#but in the entire world?? to the point where he sweeps other champions with ease?? and everyone around the world drools over him? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

I have been mentally down and writing poorly for a few weeks now, and even my friend was like “oof, yeah don’t post this yet. It needs work” and thankfully has been stopping me from making rash decisions like randomly posting fics to AO3 on a whim.

The WIP below (even though it needs more editing) is the beginning of the new fic I’m going to post next. I’m finally back to the pirates too, which is making progress, but is just slow going because I’m making sure I’m not forgetting plots (which I already have so I am not rushing the chapter but it is in progress finally!).

It’s a Pre-Calamity AU with heavy emphasis on the AU. It’s basically Zelda being forced to train with Link for her safety. Antagonistic-but-not-enemies, to friends, to lovers trope. I want to call it Dance With Me because it’s not really about dancing (I like the other meanings of the phrase), but my friend says it sucks as a title and now I’m rethinking 😂 I’m doing so well!

When Princess Zelda was seventeen years old, she’d been fully prepared to die.

Ancient prophecies had foretold a Great Calamity that would sweep the land of Hyrule into a great blight and destroy it all unless those chosen by destiny could stop it.

Zelda had been one of those who’d been blessed by the Goddess’s alleged favor: Hylia’s spirit and magic coursed within her.

But the wielder of the Master Sword hadn’t been found in time.

Four champions stayed by the Divine Beasts: Urbosa, Revali, Daruk, and Mipha. And for a year, the five of them waited while King Rhoam of Hyrule went on a mad search for the Chosen Hero and for the location of the Master Sword itself.

Zelda had spent that time relentlessly pursuing the Goddess’ power; she passed out in the holy springs, prostrated herself before Goddess statues for hours at a time, devoted every waking second she had to prayer. But despite her greatest efforts, her attempts were fruitless.

But perhaps the Goddess were showing their favor after all, because despite every prophecy, despite every prediction, wall carving, and palm reading, the Calamity never came, and Zelda was spared a horrific death at the hands of darkness incarnate.

One year after the predicted date, the Champions felt like they could finally move away from the Beasts, ever watchful, but able to maintain some of their daily lives. Zelda stopped spending day and night in freezing water and instead moved to the Temple of Time where the weather was bearable, and the distance was well within reach of the Castle while still spending most of her time in holy grounds.

Two years after the predicted date, the Champions began to lead normal lives again, freely leaving their domains, though they were still ready to return at a moment’s notice. Zelda began to spend more time in the library, sifting through ancient tombs and personal diaries of past monarchs, hoping her answer lied in pages rather than prayer.

Three years after the predicted date, the Champions were harder to find on a day-to-day basis. But Zelda remained steadfast and relentless with her nose in books and her knees in the spring’s water. The Sheikah had to pull her out several times. They had to force her into recovery.

But by the fourth year, the Beasts had gathered dust, and Zelda had utterly given up, instead helping Purah and Robbie with their ancient tech and Guardian research, which—despite the lack of the Calamity—still had other practical applications.

It seemed that everything had been built up for no reason, that there was no Calamity after all.

So, it was only when they’d all gotten comfortable that the Yiga Clan, a cult devoted to the demon lord Ganon, began their relentless assault on Princess Zelda, heir to the Goddess’ devastating sealing powers.

The entirety of that year had been spent with Zelda running from attack after attack, losing her guards, losing Sheikah. She was sent back to the castle where Purah set up protective wards around her room that ran off ancient tech, and she continued working on them so they might be able to encompass the entire castle.

King Rhoam’s royal command had been that Zelda could not touch any Sheikah tech. She couldn’t look at Guardians, or ask about runes and wards. So, Zelda returned to her studies once more until her eyes burned from sitting over tombs in the candlelight.

She had to admit, she’d become proficient in her royal duties, following her father to almost everything she was permitted in. What she wasn’t, he’d fill her in on after.

At this point, a vast majority of Hyrule believed the peace was a sign that the Calamity was never going to arrive. The other school of thought, which Zelda subscribed to, was that the Calamity should be feared far more than ever, its unpredictability keeping the other half of the kingdom in a deeply rooted state of caution and suspense ever since.

Though Zelda had asked her father to let her leave the protection of the Castle more often for experiences outside of prayer, his answer was always the same: “I lost your mother to those cultists; I will not lose you as well.”

“I just want to swim in Lake Hylia,” she’d tried once. “The days have gotten unbearable. Please, father? I’ll take an entire company of guards with me.”

“I’m sorry, Zelda. No. You may go to a spring of your choice. The waters there will likely be a cool temperature. Perhaps try the Spring of Wisdom.”

Zelda was 21, though she felt as though one hundred years had passed. She was tired, bone weary with an exhaustion that had set in so deep, she spent a decent amount of her days simply sleeping. When she was awake, she stared at her hand, waiting for magic to miraculously hit her in the face. Perhaps if she stared long enough, the Goddess would take pity on her patheticness.

The days when she’d been sent out to pray were now her favorites. She’d found ways to coerce her guards into taking longer routes, stopping for longer breaks.

That’s what happened on the day her father had reached his breaking point regarding the attacks on her life.

