace the simple answer, but he had to know with a burning certainty. Walking down the corridor, he aimed for the hero's room. The second monk scampered behind, never again able to face the dark alone. Before them stood the door, unmarked and unbowed. No sword cut through it, no fist of the Maker Himself shattered it to pieces.

"It's," the second monk grimaced, "It's as I said. He picked the lock."

Trembling hands reaching forward, the brother gripped against the cold handle. It felt as if no one had touched it in an age. With a breath hitched in his throat, he tugged upon the door. It refused to budge.

"Sweet Maker!" the second brother cried. "M-mmaybe he stole the key off you. And used that. It doesn't matter. Who cares? Stop thinking about it."

The man turned on his shoe, clearly wishing to get as far from this horrible place as possible. Already the second monk was walling away what occurred, destined to never speak of this blood stained night, but the first could not let it be. His fingers dipped into his pocket and wrapped around the piece of iron he knew was safe inside. No hand touched it, no finger lifted the key from his pocket. It was almost as if the stranger who came to their aid was not of mortal make himself.

"You cannot kill that which is already dead."

They say that every full moon in the halls of that monastery one can hear the screams of the long dead monks. None ever last through the full night before terror sends them fleeing out the door, but if they did, they'd find that one room with the unblemished door always smelt of lyrium and graveyard dirt.

#dragon age #halloween #fenris #haunted #ghost story #monestary #gory #soundcloud #story

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eclecticpatrolsweets · 3 years ago

Text

Fog strange talk Season 3 ——Jinjiang City 2020 Top7

(Language: English;Shooting: American group;Released in: USA, worldwide)

preface

The city was swept by high temperature, and there were two pairs of mandarin ducks, who migrated for a long time to build their nests and settle down in a warm place. One was unable to bear the high temperature and fell, dying on the concrete floor. One opened its wings to block the hot sun for his partner. The male struggled and died soon. It was a long way and a spare dream. The mandarin ducks did not eat or drink, and rested beside their husband.

Mandarin ducks are amorous, not to mention people in the city.

Top7

It was another beautiful morning, and Sheng continued sleeping in bed. He had not worked for a long time.

I interviewed with several companies before, but they were not optimistic about my previous work experience. Even though he had operated projects with tens of millions of assets, the working technology of higher enterprises was not acceptable in small cities in this backward city near the river.

Sheng was not discouraged. He needed sleep more than ever, like a hibernating frog.

Reluctantly, he got up, dressed and went downstairs to Suming's coffee shop.

"It's been a long time since I had my coffee." Su Ming saw or came to the store, very happy to meet him.

"Quite a long time. I don't have a job, so I can spend more when I work."

'A good young man who cares for his family!

"Praise makes me feel excited and happy!"

Su Ming made the coffee and handed it to Sheng, who asked, "How is your business here?"

"There are definitely fewer people consuming these days."

"Yes, all idle so long, did you go to the injection?" The coffee is steaming up.

"Yes, you don't want to tell me you have a problem with the injection, do you?"

"Return true be such, not be to inform me to give an injection, go for the first time, did not have a needle, changed other hospital for the second time, the trouble of the bosom after finishing is more, beard hard grow, resemble wild grass same."

"How was the traditional Chinese medicine hospital?"

"It was like witchcraft. My stomach stopped hurting for the first two days and MY body gained strength. Then I burned my face with the medicine I was prescribed.

"If you go to bed earlier, your endocrine system is good and you don't get as many breakouts."

"You introduced a man, Wei Dongshuai, who suffers from severe insomnia."

"He thinks you're mysterious, and he doesn't believe in all this nonsense about curses and vampires."

'And yet he believed in God!

"People always have some sustenance, such as you save every ticket, no one in Jinjiang City will save every ticket for going out in the past ten years."

"There are habits, or hobbies, for a reason. For him, in a car is a kind of luxury, so he keep the good in every each ticket, we get together, together to do the plane, arrive together, each process is pleasant, so I would like him keep each ticket, rather than from direct throw away a long time ago. Many years later, when I look at the tickets again, I feel a little bit of memories and feelings. It's nice."

"Wei Dongshuai is more realistic."

"Does he still come into your shop often?"

"Recently, he delivered goods to the mountain. He got up early to buy vegetables in the morning market, and delivered vegetables up the mountain. He ran around in the morning and afternoon to provide more ingredients and goods to the mountain. I haven't seen him for months."

"He's got a lot of nerve serving on the mountain. I think you need to tell him that vampires in the mountains are no better than people."

"He won't listen."

"Also! Man's destiny depends on his ability to see reality clearly. What is reality? What can be touched, what can be felt, what can be recorded by scientific instruments is reality, which is simply how it exists in the environment -- why don't you think about going up the hill to deliver coffee?"

"I want to live to be old! How are things going?"

"Suddenly want to have a person to accompany in the side, miss a person, carefully think about it, not miss anyone. I don't know what it's like to be alone and frustrated after suddenly leaving. I'm used to being alone."

"Stop relying on unworthy people and figure out how to improve yourself in the future. You're coming out of your bad heart."

"Sounds like you know a lot. Your parents taught you that?"

"Vested interests are still vested interests! It's important to find the right person!"

"So do I! Nobody talks to zombies, and I'm suddenly silent, because I don't talk to dead people

. I think I should be careful wei Dongshuai, strong body will make demons and ghosts appetite big open, really become a living dead, it has no human nature."

"He was totally focused on the good life ahead of him, and people on the hill never gave credit."

"I feel privileged and lucky to have known such a clever friend!" Sheng sipped his delicious coffee.

At night, Xiao Yang stood at the door of the white bar. When he saw Sheng coming, he smiled and said, "I knew you would come soon, but I didn't expect how soon. Impressive!"

"I am kind and do not want to use the life of others to continue my youth, nor do I want to use the clever blood of others to make my thinking clear and write great works. I prefer the living to the ghosts, as long as they do what I say. In the field, for a long time I eulogized life. Life doesn't come easily. Why did I kill so much?" He pressed the ocean against the wall and said softly.

"I don't like the way you smell, but the way you act! Enjoy your food." Xiao Yang gently stroked Sheng's cheek. He could feel sheng's skin improving.

"The more I want you to hunt with me."

"I'm sure it will. There aren't too many special guests tonight. Would you like me to have dinner with you?"

"My pleasure!

Xiao Yang and rise sitting at the bar, rise can't wait to pick up a big cup of "drink" purr drink.

The corners of his mouth were stained with bright red water. Xiao Yang wiped her lips with her forefinger, sucked the stained fingers, and closed her eyes to enjoy the sweetness.

"You're like a guy who hasn't eaten in years. Xiao Yang laughed.

"When I was a kid, I was weird. Once I started eating, I would forget everything. Food has a very powerful attraction for me."

"Believe me, when the thing you need most is no longer scarce, you don't have a strong urge to acquire it, and you savor the pleasure of things more slowly and carefully!"

"That, of course, is the point of hunting." Sheng is very happy.

"Your body is not suitable for outdoor sports, a strong body is the prerequisite for hunting, I smell a smell of antibiotics on your body, what's wrong with you?" Xiao Yang wondered.

"Well, I shouldn't have kept it from you, but I was kidnapped some time ago. I was tied up and had jars of blood drawn. The needle wasn't clean and I had some symptoms.

"I used to work in a hospital, and the antibiotic smell was really bad, and I was worried about what that stuff would do to you when it got into your body. How is it now?"

"Many of the symptoms subsided, but strange things kept coming up in his neck and chest."

"They're knots, and your collar can't hide them. You are not supposed to come back so quickly. You are supposed to recover so well that when the bad men see your vigorous body, no one will dare to lay a hand on you."