She returned to the castle shaken and sore, but his tight arms held her as his body shook with relief. He sank to his knees and held her in his arms the way he’d done the day her mother died, and he realized he needed nothing more than to hold his child in his arms to remember that the world was still spinning as long as she was alive.

He’d told her that when he’d said goodnight to her, standing in the doorway of her room with poorly concealed heartache written all over his sagging body.

“I’m really fine,” Zelda said for the fourth time that hour. She sat on top of her long, blue satin sheets, sliding a bit as she tried to adjust her leg. Something about being curled into herself in some way helped make her feel comfortable as she smiled to ease her father’s mind.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to stop by in the morning, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging as if she were entirely unaffected by everything she’d been through. She was good at that façade after five years of stares and whispers.

“Okay. Goodnight. May the Goddess watch over you.”

That was how Zelda found herself in the library before the crack of dawn, perched on a ladder in the top shelves of the restricted section. She had access, of course, but she was reading an untranslated a Sheikah tomb from a former handmaiden of the Princess of Hyrule before her ascent to the throne. That Princess had practically bled power, and Zelda hoped her handmaid noted something of interest.

She tucked the book under her arm and climbed down, crossing the library that was filled with several lifetimes worth of books, and stopped in the government documents. Her eyes trailed the spines for a familiar one with territories clearly outlined. She went to the language section to grab a reference book for Ancient Sheikah. Though she was mostly fluent in that, among several other languages, the ancient variations on words occasionally tripped her up. So she set back up to her room with her pile of books, ready to be confined by her father for her safety once again.

Zelda nodded to several of the guards she passed as they stood at their post. Despite the castle being one of the safest places in Hyrule thanks to all the tech, guards were still positioned in the most well-traveled places on their patrols, while two guards stood at her door and her father’s.

Biting her lip, Zelda craned her neck around her pile to try to find the doorknob, fumbling her hand around blindly, just barely able to turn the handle. And because the Goddess never wanted to cooperate with her, she dropped two of the books, though she managed to cling to the relic with tight fingers. The other two fell right onto her guard’s foot.

“I’m so sorry!” Zelda muttered, bending to pick them up.

The guard was beside her, nearly banging heads with her as he grabbed the heavy translation tomb. Thankfully for her, he flinched away in time; he was wearing a helmet that covered most of his head, and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that metal. “Don’t apologize,” the guard said softly, picking up the other book for her. “Would you like me to…” He gestured vaguely to her room.

“Oh, no thank you. Just stack them on top of this one.” He did, and she took a step inside before backing up. “Actually, would you mind getting the antechamber door for me, please?”

He stepped inside and pushed the second door open before backing up respectfully.

“Thank you so much,” she said, about to use her foot to close the door when she looked back. “And again, I am sorry I dropped a heavy book on your foot.”

He bowed his head and stepped back out, so she closed the door and set her books down.

Her father came into her room early, as promised.

“Zelda,” he said with a strained greeting. The corner of his lip twitched, like his muscles had become tired under the strain of holding it up for so long, and his eyes held no joy, no spark. It was forced chipperness, and Zelda picked up on it immediately. “May I sit?”

“Of course.”

She sat on a chest at the foot of her bed, and he pulled the chair away from the desk to face her. “Well, let’s not beat around the bush. There have been many attempts on your life, but I have felt none so potently as yesterday’s. When they told me you’d been attacked, all I could remember was the news of your mother. And then when you were brought in…” he ran a hand along a bruise on her cheek that she didn’t realize she had until she felt a flare of pain cause her to flinch. “You are my precious daughter, and I love you. I never want to see you harmed. That said, others do. It’s becoming impossible for you to safely leave the castle.”

Zelda braced herself. This was where he confined her to her room or to the palace grounds for the foreseeable future. She folded her hands over her lap so he couldn’t see the shaking grow more visible.

“You’ve been unable to protect yourself with your powers, so we must resort to other means. You’re to learn to defend yourself, starting immediately. We still need you at the springs, so I cannot command you to stay here. You still are a priestess of Hylia. So, given your setbacks, you’ll need to learn.”

Zelda’s mouth dropped open as she let the words process through her mind. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’ll hopefully have a sword in your hand soon enough, but you’ll be able to defend yourself from these cultists.”

“A sword?”

“It’s too dangerous. We’ve lost too many guards. And you can’t fight as it is. This is the best option.”

“No!” she said, much louder than intended. “Fight the Yiga?” She shuddered just at the word.

“Zelda, we need you to live. Hyrule needs you to succeed, and to succeed, you must survive.”

Standing up didn’t make it any easier to breathe, as Zelda had hoped. “You think I haven’t tried?” Tears threatened her eyes as her voice cracked on her last word. As if years of her life sacrificed to unreturned devotion wasn’t enough for her. For him. For all of Hyrule. She’d tried, she’d bargained, she’d offered up her comfort, her breath, her mind, her years, her time. She was one person. What was left for her to do?

“Do you think I just stand there and watch my knights get murdered? Do I just drop to my knees and pray? Is that what you think I do?”

“Zelda…”

“No! You’re right, father. I’ll lead the Yiga right to the Goddess Spring that you need me to go to again just so I can brandish a sword and strike one down with my prowess! Because, Goddess knows that my Knights have an easy enough time with the Yiga, so it should be a cinch for me!” The sarcasm oozed from her in an unintentional venom drip.

“You’re telling me that I’ve failed! You’re telling me to give up and grab a stupid sword! Give me some armor next time I go to the Temple of Time! I don’t need my priestess garb. I have my sword! Because it will absolutely save me!”

“Zelda, please.”

“Please,” she scoffed, finally feeling a hot tear on her cheek. “You’re telling me I’m going to die! Five years ago, I was ready. I knew I’d failed, but I stood vigil waiting for the Calamity to give my life in the final hope that it might stop Ganon! But now, I was blessed with time, and still I can’t do it! I can’t access her powers. So you want me to fail one more time by using a sword to defend myself? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I was there when Lady Styla proposed that sham of a fashion show to lift spirits.”

“That’s irrelevant, Zelda.”

From the look on his face, she could tell he was not budging. She tried another tactic. “I-I shouldn’t be near a sword anyway! What if I stabbed myself by accident? Then there’s no way I’ll ever unlock mother’s power. I’ll be dead with or without the Yiga! I already dropped a book on my guard today! That could have been my foot with a knife! And before you tell me that there have been warrior queens and princesses throughout the history of Hyrule, that’s because they never met me. I’m not a fighter! I read books all day! I take notes. I can bore the Calamity to death with a detailed review of the territory lines in Northern Akkala! That might be more effective than a sword, at least.”

“Zelda, you’re not thinking of the big picture…”

“But if I don’t unlock the power because of some silly distraction like learning how to fight, then the world will fall to the Calamity. My time will now need to be spent in that wretched training area with all kinds of sweaty men. Do you want your precious daughter exposed to such a sight? Worse yet, what if I like it and decide to spend all my days there with… shirtless men!” She grimaced and blushed all at once.

“This is the most absurd argument I’ve ever heard. You leave me no choice but to make that a command from your king rather than a request from your father. Because as much as I love you, I also am obligated to keep you safe.”

“Obligated?” her voice cracked again, losing some of her rambling thunder. “I’m an obligation? Is that how you see your daughter?”

She gasped when he let the silence answer for him.

“You start your training now. Your instructor has already been informed and will be ready for you.”

“Who?” she asked, glancing at the four guards at her door. Two hers, two her father’s. They were all hearing her shame. How long until everyone knew?

“He’s the most renowned swordsman in all of Hyrule, one of our best fighters, and he’s about your age, so he should be someone you can get along with.”

“The best fighter in all of Hyrule is only 22? No wonder the Yiga are everywhere, if those are our standards.”

“Be kind, Zelda.”

“Is that another order, My King?”

He sighed and crossed the room, stopping at her door. “One more thing. While you’re there, I’ve given him permission to overrule you if you command him not to train you. You will learn to stay safe, whether you want to or not. Now change and go. He’s expecting you now.” He turned his head to her guards. “Make sure she goes to the training yard, and if she refuses, come fetch me.”

As soon as he was gone, she slammed her door and sagged into the wood.

She did consider hiding out, but she knew her father would simply bring the soldier into her room to train if he had to. At this point, with the number of times the Yiga had come after her, she wouldn’t have really blamed her father if he’d locked her in a door-less room and dropped this instructor in through a hole in the ceiling until she learned to protect herself. Truthfully, the idea itself—in theory—wasn’t the worst. Except for the fact that the Yiga were deadly warriors who trained to kill for most of their lives and slaughtered companies of trained Hylian knights.

Grabbing her most comfortable pants to train in, Zelda slowed as she remembered the event that had started this all.

The Great Tabanthan Bridge crossed the long expanse of the Tanagar Canyon, and she was always careful of the crossing. The fall alone would not only kill someone, but it’d likely flatten them clean out from a drop of that height. So, crossing it was not something that was taken lightly on a good day.

Being that far out there was entirely her fault to begin with.

She’d desired to visit the Temple to Hylia that was at the edge of the gorge, but she’d opted to lead everyone along the scenic route to enjoy some of her free time outside of the castle. The guards had protested briefly, but Zelda was adamant about a scenic detour.

What she hadn’t been able to predict or expect, no matter how much research she did, was that the Yiga were there, lying in wait for her and her guards.

She’d been bucked clean off her stubborn horse, and she’d been left on the great bridge as three Yiga ran for her. Though she’d gone to run, she was caught by one who appeared in front of her in a puff of smoke.

Trying to fight them off of her had been like the great struggle of praying for the Goddess’ powers: utterly futile, and a waste of time.

Half of her attempts to shake them had been by holding the rope handle of the bridge and throwing herself precariously close so they’d have to follow.

The soldiers eventually reached her and fended the Yiga off, but they’d also recounted the entire incident to her father in horrific detail: how she was winded by the time she’d run halfway across the bridge, how she nearly fell off the great, how she couldn’t fight any of them off and had been overwhelmed, and how her weak strength had caused two large wounds in her palms from where she’d tried to push a blade away from her at one point.

Glancing down at her now-healed hands—thanks to the castle medics—Zelda pulled on her boots and tugged up the laces tight. She wasn’t weak. She just wasn’t… physically domineering. But put any puzzle, any riddle, any impossibility in front of her and she’d find the solution. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. She is strong… just not traditionally.

Her shirt was loose, and she tied up her hair before looking at herself in the mirror for a long time, finally noticing the bruise she’d sustained. She was going to hate this almost as much, if not more, than she hated horseback riding.