"I have come back to do some business that I must leave at once, and it must be done beforehand to avoid future accidents."

"You are a very cautious man! Did you ever think that something unusual was done to make you think that Jingang City was not a trap?"

"I didn't expect it. I trusted Jingangseong too much."

"Then keep trusting. How soon will you leave?"

"Vinyl was my manager, and they killed him right after I got back, so I didn't have to go back. I was there."

"Vinyl is your reserve food?"

"I can't wait to taste him," he said with a smile as he leaned close to xiao Yang.

Xiao Yang pursed his lips, making him look more boyish. "I'll give you mine," he said.

Sheng was puzzled. "You don't? Or have I offended you?"

"You are a gentleman, giving to those who need it most." Xiao Yang said, embrace Sheng's neck, put the mouth of the cup to Sheng's lips, poured milk to Sheng. Drop by drop, the red "drink" slides down the side of the glass into the deep mouth full of hunger and thirst, full of male hormone confusion.

Xiao Yang sniffed the aroma remaining on her lips, her face acting very erratic.

"Even Vinyl doesn't do that."

"This is the kind of skill we should have. Skilled skills build character. I wonder how you can live with Vinyl. It's always weird when you get older, or when you don't, or when you're suddenly young."

"It wasn't that I had the skills, it was that he wanted to be with me, and I was so grateful to him that he was there when I needed him most, and he was gone when I forgot him."

"You're lucky! Vinyl saw you change your youth?"

"He is very dear to me, and he likes me very much when I am young."

"There was a big event before, a writer was killed, there was a young man pretending to be a middle-aged writer flute, alerted the officials, you are flute?"

"Yes! I'm standing in front of you alive."

"The officials want your blood, and the hunters will do their bidding."

"I've found out why the kidnapper took my blood."

"I'm sorry you didn't give Vinyl a chance."

"He has a mind of his own, and as someone who loves him, I should respect that. When I got back, the Vinyl items mailed to me were missing a lot of winter clothes, and they needed more care."

"It's cold here in the winter, and you don't see anybody in the next spring."

#fog strange talk season 3 ——jinjiang city 2020 #my writing #writing #chinese horror story #jinjiang city 2020 #American Horror Story season 10 remake serialized #american horror story

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dragonagitator · 1 year ago

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BG3 fanfic idea:

Modern Character in Faerun fic in which the author self-insert suffers from whatever chronic illnesses and disabilities the author suffers from IRL and Shadowheart inadvertently cures them all the first time she casts Lesser Restoration for something.

It turns out that you weren't that far off all those times you'd joked back on Earth that "God nerfed me by giving me [condition] because he knew I'd be too OP without it."

And all that extra effort you used to have to expend every day just to minimally function? That was like a lifelong intensive weightlifting program for your willpower because you were constantly forcing yourself to do things despite all the pain, fatigue, brain fog, nausea, etc. Once you're freed of the shackles of your chronic illnesses and disabilities, you're able to utilize that power in ways chronically healthy and lifelong abled people could never dream of.

Title idea: "Traded My Spoons For Knives"

Lore caveats: Lesser Restoration canonically cures the conditions diseased, poisoned, paralysis, and blinded. If you're missing body parts and want them back then you'll need to wait for the 7th-level divine magic spell Regenerate, which can't be learned in game because character progression is capped at level 12 but should be achievable fairly quickly in a post-game story because clerics and druids get access to 7th-level spells as soon as they hit level 13. If that causes you to inadvertently regenerate body parts that you didn't want back, the 9th-level spell True Polymorph can permanently (with your consent) change your healthy/whole baseline to something else. You'll need a level 18+ wizard to cast it, which Gale was before the orb since he was an archmage, and it's certainly plausible that removing the orb would allow him to bounce back to his old character level without needing to grind XP to get there.

(Inspired by memories of taking Adderall for the first time. That was a REVELATION, y'all. You mean I wasn't just stupid and lazy this whole time? This is what I can do when my brain actually works right? If my physical disabilities and chronic illnesses could also be cured/treated as instantaneously, I'd be unstoppable.)

(Also, how is it that as soon as I start writing my first attempt at fanfic, I start generating ideas for new fanfics faster than I can even write the ideas down much less ever actually write any of the stories?)

#BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #fanfic prompt #fic prompt #writing prompt #Modern Girl in Faerun #MGIF #Modern Boy in Faerun #MBIF #Modern Character in Faerun #MCIF #fanfic authors pls #i cannot write and yet my brain is filled with plot bunnies #i must release them into the wild to find sustenance

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raendown · 7 years ago

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Very nearly forgot to post this today! As always, the very excellent art is done by my wonderful wife @thetoxicstrawberry. Show love! She deserves it!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3021 Story summary: Accidents happen, right? But not usually for Tobirama. When an experiment goes awry, he is left taking care of Madara in a new furry form. As the small dog works his way into his heart, Tobirama finds himself reluctant to turn him back.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Chapter 10: Speak Fido, Bark Bark

Madara woke to afternoon shadows. For the first time in a long time he felt well rested, not to mention more peaceful than he could recall ever being. The aches of exhaustion had fallen away, the tension in his head and his body had released, and he no longer had that strangely frantic feeling which had been buzzing constantly in the back of his mind for days.

Instead he felt simply content. The mattress underneath him was soft and the blankets around him made a heavenly cocoon. Whatever that was in his arms was warm enough to nearly lull him back to sleep and fit wonderfully against him. And also smelled a great deal like Tobirama.

His eyes popped open to see a shock of white hair just in front of them. As he came more awake he registered the feeling of being curled around another body, one of his arms slung across a trim waist which seemed built to cradle the wayward limb. Tobirama was obviously still sound asleep, breathing softly and steadily, entirely unconcerned with who was sharing his bed.

Memories of the night before trickled in and Madara let his body relax again; his eyes narrowed as he tried to decide how exactly he was going to react to this. He remembered that Tobirama had been the one to invite him in, heavily implying with his actions that he wished for them to spend the night sleeping next to each other, so obviously he wasn’t going to be upset to find someone else in his bed this morning. Madara wondered what context that invitation had been made in and what the reasons were behind it.

Is this why Tobirama hadn’t slept? Had he been kept awake by the same reasons which had plagued Madara each and every night? It was mind-boggling to consider that Tobirama might have gotten so used to having him around that he could no longer remember how to function without him, the same way Madara felt about the younger man in return.

A rumbling purring noise interrupted his thoughts and Madara blinked at the man suddenly shifting in his arms. Tobirama shuffled himself about, still just barely within the clutches of slumber. When he stopped moving he had turned round to face the other way and pressed his face in to Madara’s chest with a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. Madara stared and dared not to move. The afternoon sunlight fell at just the right angle to light his bedmate’s face, pale skin glowing and red markings stark in contrast. His hair was wild and fluffy, giving him a look slightly reminiscent of a dandelion, and the messy locks somehow softened his sharp features. He was beautiful.

When Tobirama nuzzled in to him he heard the man give off that deep purr a second time and realized it was him humming contentedly as he slowly rose to consciousness. Madara watched ruby red eyes blink open to greet the day, staring absently at the material of his shirt for a moment before his brows came down in a frown of slight confusion. Then Tobirama looked up.

“Oh,” he rumbled faintly. “Good morning.”

“It’s afternoon, actually,” Madara replied, his voice just as quiet. What exactly was one supposed to say in this situation? ‘Thank you for finally allowing me to rest’? He felt like that was more Tobirama’s line, actually. Sage knew the man had desperately needed some sleep.

“Ah.” Tobirama rolled on to his back and stretched like a cat, all long limbs and relaxed expression. Then he sat up and rose from the bed with effortless grace. “I’m hungry.”