Resigned to her fate, Zelda trudged slowly toward the training yard, hoping to be late enough to at least remind everyone that she didn’t want to be there.

Glancing at the sun, she’d determined that she managed to be at least fifteen minutes late. Not bad. She could do worse next time.

The yard was empty of the usual hustle and bustle that went on, and she imagined that her father must have ordered it be kept clear for her private sessions. But it was also clear of an instructor.

She stood in the middle of the training yard and fisted her hands tightly as she looked around. No one. Her eyes narrowed at the empty space, searching for some sign of trickery. But the only others there were the two guards she had brought with her.

“Is this some sort of a joke?” Zelda asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Hello?”

There was no answer.

Shrugging happily to herself, she was ready to leave, but one look at her guards standing near the entrance reminded her of her father’s orders to fetch him if she didn’t go; either she stayed here long enough to prove that she made the attempt, or she’d be embarrassingly dragged back down by her father’s guards, humiliated as they would keep hold of her arms to ensure she followed them right back here. Her father would make sure she was here, no matter what.

Crossing her arms, Zelda walked around. She rarely went to the training yards unless she was up in the parapets, so being down in the dirt and grass felt like she was in an entirely new world. One she didn’t belong in.

There were training dummies lined up against a wall and a worn dirt track in a wide circle around the outskirts of the otherwise square area. There was a bench. There were weapons on a rack.

And that was it.

She looked at the footprints etched in the dirt, kneeling down to read the story told by the shoe treads. There was a large step forward, and then several overlapping smaller ones as the wearer clearly stumbled back. Then a single skid mark as they were forced back. And then the imprint of a body where they’d fallen.

If Zelda were here under any other circumstances, she’d have smiled and tried to find all the stories in the dirt, but instead, she stood back up and sighed, craning her neck towards the barracks just past the archway. No one was outside, and no one was coming.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, prepared to leave. But her eye caught on a weapon rack, and she glanced one more time at the barracks before heading to the largest spear. She held it, pretending she was one of her knights. Goddess, if a Yiga came at her, she’d die. Fear first, and then clumsiness, because who could control this glorified stick well enough to kill a Yiga?

She shuddered and put it back.

“You can get there eventually,” someone said.

She spun around to see one of her two guards walking towards her. He removed his helmet, shaking out his blonde hair. Zelda watched in confusion as he set the helmet down on a post and pulled a blue band off his wrist to tie his long hair back.

“But only if you’re not fifteen minutes late on purpose,” he said, not looking up at her. “Princess,” he added with a bow of his head.

Her mouth dropped slightly and her cheeks warmed at the light scolding. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, almost doubting if she’d heard him correctly.

She scoffed at his audacity, recognizing the bright blue eyes of the guard she’d dropped her book on. Did he think that a conversation with her this morning gave a guard the right to chastise her?

He held out his hand, and she instinctively handed the spear back, though in hindsight she wished that she’d hit him with it instead. She’d been too stunned. He returned it to it’s place, and walked across the entirety of the training yard without so much as looking at her.

Her feet tumbled after him as she mentally and physically struggled to keep up. What was happening? Why wasn’t he answering her? Why was he even talking to her? Who was this man?

“Hey!” she finally called. He stopped and turned.

That’s when he looked up for the first time, his downcast blue eyes lifting off the dirt and settling on her green ones.

Pride swelled in her when she saw them waver, because clearly her voice had rattled him in some way. He clearly didn’t like looking her in the eye either. His eyes kept darting off of hers, and he had to keep forcing them back. Her own eyes narrowed, trying to understand this guard. “Who are you?”

“Your instructor.”

#wip wednesday #legend of zelda #botw au #pre-calamity au #link #zelda #zelink #writing #still needs another round of editing to not make it boring #You don't know how bad I wanted Link to say Your dancing master like syrio forel or something hahaha!!#and now you know half the reason why I want this title

31 notes · View notes

jenovahh · 4 years

Text

Comm 03 - NSFW - Glitter

Rating: NC-17/Explicit Tags: Female!WoL, Cunnilingus, Penetration

The commissioner has chosen to remain anonymous! Thank you so much for this prompt it was fun to write and challenging!

============================================================

Warrior of Light.

Liberator of Doma. Savior of Ala Mhigo. Retriever of Coinpurses.

Warrior of Darkness.

Enough titles to sing your praises to fill an entire book, by this point you were sure.

Have books been written yet? You hadn’t been approached yet for a biography. Mayhap you were on the move too much for anyone to sit you down long enough to talk to you about your life; not that your life is much of a secret.

Any news of your deeds and miracles had reached nearly every part of the continent. At the very least, the only thing missing would be the more trivial escapades or your humble beginnings.

Sometimes you miss those days. The days of stepping out and actually exploring. Choosing to help the occasional stranger but still going your own way, seeing the world at your own pace. Some might think not knowing where your next meal would come from daunting, but you had never worried. You could fish. You could hunt.

You could be yourself. For yourself.

It pained you sometimes, to think of the life you could have lived. If you hadn’t met wonderful people like Y’shtola or Thancred...if you hadn’t encountered Lyse in the forest. Or...Papalymo.