The way he said it, it seemed as if he were surprised. Madara sat up as well, remembering that Hashirama had mentioned how his little brother hadn’t been eating very much as he went longer and longer without a proper night’s rest, a common symptom of sleep deprivation. He supposed it must be a little surprising to feel hungry again after so long.

Madara wordlessly followed his host in to the kitchen and stood in the doorway to watch as a simple breakfast was quickly prepared. He had the strangest feeling that he was up too high, watching from the wrong angle, and rolled his eyes internally when it clicked that he was remembering past mornings when he’d sat his fluffy butt on the kitchen tiles and wagged his tail while waiting for a meal. How humiliating to know that Tobirama had been the one to see him in such a state. Yet, the memories also brought a whole other train of thought to the forefront of his mind, one which he’d been extremely curious about ever since he finally realized the truth of his two week disappearance.

“You’ve said nothing to Hashirama about my…predicament,” he noted. Tobirama paused in his movements but didn’t respond. “If you had I’m certain he would have mentioned something by now. Which means you’ve managed to resist a practically gift-wrapped opportunity to mock me. Why?”

He didn’t mean to sound so caustic but it was his natural state and he supposed Tobirama knew that. Half the squabbles he got in to with his dunderheaded best friend were because he said something too harshly without meaning to and Hashirama took offense, the child.

“If it were me in your place I would not wish for such an occurrence to be made public knowledge,” Tobirama said, his body returning to the motions of food preparation. “Do unto others, as the old saying goes.”

“You’ve never missed an opportunity to mock me before,” Madara pointed out.

“With new information comes new conclusions. I am allowed to change my opinions when convinced otherwise.”

He frowned, trying to work through that. Tobirama could be ridiculously wordy when he was hiding something, be it information or simply emotion, and it was always a struggle to figure out what he was really trying to say. If he’d interpreted correctly this time then Tobirama had just told him that he thought of Madara differently now. Was it possible that the younger man’s feelings had changed to reflect his own? He thought of the smile on Tobirama’s face as he woke up, the blithe acceptance in his eyes when he registered that Madara was there in his bed. The idea didn’t seem too far-fetched – although some solid confirmation might be nice.

He fell silent for now. Neither of them spoke again until food had been set out and they had sat across from each other at the dining table. Tobirama seemed wholly consumed with getting actual sustenance in to his belly and Madara looked on with slight amusement. The usual grace in his movements wasn’t dulled but it was in direct contrast with the way he was nigh on shoveling food in to his mouth.

“You really were hungry,” he noted in a teasing tone. It was a tone he never thought he would use with this man, fond and confident that no real insult would be taken. More incredibly, Tobirama barely seemed to react to it more than to flick his eyes up for a brief wry look.

“I can’t recall the last time I was able to hold down more than few mouthfuls at a time,” he managed to say between bites. Madara opened his mouth to say something – probably something scolding – when his now-rested brain finally caught up and he realized something he had not before.

“You’ve shaved!” he exclaimed, then flushed when Tobirama paused to give him a strange look. In his mind he always pictured Tobirama with a clean-shaven face so seeing him that way hadn’t really registered as abnormal until he remembered the ghost of a beard he’d seen growing before.

“I believe Hashirama did that at some point,” the younger man admitted. “My memories of the last while are not the clearest but I think I remember him telling me I looked something of a caveman with facial hair. I’ve never grown it out before and as I understand it, it didn’t suit me.” He rumbled out a low chuckle as he went straight back inhaling more food.

Madara quietly inspected the barely-there morning shadow on Tobirama’s jaw and muttered under his breath, “I didn’t think it looked awful.”

Whether or not his comment was heard he didn’t know. He dropped his gaze to his own plate and resumed eating in silence. He was, to his luck, granted just enough time to finish swallowing the last bite of his breakfast before Tobirama rose with his now empty plate and spoke casually over his shoulder.

“I may have not had all of my faculties in perfect order but I know I felt you outside my front door more than once yesterday.” Madara was thankful there was nothing in his mouth to choke on. “Yet not once do I recall hearing you knock. Care to explain?”

“Not really,” Madara answered honestly, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin. Tobirama snorted as he filled the kitchen sink with water. Madara dropped his chin and sighed. “I…wished to speak with you. But I did not know what to say.”

“You’re here now. Speak.”

“I’m not a dog!” The words came out reflexively, without much thought. Then they hovered in the air as Madara watched Tobirama’s shoulders quiver tellingly. “Shut up! Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny! And it’s all your fault anyway!”

“I fail to see how you barging in to my workshop when you know exactly what sort of experiments I run in there is my fault.” Tobirama peeked over his shoulder at last, letting Madara see his amusement.

The Uchiha huffed and crossed his arms defensively. Alright, that was a fair point. But he wasn’t any less offended by being asked to speak like a dog, especially considering their circumstances. Even if Tobirama might not have meant it like that, it had still struck a very sensitive nerve. And when Madara was feeling sensitive he had the unfortunate tendency to lash out at anyone within reach.

“I didn’t see you complaining very much. You’re the one who insisted on playing with your new little puppy so much. And taught him tricks. Don’t think I don’t remember the baby talk.” He noticed Tobirama trying to hide a wince but strangely enough it came before he had even mentioned the baby talk which surely had to have been embarrassing for both of them. The younger man turned around with a frown, rag in hand to dry his fingers.

“Would you rather I had thrown you out to live on the streets until I found a solution?” he asked. Madara sniffed.

“Maybe if you had spent a little less time bonding with your new puppy then you could have worked harder and found a solution quicker.”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes, visibly insulted. “That puppy was you! Would you have preferred that I neglect you? I didn’t have to be nice!”

“Maybe you were a little too nice!” Madara could hear the words coming out of his mouth and he wished he could stop them but they just kept coming out anyway, his foot-in-mouth syndrome showing up at the most inconvenient of times. “Maybe you got a little too attached!”

The flinch on Tobirama’s face was much more pronounced this time. In an instant it was gone and his face darkened with a thunderous expression, one which Madara had seen directed at himself time and time again as the two of them clashed over the smallest things. This was the first time that seeing such an expression felt wrong, hurtful, and he knew it was because it hadn’t been directed at him since this whole drama started. But it was too late now; he had already dug himself in to a hole with his snappish, fiery personality. All he could do was weather the storm he had created.

“I shall think better of being kind to you in the future, if that is your wish,” Tobirama growled.

“Arrogant Senju!” His mouth demanded he respond with an insult and it was all Madara’s poor heart could do to soften the blow to the weakest one he could think of. He stood from his chair so quickly that it skidded backwards along the tiles of the kitchen floor.

“I don’t think I need to show you the door,” Tobirama told him in a deadly quiet voice. Madara was grudgingly impressed that the other managed to hold back from making any further implications about him obviously knowing his way around. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to resist.

Without another word he was spinning around and marching from the kitchen, down the hallway and out the door. It wasn’t until he had slammed it behind himself that he cared to remember that he was still clad in nothing but yesterday’s sleep clothes. Across the street, a young woman out sweeping her front stoop stared at him with a great deal of shock and Madara took a moment to glare at her, daring her to make a comment. Then he made a seal with his hands and used a body flicker to send himself as far across the village as he could, making the rest of the way back to the Uchiha compound by stealth. Getting spotted in his pajamas by anyone else was not high on his to-do list.

Madara made it home feeling like the biggest ass that had ever walked the face of this planet. What was wrong with him? He had woken up this morning feeling happy, content, like things were finally going right and making sense.

Then of course he had to fuck things up like he always did, his temper getting the best of him. Madara stormed around his house feeling angry and guilty – and angry because he felt guilty. He hated it when things were his fault and he hated it when there was no way to avoid admitting it. Worse was knowing that Tobirama’s good opinion of him may be hanging by a thread and that he may have ruined the fragile peace they had carefully built between them.

He spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening sulking, beating himself up in his head and wondering how to fix this, hoping that it could be fixed. Most of his time was spent wandering from room to room of his empty home and bashing a fist softly against his own temples. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to beat some sense in to him. When nighttime came around he skipped dinner, unable to eat with all of his emotions churning away at his stomach.

By ten o’clock he found himself standing outside a familiar door, properly dressed this time, with one hand pressed against the wood. He had made a fist and brought it up and yet his arm simply wouldn’t knock. How does one apologize for one’s entire self? Of course he wanted to say sorry and explain but he didn’t want to say exactly why he had been so insulted. Did Tobirama only see him as “Dara-chan the dog”? Or could he see him as a human too, a person with feelings that begged for a little reciprocation?

He really should have expected the door to open again. Sensor, you asinine waste of space, he silently growled at himself. Tobirama was dressed for bed and wearing a very tired expression. For a long time they did nothing but stand there and regard each other in silence until at last the younger man turned and walked away without even closing the door. Madara had a moment of confused panic before he heard Tobirama speak quietly, not bothering to turn his head.

“Are you coming?”

“I…yes!”

He lunged anxiously through the door as though Tobirama might change his mind if he took too long. If he thought he was being invited in for conversation he was mistaken as Tobirama led him right to the bedroom the same way he had the night before.

When he reached the bed Tobirama fell in to it and curled on his side. Madara swallowed nervously as he sat down on the other side of the mattress, unsure if what he had in mind was okay. He wanted to ask, but should he? Was he reading the situation correctly? He deliberated for nearly a full minute before deciding that this risk was one he was only just barely willing to take. Tobirama didn’t so much as twitch when Madara laid a hand on his shoulder but he did look surprised to be rolled on to his back, shocked when Madara laid down to rest a head on his pale chest and curled around his lithe body.

Both of them lay quietly while Tobirama figured out where he wanted to settle his limbs. Eventually he decided to wrap them around Madara’s shoulders in a light grip.

“I’m sorry,” Madara said shortly, his low voice muffled in the shirt his face was pressed against.

“I know,” Tobirama answered him.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know that too.”

His mind boggled that Tobirama seemed to just accept his apology without a fight, without even needing an explanation. He offer a paltry one anyway.

“I wanted to thank you, not yell at you.”

He felt something pressing against the top of his head and realized that it was Tobirama’s face pressing in to his hair. Although he couldn’t actually feel it he still imagined that the other man was smiling as he replied, gentle humor in his tone.

“All bark and no bite.”

Madara growled but the chuckle reverberating through the chest beneath his head soothed him before he could even think of being truly annoyed. He’d learned his lesson this morning.

So instead he closed his eyes and let his body relax against Tobirama’s, feeling his companion do the same as well. His heartbeat slowed as the anxiety he had created for himself seeped away and he fell in to an easy slumber, dreaming that he could feel a strong hand carding through his hair.

#speak softly and carry a pomeranian #rae writes #art by thetoxicstrawberry #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanart #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years ago

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Everyone Loves Attack on Titan. So Why Does Everyone Hate Attack on Titan?

When the anime Attack on Titan premiered, it was an instant smash hit and quickly became one of the most visible and popular anime series in the world. As time has gone on, though, the anime, manga, and its fandoms have run into issues with the messages in the text itself, which some say is fascist and antisemtitic.

Attack on Titan holds the same cultural space for younger anime fans that a show like Game of Thrones or even a book series like Harry Potter does for people a generation older than them. Its first volume of the manga is still topping the charts on Bookscan 10 years after its release.

"It's hard to overstate how important Attack on Titan is," Geoff Thew, who makes videos about anime on the YouTube channel Mother's Basement, told Motherboard. "It's not just this really good 24 episode action thing. Now it's this full fantasy epic that is coming to its culmination. It's probably the last anime that every anime fan either watched, or had a very strong reason not to watch."

The manga reached its final volume this month, and as fans are saying goodbye to the series, they're also revisiting some uncomfortable, and unresolved conversations about what the story is all about.

When Attack on Titan's anime adaptation came out in the summer of 2012, it was at the beginning of a shift in culture for anime. Prior to that moment, anime wasn't very accessible other than to people well versed in internet piracy, or had enough of a disposable income to buy expensive DVDs if the series they were interested in ended up being licensed in America at all. But by 2012, the world of streaming video had caught up with the world of anime in the west. Crunchyroll, which had begun to air series simultaneously with their schedule in Japan starting in 2008, had already had a hit on its hands that year with Sword Art Online, and Attack on Titan would go even further than that. Attack on Titan would catapult anime into the mainstream in a way few other series have been able to outside of Japan, at least not since Dragon Ball Z and Pokémon would air on cable television in the decades prior.

The premise of Attack on Titan is so enticing that I was completely unsurprised that the show was a smash hit when it premiered. The show takes place in a world where the last of humanity is living in a walled city, surrounded by giant human shaped creatures called Titans who live outside the walls. Titans love to eat humans—not even for sustenance, just for fun—so the people inside the walls live in fear of those walls being breached. In the first episode, they are.

It's one of the best opening episodes of an anime, ever. I remember watching it, and then inviting multiple groups of people over to try to get them to watch it with me too.

Image source: Funimation

The discomfort with the story of Attack on Titan began in earnest when the manga revealed where the Titans come from. When the lead character Eren Yaeger first left home to join the military and fight Titans, his father gave him a key to his basement, saying that he should return to investigate it when it's safe. In the basement there are books that reveal that the outside world isn't uninhabited at all, and that the Eldians, the race to which Eren and his father belong, are being kept in ghettos in a fascist society where they wear armbands to identify themselves amongst their oppressors, the Marleyans.

Although the Eldians are portrayed as being subjugated in the present day, in the past they are presented as oppressors themselves, and for some Eldians, the long term goal of all the Titan nonsense is to create a new world order.

"It should be uncontroversial to say that to a certain degree, Attack on Titan is about fascism because, I mean, they have coded Jewish ghetto," Thew said. "I think, given the resurgence of fascism globally in the real world, you can expect to see elements of that seeping into popular culture."

To some fans, it all feels a little too close to the broad arc of most antisemitic conspiracy theories, which say that the Jews rule the world through an ancient conspiracy. In some variations of the theory, Jewish people already secretly run the world government, just like the Eldian Tybur family does in Marley, where they live as honorary Marleyans and secretly control the other noble families. This aspect of the series has made other parts of Attack on Titan stand out, especially the character of Dot Pixis. According to the artist and writer of the series, Hajime Isamaya, Pixis, a military general in Attack on Titan, was inspired by real world World War II general Akiyama Yoshifuru, who is considered a hero in Japan, but also has committed war crimes against China and Korea.

These themes have been pointed out before, with some even saying that the work itself is fascist and antisemetic. While Attack on Titan boasts a huge audience, it also has a noted and vocal right wing fanbase as well; the New Republic even called it “the Alt-Right’s Favorite Manga.”

Image source: Funimation

Trying to understand the line between the allegory that the manga’s creator Hajime Isayama is playing with and his own personal beliefs is where anime fans have gotten themselves tangled up. If you search "Attack on Titan antisemitism" on Google, the first three results are articles discussing the show's fascist themes. Also on the first page of results is the rant of a frustrated fan on Reddit, complaining about people on Twitter shitting on their favorite show.

The question, then, as the series wraps up, is figuring out how to engage with it, and figuring out whether a show can deal with fascistic themes in the way it does without being fascistic and antisemitic itself. The manga’s creator Hajime Isayama, for his part, told the New Republic that he didn’t want to weigh in on the controversy, stating that “Being a writer, I believe it is impolite to instruct your readers the way of how to read your story.”