Grimacing, you heave out a sigh, trudging along behind the Scions through the Rat’tika Greatwood, its muggy swamps and blistering heat doing nothing to improve your mood.

After nearly being accosted by the Night’s Blessed, fending off a potential Vauthry invasion, and held at knife point by small army of Viis, you believe you’ve earned a well deserved break, especially knowing that exploring the looming temple nearby is on tomorrow’s list of events.

You are provided with a rather cozy room, given to you by the Viis in exchange for their seal. They are all quite lovely and so is their home, your eyes drifting to the beautiful women of the village as they lead you to your room that you’ll be staying in for the night.

To your surprise there is a plush feather bed resting against the far wall, instead of a hammock like you were expecting giving what all you had seen of the village. A small basin with a mirror rests in a corner of the room as well as a desk, but the room is otherwise for the most part barren.

None of the luxuries or comforts offered to you back at your room in the Crystarium, and you are just now aware of how concerned the Exarch is for your overall well being and happiness.

You returned to your room after a hearty dinner provided by the ever hospitable Viis, waving to the Scions as you announced you would be retiring to your room for the night, practically falling onto the bed for some well earned rest.

You had already bathed in their bathhouse, feeling a bit better considering you had dove into the murky waters of the nearby lake filled with Hydaelyn knows what. It wasn’t all bad, being able to dive below and explore the ruins, feeling that sense of discovery and adventure you had longed for when you were a child.

You couldn’t hate the job entirely, even if the stress was monumental. There was absolutely no way you would be able to explore an entirely different world if you had kept to your path as a young adventurer, if you had never joined the Scions.

There might not even be a world at all.

“Really hero, must you think so loudly?”

You’re on your feet before you can blink, dagger in hand as you immediately turn towards the voice. Vision focusing, you meet stark, gold eyes, twinkling in obvious amusement in what must be considered your antics.

“My, you sundered souls are so easily excitable. Though I suppose there would be drawbacks to being unable to sense the very aether around you…” Emet-Selch trails off, hands up turned as he shrugs his already sunken shoulders.

He looks exactly as you had seen him earlier this morning, dressed in the same imperial robes with the same silly white streak in his hair. You twirl the dagger in your hands with ease, scoffing as you move to lie back down in your bed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Ascian?” you question harshly, not at all willing to play nice. You weren’t quite ready to throw your life away, mouthing off to a being such as he; you were no fool. You were sure that even a child could sense the danger he exuded from his very being, but you also weren’t in the mood to deal with mind games.

“My, my, aren’t we touchy.” He comments, crossing his arms and looking down at you from his nose, his lips pulled in a condescending smirk. “I come to pay the vaunted hero a visit, and am only met with hostility. Surely you are not so inhospitable to all your guests?” He asks, voice lofty and teasing, making your brow furrow in irritation.

“If all you came here to do was mock me, I would prefer you leave me be.” Is your answer, wanting to close your eyes and ignore his presence. Sadly, even with his rather hands off approach to “aiding” your group as he had said he would, you didn’t quite trust him enough to blink, let alone rest around him.

Choosing to lay on your side, you keep your eyes on him, taking notice of how his own rove across your body in a way that is almost curious.

“Normally I would follow your request and be on my way, however I find my curiosity weighing out my apathy.” He crosses over to the nearby desk and you watch as he snaps his gloved fingers. With slight wonder, you watch in awe as the simple wooden chair transforms into an extravagant, plush lounge chair.

He reclines as a royal would, crossing one leg over the other as he stares you down, eyes somehow serious and taunting at once. “I find myself interested, and perhaps a tad too invested in what could possibly be upsetting you so. So by all means, let it out.” He grins, making a sweeping motion of his hand.

You regard him silently for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious. It’s not often you find yourself presented with the opportunity of someone who will listen. Listen to your frustrations, your woes, your chagrin at having to be you.

Of what it is to be the Warrior of Light.

“You’re not going to run off and tell Elidibus what a sad sack I am if I do talk to you, are you?” You question, moving to sit up to put you on equal footing with the Ascian sitting across from you. He rudely snorts, the action somehow still elegant on him. “Hardly.” He scoffs.

“There’s not much to say really. I wish I wasn’t me.” You offer nonchalantly, missing the slight look of concern on his face.

“Do not waste my time by giving me clipped statements.”

Something in his voice makes you look at him again, reevaluate his presence in your room. He might be relaxed in his chair, but his focus is entirely on you. There is a muted demand to his last statement, an edge to his tone that maybe, just maybe, he actually does want to listen to you.

“I don’t enjoy being the Warrior of Light.” You begin slowly, trying to judge his reaction but his face is as impassive as ever.

“There was no way for me to predict that I would be Hydaelyn’s chosen,” you can’t help but giggle at how his face twists with disgust at Her name but you continue, “and be the sole Champion of Eorzea. I had only left home to go and see what the world had to offer, only to find that I was the sole savior the world had.” Just saying the words irritates you all over again, losing what calm you had.