A big, recurring controversy in the fandom is figuring out how to discuss or even deal with these issues at all.

As a show, Attack on Titan has taken a position of reverence among anime fans. Even if you don't currently watch the show, or read the manga on which it is based, you've at least seen the iconography from the show, especially its military insignia, in the wild. For a lot of people this was their first anime, and their first introduction to a genre of fiction they love. It's the position that makes it uniquely difficult to criticize. In the case of Attack on Titan, not being able to discuss the issues in its fiction has led to a long simmering, never resolved conflict within the fandom itself.

At first glance, it would be easy just to dismiss Attack on Titan as being unambiguously pro-fascist. The anime plays into the militarism at the heart of the story; the show's first theme, a certified banger and classic meme, opens on the lyric "Are you prey? No, we are the hunters," sung in German.

"It’s important to note that the use of fascistic, war, or even Nazi imagery is not necessarily an endorsement of these ideas or regimes, as strange as it may sound," Joe Yang, who makes videos about anime at the YouTube channel Pause and Select, told Motherboard.

Both Yang and Brian Ruh, author of Stray Dog of Anime: The Films of Mamoru Oshii, suggested that multiple anime and manga series at least seemingly try to separate fascist iconography from the acts the horrifying regime committed. Whether they succeed—and whether this is even possible—is another question altogether. Yang noted that one of Isayama’s biggest influences is a visual novel called MuvLuv and its anime adaptation Schwarzesmarken, whose storyline includes an alternate universe German state that uses fascist imagery in its uniforms and also features a fictional version of the Stasi as characters.

"If you look up Schwarzesmarken and Muv-Luv Alternative, you can find images that are heavily reminiscent of the imagery you’d see in Attack on Titan," Yang said.

Image source: Funimation

Ruh cited the forward to one of Japanese critic Eiji Otsuka's books, Debating Otaku in Contemporary Japan. Otsuka writes, "Why do [anime fans] feel that the war machines of Nazi Germany are 'beautiful'? In Japan, as compared to the West, there is a tendency to detatch criticism of Nazism and the Holocaust from the cultural items that they brought about."

"In this way, when something like Attack on Titan makes historical references it may not be with the intent to evoke a full comparison," Ruh said. "Whether it's wise or responsible for a popular artist with a global reach to play with history in such a manner is another matter entirely."

It should not be controversial to suggest that Attack on Titan includes fascist and antisemitic themes. What the fanbase and critics must grapple with is how to talk about them and whether the show is actively causing damage.

Thew told Motherboard that he hadn't totally caught up on Attack on Titan because he was kind of dreading unpacking its controversial politics, especially on his channel. Part of it is because talking about Attack on Titan and its relationship to fascism is so complicated. Another part of it is because the fandom has, by this point, dug in its heels.

"It's because this conversation keeps happening, but it's also not," Thew said. "There's some really good criticism of Attack on Titan, and I think it's important to criticize it, but a lot of people come at it strong and condemn it. That does as much to kill the conversation as people being like, 'shut the up about politics,' because it reinforces the argument that people are just trying to cancel this good show that you like for flimsy reasons."

Image source: Funimation

For a long time, anime fans had no way of knowing what their favorite writers and artists even looked like, let alone what they thought about the world. Because anime was, until recently, a niche culture, and one that has occasionally been unfairly maligned for being pornographic and violent, anime fans in general have avoided talking about the politics of their favorite shows.

"Some Anglophone and American anime fans say that politics in anime is too foreign to comprehend, I think that's a minority position. A lot more people these days seem to have some accurate knowledge about sociocultural politics in Japan, but in my experience they're equally likely to combine a dollop of knowledge about current circumstances in Japan with their own preconceptions about Japan and Japanese society," Andrea Horbinski, an independent scholar with a doctorate in new media studies and history, told Motherboard. "Ironically, while it's never been easier to access cultural and political discussions directly from Japan thanks to the internet, relying on their own preconceptions and only taking on board information that supports them definitely does keep anime fans in this position from appreciating the range of views in anime generally."

This doesn't just affect how fans view shows like Attack on Titan, but also how some anime fans might view shows that deal with feminist themes or LGBT content. According to Horbinski, some right wing fans of anime insist that certain kinds of political themes must be imported from western culture.

"[These fans] insist that feminism and trans people don't exist in Japan and that any anime depicting either is 'woke garbage' or similar. These fans are extremely angry at attempts to discuss the depiction of female characters in anime as something that could often use improvement, or the inclusion of trans characters period." Horbinski said. "They may cite 'evidence' to support their views that is wholly out of context, or they may just insist that their views about Japan are correct because they're correct. Attempts by Japanese feminists and LGBTQ activists to provide corrective information online do not go down well, particularly on Twitter."

Image source: Funimation

Given the global reach of shows like Attack on Titan, framing anime as something that is not, or should not, be influenced by culture outside of Japan doesn't make much sense.

"Anime does come from Japan, but it’s been a global medium for a very long time," Yang said. "The problem with understanding anime as a distinctly Japanese media with Japanese politics is that it makes very specific claims about Japaneseness, that it is only Japanese, that it is only the Japanese who can understand this, and that this somehow absolves the text of its messages."

Shutting down conversation about the inspirations for Attack on Titan, its themes, and how fascist imagery is used, and whether it enhances the story to use it in the way that Isamaya does, means that gaining deeper meaning from the text just stops being possible.

Given its popularity, Attack on Titan clearly resonates with the people who live here beyond just fans of anime who are deeply enmeshed in its culture. The attitudes that some fans of the show have about Japanese culture and its politics have been predominant in the fandom so far, but Attack on Titan is so much bigger than just an anime. It's a sign that anime's space in broader mainstream culture is changing. Maybe it's time for anime fans to put away old ideas about how to read and interpret this text, ideas about Japan just being too foreign to understand. Clearly, hundreds of thousands of Americans have watched Attack on Titan and seen something that they relate to.

"I think it does hold anime fans back, because aside from veering pretty close to Orientalism, it also arms them with excuses on why they don’t need to seriously grapple with the messages that certain texts can convey," Yang said. "If someone presumes a text is sexist simply because 'that’s how Japan is, you wouldn’t get it' not only does it ignore some of the subcultural connotations or history imbued in these signs, but it also speaks volumes about that utterer’s beliefs about an Othered, 'far off' Japan."

Everyone Loves Attack on Titan. So Why Does Everyone Hate Attack on Titan? syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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inhumansforever · 7 years ago

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Black Bolt #3 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It's another wild and gorgeously rendered installment of Saladin Ahmed and Christian Ward’s Black Bolt. Full recap and review following the jump.

Maximus’ trickery has left Black Bolt stranded in a strange cosmic prison nestled off in the corner of some far off galaxy. The prison is lorded over by the immensely powerful Jailer and his chief lieutenant, The Spyder. Black Bolt has made allies among his fellow inmates, specially Crusher ‘The Absorbing Man’ Creel, The Metal Master, a Skrull pirate named Raava and a telepathic alien child incarcerated simply due to poor circumstances named Blinky.

Black Bolt has agreed to participate in a break-out and no sooner than he agrees then the plan is engaged. The Metal Master has somehow regained the use of his magnetic powers which he employs to tear open the cell holding BB and his new allies. It’s a good first step, but only a first step and if they are to make it all the way to freedom they are going to need to regain the use of their own powers. This is Black Bolt’s role in the scheme. He has to take on The Spyder, defeat the villain and procure from him a box-like device that works the prison’s power dampeners.

Searching through the labyrinth of the prison, Black Bolt comes across the Spyder, who is in the process of paying the intergalactic bounty hunter, Death’s Head, for his delivery of a new inmate. Death’s Head originates from marvel comics United Kingdom imprint; although he has only appeared in a handful of comics here in the States, the cyborg mercenary enjoyed a good deal popularity overseas. He’s also a total badass and, without his powers, BB really has no chance against him.

The matter aside, Black Bolt leaps into action, attacking The Spyder and taking the box from him. The Spyder orders Death’s Head to attack and a firefight ensues.

BB is outmatched, yet before Death’s Head can go in for the kill a slight signal goes off. The signal indicates that the transfer of funds that Death’s Head has been paid for delivering new prisoner has successfully gone through. The cyborg is only interested in fees for service and now that he has been paid his interest in the affairs of the prison is over. He disengaged from Black Bolt and goes about his merry way; leaving the Spyder at Black Bolt’s mercy.

Having accomplished his task, Black Bolt rejoins the others. Young Blinky embraces Black Bolt, so happy to see him. It’s a neat scene that highlights artist Christian Ward’s skill for relating story and emotion in subtle facial features. It’s quite clear that Blinky is very much in need of a parental figure; as is it clear that BB is quite uncomfortable fulfilling this role. It looks quite likely that we are going to get to see a lot more of the father/daughter relationship developing between these two as the series progresses and I’m quite looking forward to seeing how it goes down.

Disabling the control box returns Black Bolt and the others their powers. Which is fortunate fore as Black Bolt and his colleagues open a new corridor then come face to face with the giant creature known as Monstroso (the new inmate that Death’s Head had delivered to the prison). Rather than fighting the behemoth, Blinky uses her psychic powers to communicate with it. It turns out that the creature is little more than a child whose destructive acts were simply the results of his being scared and separated from his parents.

They leave the child-like Monstroso in peace. Raava expresses her annoyance that they opted not to recruit the creature to their cause; The Metal Master retorts that using the creature to their bidding would make them no better than the sinister Jailer who has toyed with them all with such cruelty (though the explanation does little to assuage Raava’s bemusement).

As for Black Bolt, he in no longer interested in simply escaping. This whole torture chamber of a prison is an effrontery to his sensibilities and he is now committed to destroying The Jailer and bringing an end to his sadistic ways.

Venturing deeper into the shifting labyrinth of the group come across what appears to be an enormous engine. Creel (showing a bit more insight than one might expect from him) ascertains that the whole thing is a power cell, a dynamo through which The Jailer fuels himself, feeds, off the anguish and pain that he subjects to his inmates. The Jailer is some sort of psychic energy vampire who gains sustenance from the pain brought about from killing and resurrecting his prisoners.

The Jailer himself arrives, still prattling on about penance and repentance. The team attacks. Black Bolt summons his willpower and control over molecular energy into a single punch, a move referred to as ‘the master blow.’ This tactic has fallen the likes of The Thing and the Incredible Hulk, yet The Jailer is able to endure it without falling. Left with no option, Black Botl releases his ultimately weapon, his voice, uttering the word ‘die.’

The resulting sonic blast knocks the jailer through a wall, opening up into a large antechamber where The Jailer’s true being resides. The Jailer’s body as we have seen it thus far appears to be little more than an automaton... a psychical vessel for his psychic powers. The true Jailer is a series of organs, brains, eyes and hearts each contained within orbs of crackling psychic energy. Somehow these disparate, dissected organ work in concert, wielding an awesome power. The sight of it, the raw power created by this grotesque mechanism, strikes fear into Black Bolt’s heart.

Yet this fear will not stop him and Black Bolt rats forward, attacking the being head-on. And it is with Black Bolt’s valiant thrust into action that the issue comes to a cliffhanger end, to be continued with the next installment.

Ahmed and Ward’s tale continues to be the kind of Inhumans book I have very much longed for. It feels less like your typical Marvel Comic and more like a neat science fiction tale one might come across in an old issue of Métal Hurlant. The ideas and visuals make for a bizarre feast for the mind and eyes. Although Ahmed draws a lot of random characters from Marvel’s backlog, the story stands very much on its own. It’s kind of like an Image Comic that’s been furtively snuck into Marvel.

Ahmed is still building upon and developing the characters who make up the ensemble cast. At times this process ends up a little heavy on the dialogue, with a bit more spoken exposition than is necessary. Yet I don’t mind it in that the characters themselves are rich and a lot of fun to get to know. Whereas Crusher Creel kind of stole the show last issue, Raava takes over some of the spotlight in this issue. She’s fascinating; I’m really digging her.

This is not to say that Black Bolt himself isn’t being offered further character development. Unlike his newfound colleagues, BB’s development is handled with a good deal more subtly. Ward’s style is a bit minimalistic when it comes to facial expression, yet he still manages to relay a great deal with the few lines he utilizes. BB’s feelings are easy to read on his face. He’s no longer a king, but that sense of responsibility and need for justice is still a significant part of who he is. He is determined to end The Jailer not just for what the Jailer had done to him, but rather because he is a blight on the universe and BB feels it his duty to end this menace.

Yet, while fulfilling what he sees as his kingly duties comes naturally to Black Bolt, being close with others, the bond he has forged with Blinky and his colleagues seems to strike him as unfamiliar and difficult. Creel’s playful banter, Raava’s flirtation and Blinky’s affection all seem to make BB bristle and he reacts in a clumsy fashion to it, It feels like, though he is unaccustomed to such closeness, what is actually jarring about it all is that it is nice, that it’s something that he actually wants. The action is all exciting and wonderfully, richly depicted… yet it is BB’s emotional, interpersonal journey that I find myself the most interested in seeing more of.

Some further notes:

Although a Skrull, Raava chooses not to utilize her powers for shapeshifting. She had never leaned to cultivate this power and explains that it is because she likes how she looks and has no interest to altering it. It’s not exactly a good decision on a tactical level, but has a nice body-positive feel to it.

Rather than shapeshifting, Raava possesses powers not usually seen in Scrulls, such as the ability to fly and generate energy swords. Each of her swords are named after her dead son and daughter.

It was an interesting twist to hear that The Metal Master had once had a husband. Some might roll their eyes over what they see as the progressively-mandated mindset of including a gay character into he cast. Yet, keep in mind that The Metal Master heralds from an alien world and the idea that heterosexuality is the de facto norm on other worlds is a presumptive fallacy.

Monstroso is one of the lessor known entries of the bevy of monsters that Kirby, Ditko and Lee created in the early issues of Tales to Astonish. Monstroso himself first appeared in a backstory to Tales to Astonish #18 written and illustrated by Steve Ditcko. The creature also made a brief appearance in the much more recent Monsters Unleashed miniseries. Although, given this version of Monstroso’s more child-like nature, it is possible that he is the offspring of the original Monstroso.

It remains unclear what exactly The Jailer is and how he came to be. The dissected pieces that work in concert to generate his powers must have been built by someone or something; and I’m not sure if or when we will learn how he came to be. The technology employed in the prison is of a higher order than anything we have seen from such peoples as the Kree or Shi’Ar. The whole matter remains a mystery.

Fans of Death’s Head will appreciate that Ahmed’s dialogue is very much in tune with the signature cadence of how the character talks.

Blinky’s telepathic powers will allow her to continue to communicate with Black Bolt now that he has his powers back.

Ward illustrates Black Bolt in his own unique way. His costume appears quite a bit different compared to his original outfit as well as the redesign he’s been sporting of late. I quite like Ward’s take on BB’s look, although I’m not that into how he draws BB’s wing’s. Rather than the accordion bat-like wings, Eard draws BB’s wings as being more like a slight filament that generates from his wrist to hip, appear and disappearing as needed. It’s a neat looking effect, but personally I prefer the bat style wings.