“It’s not enough that the Source can’t stay saved, but I must also be the savior of this world!” You hiss, baring your teeth at the ancient being before you. “Was it not enough that I had to liberate two nations? Strike down three Ascians, beings so old and powerful that I cannot even begin to imagine what any of you can do. More and more is constantly asked of me, and I…”

You let out a staggered breath, shoulders slumping much like the man across from you. “I’m tired of it.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air between you, somehow heftier by the weight of his stare. You wonder what is going through his head. You take the time to quickly analyze his features, seeing as any time he deigned to make an appearance, the tension in the room would skyrocket and he would scurry off after sowing his chaos.

He looks as tired as you, if not more so, the dark circles around his eyes strangely enhancing his sharp, handsome features. His golden eyes twinkle like the finest cut topaz, shimmering as if the very sun itself lights them despite how dimly lit your room is. His hair seems to fall a little too perfectly in place, the white streak of his hair standing out even against his pale skin.

“Perhaps you need a way to relieve the tension.”

His words snap you out of your silent appraisal, finding his expression has changed, his voice teasing. “Sadly screaming into my pillow and beating things up don’t make me feel better.” You huff, leaning back on your hands.

“Screaming into your pillow you say?” He echoes, chuckling at his own personal joke. “That very well may happen. My proposal was one of a far more pleasurable method of, as you mortals say, blowing off some steam.” He purrs, voice low and seductive, a baritone as smooth as a fine brandy.

You arch a single eyebrow at him, wondering if he was really offering what you thought he was offering.

“Are you propositioning me?”

Always best to make sure.

He barks out laughter at that, making a show of wiping his eye. “Never let it be said that the Warrior of Light went into things half sure.” He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, hero, I am offering you release; a union of our bodies to ease all that turmoil you’ve got building inside you.”

You can hear the amusement in his voice, and you quietly wonder if he has any secret motives by sleeping with you. However his words from days prior, that he only speaks the truth, leaves you doubting that he would use sex as a means to silence you.

Though you can’t deny, it would be very dramatic, and very much like him.

“If it is your own pleasure you worry about, fret not; I have had...years of practice.” He murmurs, bringing one hand to his lips to slowly pull his glove from his hand. You watch the action from start to finish, mind already wandering to how smooth his hand looked, and how great it would feel on your body.

“Very well.” Standing to your feet, you move to tower above him in even strides, looking down at the ancient being before you. “If it is release you’ll grant me, then I will allow it. However, it must be on my terms.” Your voice leaves no room for argument, and you take pride in watching as his eyebrows raise toward his hairline for a moment.

“By all means, hero. State your terms.” He makes no move to stop you as you move forward to kneel on the chair, straddling his lap with ease. He’s warm, which strikes you as strange, though you suppose that despite being an Ascian, he still has taken a mortal form.

There is desire in those molten pools of his, and knowing it is directed at you is empowering. You place your hands, worn and torn from battle, upon his shoulders, shuddering beneath his touch as his hands settle themselves at your hips.

“If you wish to help me find release, then you must please me.” You begin, taking care to watch for any change in his expression. “You must do as I say. Touch me how I wish. Take care of me.” His hands play with the hem of your nightshirt, his fingers sending sparks racing down your spine as he just barely brushes against your skin.

“So the vaunted hero wishes to be worshipped?” Though phrased like a question, it one of rhetorical nature, his eyes half lidded as they trail down your body. “A mere mortal asking worship of a Paragon. Hydaelyn’s chosen consorting with a bringer of darkness…”

His smirk is roguish as he finally slides his gaze back up to your own. “Why, if I were not here to hear the very words straight from your lips, I’d find myself disinclined to believe them.”

You take his chin by the hand, keep his focus locked on you. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, with all that pride you have.” You tilt his chin and he allows it; it is a control he bequeaths to you. “You probably don’t like that; having to bow to the whims of a mortal.” You finish with a click of your tongue, watching as fire lights behind his eyes.

“Is that a challenge, hero?” He mumbles, bottom lip poked out in a pout, eyes sparking with indignation.

“It’s your pride on the line, not mine.” You reply easily, taking his hands in yours and placing them on your waist. “However, I am not so callous as to prevent you to do anything you dislike. You will speak up if I do something you don’t like, won’t you?”

His eyes twinkle for a moment, his hands creeping underneath your shirt to finally grasp at your skin. “Of course.” he murmurs, eyes drifting from yours as he raises your shirt, exposing your skin to him. His eyes are hungry, and you wonder if he is more eager for release than you are.

“Let’s put these skills of yours to the test then, Ascian.” You huff, allowing him to raise your shirt high enough that his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, glad he had chosen to come at this hour when you’ve forgone your undergarments. His touch is confident, self-assurance shining through every glance of his fingers on your tender flesh.

“Does the hero want me to sing her praises?” He questions, tilting his head as he looks at you from beneath his lashes. “To worship her as one would a god?”

“Yes.” You answer without hesitation, raising your arms to help him get your shirt off but he wills it away with a mere snap of his fingers. His hands climb higher, eyes drinking in your form though there is a distant look to them; as if he is looking through you. “Touch me.” you demand, watching as his hands cup your breasts gently in his hands, running his thumbs across your nipples, now pebbled from his attentions.

“Your mouth...I want you to,” you don’t even get to finish the sentence before he leans forward and his lips press to the skin of your breast, teeth lightly nipping on a pert nipple that has you shuddering above him.