Christian Ward sneaks in a neat homage to fellow artist, Steve McNiven, in the scene where BB first enters into the antechamber where the Jailer’s true form resides. Black Bolt’s silhouette is reminiscent to the cover art McNiven provided for Uncanny Inhumans #0.

Another can’t miss issue. Five out of five Lockjaws!

#Inhumans #Black Bolt #spoilers #Christian Ward #Saladin Ahmed #review

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mesdea · 8 years ago

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The Philosophy of Lost Chances Chapter 13

I'm sure it's been a long two weeks for everyone, including me! I had a blast at Star Wars Celebrations and got to meet so many of my idols, including Mark Hamill. I even got to snag a Qui-Gon Funko pop.

I will say I'm sorry in advance for this chapter, as it took a turn I wasn't quite expecting. I'm really not the type that plans out the story in advance. I kind of just start the chapter and let my fingers start typing. My muse was being a bit evil today. As I stated to some, I promised a happy ending, that didn't mean the middle would be that way.

I hope you enjoy this next chapter, as I think I cried at the end myself. Just remember, where their is love, there is hope.

The room of a thousand fountains, it was a much-loved place to meditate for Jedi when in temple. It was a calming atmosphere in the chaos that mission after mission wrought a room that had been in place since the construction of the Jedi Temple. It existed to be a retreat from the concrete and steel of the enormous capital outside. Obi-Wan strolled through the massive wooden doors that opened into the multi-storied greenhouse, his thoughts still with his master whom he had left in the hands of the healers. They had insisted that the obstinate Jedi needed more time in the bacta tank and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

As Obi-wan strode through the doors, he inhaled deeply to smell the fragrant scent of flowers, mixed with the crisp smell of flowing water. The minute room behind the immense doors was just a tease to what lay just a short walk down a narrow hall. Obi-Wan took the walk slowly, wanting to savor this moment, a moment when he entered the sacred room as Knight for the first time. As the hallway gave way to a small platform, the dirt trails led in several directions. The winding paths led to tiny alcoves for meditation or to the large waterfall that was centerpiece to the entire room. You couldn’t go anywhere in this room without hearing the soothing calm of running water. It was breathtaking.

Obi-Wan knew that main fountain would be filled with Jedi that were there to socialize. They needed the comfort of brethren after being out in the wilds of space for ages, or gone to diplomatic stations that saw them away for years. This wasn’t a place Obi-Wan wished to be, no at this moment he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, alone with his visions of the future that included a very present and happy Qui-Gon Jinn.

He started his walk across the many wooden bridges that crossed bubbling brooks and barely running water. Deeper into the wilderness of the room, hidden away from the masses, where people knew not to disturb those in meditation. Obi-Wan realized that he had a destination, a pull in the force that was guiding him to a place within the room that he had never been. Ducking behind a large bush and then wading into a shallow creek bed, he was drawn to a small island in the middle. It was a beautiful sight, a great tree was in the middle of the island, its branches reaching out to shade the ground from the artificial light that helped the plants continue to thrive on this harsh planet. The smile that graced his lips was grand e as he stretched out into the force and felt the presence of someone he knew. It was warmth he hadn’t felt in years, it was like a gentle caress from a long lost lover. His soul grasped out to that presence, even as faint as it was. This must have once been Qui-Gon Jinn’s meditation spot. Of course it would be the living force was so alive here that it caressed Obi-Wan as he ignored his wet shoes and pants and fell to the ground in reverence. ‘Qui…’ the thought reverberated through the force.

The force seemed to whisper to him in this spot, ‘No one will disturb you here.’

Obi-Wan took the time to remove his boots and robe, laying them out to dry away from the shade of the tree. He then moved closer to the trunk of the tree, the massive trunk that gave sustenance to the leaves, which supported the wildlife in its branches. Laying his hand upon the trunk, Obi-Wan sunk to his knees and bowed his head in meditation.

At first his meditation was nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. It calmed his soul and allowed him to release the stress and emotions of the last few weeks. It allowed him the time to come to terms with his master’s injury and the unexpected knighting, but it wasn’t the balm to his soul that he needed. No, he needed to go further, deeper.

‘Qui-gon’, his heart whispered into the force.

Deeper and deeper into his meditation the young man ventured, in search of his friend, in search of someone that would be more one day. ‘Qui.’ It was a word that seemed to be his mantra while he fought to immerse himself in the force, his soul almost one with it as his body waited its return. Quickly the force swirled around him, images and thoughts pouring into him. A river, a large river that was held back by a rickety damn that had sprung leak after leak, it was a river that was dark and muddy, filled with a type of sorrow that threatened to overcome the new knight.

Obi-Wan felt the water starting to drag on his body, as his feet stuck in the muddy waters. ‘Qui-gon!’ Obi-Wan saw a large and broken body lying in the water behind the damn, beaten and bloody, but moving. He tugged at his boots, trying to get closer, only to feel the force hold him back, a dark force.

‘He is no longer yours.’ It was a nefarious and creepy voice, but familiar to the young man’s ears. He just couldn’t place it, but it wasn’t a voice that would keep him from Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan fell to his knees in the water, trying to crawl closer and closer to the damn, the damn that even now was starting to crumble before him.

‘Even the best cannot hold out forever. My apprentice, my river of sorrow, will run free.’ The cackling only pushed him harder and with more determination.

‘Qui, please, look at me!’ Obi-Wan was pleading, tears trickling down his face as he felt time slipping away. The body that had yet to move just beyond started to struggle, the long partly silvered hair hanging in his face as he slowly looked up at the man beyond the damn.

‘No.’ it was the only word that could sum up the horror before him. The yellow eyes of a man consumed with the dark. ‘You would never give in, no…’ Obi-Wan struggled more and more to reach the man whom was now being helped up by another, a dark figure in a robe that concealed its identity.

‘Kneel, my apprentice and raise Darth Acheros.’

Just as Obi-Wan watched in horror as Qui-Gon started to kneel before the man, he was torn back into the real world, his body hunched over trying to breathe once again. “Breathe you will, calm you need.” Obi-Wan felt the small clawed hands on the back of his neck as he leaned over and started to throw up the little that was held in his stomach. “Vision you had. Not real it is. Not real it has to be.” The ancient master continued to sooth the young knight by offering him support within the force.

“Qui-Gon, he was. He. Kneeling…” The words made little sense to the Yoda, but he continued to listen, waiting for Obi-Wan to once again start to make sense. It took several moments, more throwing up and deep breaths before he could sit up and look the small master in the eyes once again.

“Better you are?”

“I can function again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be better if what I saw….” He didn’t want to finish that sentence.

“Show me, you will?” Obi-Wan quickly shook his head back and forth, not wanting to relive that moment again or have Yoda see his old padawan kneel before a sith and call him master. “If show me, you can’t then tell me you will.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, not sure his lips could reveal what the force had shown him. “Master, I don’t think you want to know what I saw.”

“Old and feeble I am not! Love him, I do.” Yoda’s ears once again slumped and he looked down at the ground, only to look up into Obi-Wan’s eyes, imploring him.

“I saw the Master, the dark one, the one that was feeding the Zabarak on Naboo. I’m sorry, Master Yoda but Qui-Gon was kneeling before him with frightening yellow eyes.” Yoda closed his own eyes and murmured to himself. “The Sith Lord had named him, Darth Acheros.” Obi-Wan could barely choke out the words, the words that he himself refused to believe could happen.

“Forever in motion is the future, not happen yet it has.” Yoda just nodded to the young man and started to hobble away.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? No, ‘We need to find him right away.’ No, ‘Qui-Gon would never give into the dark.’ How can you say you love him and just walk away?!” Obi-Wan was losing his temper, his voice rising more as the troll continued to walk away, hunched over more and more. “Does he mean NOTHING to you?”

That had been the final straw. That had been the moment that the fragile master in front of him turned, eyes burning with anger and passion that no one had seen in ages. “Nothing? Nothing? Watched many turn I have, no greater sadness would I know than to watch my Qui-Gon turn to the darkness, but believe it I do not.” The anger seemed to subside just a moment before Obi-Wan found himself hanging just a few inches off the ground, the force slightly wrapped around his throat. Then Obi-Wan felt himself shiver as Master Yoda concentrated on the moment. “Do not misunderstand my silence for apathy. Do not take me as being complacent just because I do not show my emotions on my sleeve. I do NOT have that luxury as grandmaster. I love Qui-Gon Jinn as my son and will do everything to see him back in the light with us, but I cannot save him at the cost of masses.” Obi-Wan couldn’t believe the speech, it wasn’t broken, it wasn’t in that strange dialectic.

“Tired I am, tired I have been. Wish to fight with you, I do not. We both, wish the same thing. We both wish to save the stubborn old man.” Obi-Wan fell to the ground, his knees once again muddy against the ground. “Done with this discussion, we are?”

Obi-Wan looked up at the master and realized what he had done. “I’m sorry, Master Yoda. I just…”

Yoda approached him and lightly patted him on the head once again. “Understand I do. Love him, you will. Love him already you might.” Obi-Wan just blushed, not wanting to voice those words out loud just yet, it was absurd, he didn’t even know Qui-Gon Jinn. “Absurd to others, to me it is not.” The master laughed slightly, the smile not quite reaching his ears. “Clean up, you should, much we have to plan.”

Obi-Wan pushed off his knees and tried to calm his emotions. He had to focus, he had to be in the here and now, or the future might just be set.

“Mom!” Anakin ran into the creche, his mouth full of cookies that he had hoarded from the refectory. Shmi looked up from the data-pad she was reading to the younglings, laughing at her boy, free and happy for the first time in his life.

“Anakin, please do not shout in here, they just got the babies to nap. I’m sure if you wake them, they will insist that you help put them back to bed.” Anakin’s face scrunched up as he tiptoed closer to his mother. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“The council, they said I could stay!” Anakin smiled, once again trying to keep his voice quiet.

“Well of course you can stay, that has never been the issue, my Ani.” She was teasing him, but wanted to hear the full story.

“They are accepting me into the..the..” Anakin struggled to remember the word for it. “Creche. They said I have much to catch up on, but in many ways, I’m ahead of the curve in some things, like mechanics.” Anakin smiled brightly with pride and achievement.

Shmi stood and laid the child in her arms on the mat to continue their nap, laying a small kiss on the youngling’s forehead to settle them back down. “Ani, I am so proud of you, no matter what happens in the future, you will always be my son and I will love you. You can be a farmer, a mechanic or a Knight and nothing will change how I feel about you.”

Anakin knew that his mother loved him, but this was special. This was something he never thought would happen to them both. They would lead a life that was theirs and theirs alone. They would never again be owned, they would be able to do the things in life that made them happy. He could be anything he wanted, but he was meant to be a Jedi, he knew it in his bones. “Are you happy, mom?” Anakin moved into her arms, feeling them wrap around him tightly.

“You’ve always made me happy, Ani.”

“I know that, but are you happy without me? I mean…You know what I mean.” Anakin struggled with the words.

“I am content in my role here. Perhaps sometimes I get a bit lonely, when you are not around, but that happens to all parents who have to watch their children grow and mature.” Shmi always made it a point to be open and honest with her son, they needed that on Tatooine.

“I could turn it down. I could stay with you.” Anakin looked down at his boots, feeling awkward in the moment.

“No, you couldn’t. You were meant for this young one and no one, not even me has the right to hold you back from your dreams and desires. You will be a great Jedi and I will be here waiting when you return from missions.” She rubbed his bronze hair, pulling him tightly in a hug.

“I love you, Mom. I know you won’t be alone for long.” He gave her that bright knowing smile and ran back out the door to head to his first class. Shmi just chuckled at the boy that could be serious one moment and gone the next. She looked down at the children asleep at her feet. She had a moment for tea; perhaps she would ask the Master of the Creche if he would like to join her.

The chancellor sifted through data-pads that were piling up on his desk, his assistants were busy trying to help him sort through the mess that had been waiting since his return from Naboo. “My dear, please see that this is straightened out into some sort of system.” Palpatine sneered slightly at the incompetence of Valorum’s former staff.

“Yes, Chancellor.” She continued on with her job, shivering slightly at his demeanor.

“Also, please see to it that a message is sent to the Jedi Temple. I wish to see Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi at his earliest convenience. I wish to officially thank him for his aid and assistance on Naboo.” Sheev moved to the door, knowing that the mess would take a while to work out.

“Of course, would you like to invite Master Windu as well?” She managed to squeak out as she continued sorting out the mess.

That was the last person he wished to see in his office, but he had to play his part, didn’t he? “No, I wouldn’t want Master Windu to feel pressured to visit when his health has not been hundred percent. Please just invite the young Knight Kenobi. Thank you.” Palpatine quickly left the office, heading down a long hallway, his guards stilling at the door. He took the hallway to what many perceived as his personal chambers, to only turn from the room and open a concealed door in the corner. After a brief walk in the dark, the light shown once more and opened up into a large room, that was underneath the senate chambers.

“I hope that our guest is still broken, but not dead?” The cold words were spoken to the guard who just smiled in return.

“Still breathing, my master.”

“Good, Good…” Pulling his cloak over his head, he immediately changed from the kindly old man that ruled the Republic to the darkness that would soon consume it. Opening the door to the cell, Sidious looked down at the shivering form of the master Jedi.

“I am one with the force, the force is with me.” It was barely a whisper from Qui-Gon’s lips, but it set the sith off.

“The force has left you. All is as the FORCE wills it. You will bow before me and call me master, or Young Kenobi will suffer the consequences. He will be my guest soon; perhaps I will allow you to see him, digitally of course.” Sidious kneeled closer to the broken man, twitching his nose at the stench of blood and filth. “I wonder what that beautiful young creature would think if he saw you now. Thin, covered in your own waste and cowering on the floor. Do you think he would think you so grand? I can feel you calling out to him; I can feel your need. I can give you want you want, I can give him to you.”

Qui-Gon groaned, trying to push himself up onto his knees as to stand before his most hated rival. “You cannot give what doesn’t…belong to you.” He started to cough at the last word, blood dripping from his mouth, signs of a punctured lung perhaps. He wondered if broken truly might lead to death.

Sidious quickly turned on him, his hatred for the light burning like a fire. “I will show you what belongs to me.” The man pushed his hood down revealing his true form, Qui-Gon’s eyes widening with recognition. His horror replaced with pain as blue lightening converted on his already bruised and battered body, sending him to the floor in convulsions. “You will give in, or you will die!”

“I will never surrender.” Qui-Gon spat the blood from his mouth in the Sith’s direction.

Just as Qui-Gon was about to respond, the guard entered the room. “Master, Kenobi is in your anti-chambers.”

“Splendid! If you won’t surrender, than perhaps he will. Your life for his, yes?” Sidious turned to leave the room, then he heard a resigned sigh.

“I…” Qui-Gon felt the tears run down his cheeks at the realization that the force had forsaken him. He had no way of winning this moment. ‘I’m sorry Obi-Wan, I won’t let him hurt you.’ He thought, knowing that no one would hear him.

“I surrender.” Qui-Gon slid to his knees and looked up into his Sidious’ eyes. “Master…”

#Qui Gon Jinn #obi wan kenobi #quiobi #the philosophy of lost chaces #obi wan/qui gon

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