You must say that he is as skilled as he claims, his movements practiced and calculated as he tugs delicately with his teeth, knows just how much suction that has you writhing in his lap. He releases your breast with a pop, his breath ghosting across the now moist skin. “I do hope you are up for the challenge yourself, hero.”

His tone hints at pleasures unknown and stories untold, that you find yourself momentarily shaken, enraptured by the lust pooling in those gold eyes. Eager to take back control you fist your hand in his hair roughly, brows furrowing at his smirk. “Did I say you could talk?” you hiss, to which he snickers.

“Then what would you have me do?” He asks, hands moving to slip themselves to running down your back once more, his hands dipping to play with the top of your waistband. “Simply say what you desire, hero. I am more than willing to play the part.” The huskiness in his voice spurs you on, fuel to your already raging desire.

“I want you between my legs.” You state without pretense, not dropping your gaze as he rises from the chair, moving the two of you to the bed. When he lays you down you find that it too has changed, much like the chair from earlier. Gone are the cotton sheets, replaced instead with fine silk, caressing you much like his hands are.

“I want to see you too.” You add, stopping him before he can settle himself above you.

“As you wish.” He acknowledges, his robes dissolving into mist before your very eyes, baring his lean form above you. You didn’t expect him to have no meat on his bones, but it is still somewhat jarring all the same to see him bare before you; all hard lines and lean edges, a faint musculature that betrays the awesome power you know lurks beneath the surface.

You reciprocate the same shamelessness he had shown earlier with his appraisal of your own body, watching with rapt attention as he climbs into the bed to hover over your body.

You expect him to go straight between your legs but instead he busies himself with your neck, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin as his hands roam across your naked skin. “So quiet. Must I work for it?” He purrs against your skin, the sound going straight between your legs.

He trails down with more kisses across your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. You slip your fingers into his hair as he continues his way downward, parting your legs so that you may hook them over his shoulders.

“Feeling inadequate Ascian?” You tease despite the breathlessness to your voice, seeing that mahogany hair with a streak of white between your thighs. With another snap of his fingers your bottoms are gone, leaving you fully nude to him.

“Never.” He says with a smirk, pressing gentle kisses to the skin of your inner thigh. You unintentionally jerk in his hold, knowing you are dripping wet for him and yet he will not touch you where you need it most.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a growl rising in your throat at his teasing.

“I am between your legs, as requested.” He croons, caressing your thigh gently, pressing more kisses to your skin. “Or did you desire more from me?”

He is obviously having too much of a good time with this, and that will not do.

“Eat me out.” You order, pressing your hips to his face. “I want you to make me come.”

He holds your gaze for just a moment before he finally presses his mouth to your folds, testing the waters with small flicks of his tongue. The sight of his golden, hawk like eyes peeking from over your curls is erotic in itself, his tongue growing braver until he finally slips pasts your folds to seek the pink bud he knows is lying underneath.

Whimpers begin to slip out as he devotes himself to his task, annoyance shining his eyes momentarily before they have that far away look to them once again. His tongue circles around your clit in a way that makes your head spin, your breaths coming fast until he pulls away.

“I will be the first to say that while your physical form is appealing…” He murmurs close to your dripping sex, breath sending shivers racing up your spine. “However...with my sight I find your soul far more beautiful.”

You flush red at his praise, shivering as he brings a finger to slowly drag across your clit, his gaze almost awestruck at how you keen out your pleasure. “Loathe as I am to take demands from a mortal…” he trails off, moving to press a kiss to your folds, drinking down your nectar. “Your soul shines far too wonderfully like this.”

You’re sure you feel your heart skip a beat for a moment, caught halfway between embarrassment and affection. He resumes his task with ardor, his eyes fluttering shut despite his prior comment on enjoying the appearance of your soul.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to actually see to look upon your soul, but most coherent thought goes out the window as Emet-Selch flicks his tongue at your sex, unashamed of the mess you’re making of his face in his bid to please you. His eyes are open again, staring through you, into you, and you wonder what you must look like to him.

The thought of someone as powerful and ancient as him steals your breath away. It makes your thighs clench tighter and your heels dig harder into his back. If it hurts, he doesn’t complain, if anything it spurs him on further, his movements growing more insistent. The moans finally begin to flow forth, filling the room that you haven’t realized has slowly changed, so caught up in chasing your pleasure.

He’s found what rhythm you like, what makes you moan loudest and it’s a continuous push to the edge with no signs of stopping. You pray that none of the Scions will suddenly require your presence, for you’re sure that your moans are quite audible from outside the door, and this is the last thing you want to explain to them.

How does one explain taking an Ascian to bed? What words could smooth over the fact that one of your greatest enemies currently lies nestled between your thighs, lapping at your folds as if a man dying of thirst and gazing at you like a blind man seeing for the first time?

It’s wrong, it's oh so wrong and you know it, and yet you find yourself unable to convince yourself to push yourself away from the Ascian to stop him, though from his grip on your thighs, he wouldn’t let you leave if you tried.

You watch hazily as one of his hands reaches downward, a moan pulled from his throat as he strokes his length. While his moan excites you, how deep and rich it was, you will not let him be distracted from his task.

None too gently do you pull his mouth away from your sex, urging him upward so that you may flip him beneath you. “It’s not your turn.” You huff, warmth blooming in your chest at how his eyes rove across your form in a way akin to reverence, eyes still glittering as he uses his sight to peer at your soul.

Pressing him on his back you climb higher until your hips rest just above his face, and from there he needs no further instruction as he presses his mouth to your clit once more, a low and throaty moan tugged from him as you pull at his hair.

You can’t help but take a peek at his length behind you, noticing just how hard he is, and you haven’t even touched him. You wonder if he really is that excited solely from pleasuring you, a pearl of precum leaking from the tip that you’re eager to taste, but not right now. Not when he slips a finger into your aching hole and thrusts it in time with his tongue working your clit, his name torn from your lips in a sigh as you press your hips further into his face.

He makes no sound of protest as you do so, that eagerness he had displayed before returning full force that has your legs quivering to keep yourself upright. Pleas for more tumble forth from your lips, his eyes holding yours in a gaze so intense that you find yourself unable to look away.

A second finger slips in with the first, thrusting at a fierce pace that practically has you sobbing in ecstasy atop him. It feels so godsdamned good, you feel ready to overload after having denied yourself release for so long.

You’re not sure when you started begging for him to make you come, for him to finally give you that last push you needed, but he curls his fingers just so and you fall apart atop him, crying out his name in abandon as your orgasm shakes you, barely able to support yourself on your arms as white hot pleasure shoots to every nerve ending in your body.

You moan in light protest as he continues to lap at your core, his fingers having retreated but his attention has not. “E-Enough,” you breathe shakily, hardly able to move yourself from atop him to flop on the bed. You feel him shift to move and as you turn to face him you freeze, feeling every bit the proverbial lamb before the golden eyes of the wolf.

His lips shine with your juices, pink tongue coming to swipe across them. His eyes are half lidded as he stares down at you. Though he is currently in the dominant position, his gaze speaks of subservience; a need to please that has your lust spiking all over again as you roll to your back to fully face him.

“Where would you have me next?” He asks, moving to hover above you, caging you with his arms. You let your own snake around his neck, tickling the fine hairs at the nape as you bring him closer to you.

“Inside me.” You whisper, feeling suddenly hesitant to kiss him. The decision is made for you when he closes the gap, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip to get you to open up for him.

Soon enough do you take over the kiss, having him moaning into your mouth as you reach between the two of you to stroke his cock. “I want you to fuck me.” You hiss, feeling how hot and ready he is in your hands.

He lets loose a low chuckle, the baritone of his voice rumbling through you. “Such vulgar words, Warrior of Light.” he purrs, lining himself up with your entrance.

You feel the head nudge past your folds, your hips already angling to try and take him inside before he can even push himself inside. “I find myself quite willing to obey, so long as you let me see that wonderful soul of yours.”

“What’s so,” Your inquiry is cut off as he finally pushes inside, feeling as if the breath was knocked out of you at his girth. He just barely pushes your limits, your body doing it’s best to adjust to his length as he presses kisses to your jawline. “Twelve above…” you moan, rolling your hips against him that has him thrumming against you.

“Yes, just like that.” He praises, pulling out slowly, letting you feel the length of him before thrusting back in, making sure you’re adjusted. He continues that slow pace, watching you closely for any discomfort, but you haven’t the heart to tell him you’re simply wrapped in so much bliss that your body feels as if it can barely take it.

“W-What does it look like?” You ask, breath hitching as he just barely brushed against that spot inside of you. “My soul, I mean..”

It took every ounce of effort you had to form coherent sentences with Emet-Selch thrusting inside you, his strokes measured and purposeful. Even in this was he skilled, as if he was determined to make sure the only noises you were making were lustful sighs or wanton moans.

When he smirks at you, his own hair mussed, skin flushed, you find he looks incredibly charming. “Normally it is the color of the sky. What the sky is supposed to look like. A dazzling, brilliant blue.”

His hands move to clutch your hips, gripping with surprising strength as the same smirk turns devilish. He brings you down hard on his cock, pleasure shooting through you as he stays hilted inside you. “It flares crimson like a sunset when you make your demands.”

You gaze up at him in wonder as he finally sets a steady pace, making your back arch in invitation to which he readily accepts. Bending over he takes a nipple between his teeth, nibbling lightly until his mouth engulfs it entirely, tongue swiping over the sensitive bud in perfect synchronization with his thrusts that has you mewling like a cat beneath him.

“Fuck me,” you demand, though it comes out a plea with how pleasure filled your voice is, your arms clutching him tightly as you meet his thrusts. “Fuck me like you mean it,” Your taunt is cut off by your own moan as he plunges deep inside, his moan dancing with your own as he pistons his hips into your wet sheathe.

You’re glad he had changed the bed, the room to much finer material because you are positive that the old, rickety cot would’ve left no pretenses as to just what was going on in your room with how forceful his thrusts were.

You had forgotten that there would be strength in the lean muscle that was currently flexing beneath your greedy hands; muscle that was now being put to use as Emet-Selch drove himself inside you, his mouth hanging open to make room for his sharp breaths as he plunged deep inside you.

He buries his face in your shoulder, your hand fists in his hair as he rocks into you at a brutal pace, giving you just what you desired, or rather at this point needed. There is something else you need, before it is all said and done.

You carefully roll the two of you over, the surprise in his eyes endearing as you straddle yourself atop him, hands flat on his chest as you begin to raise and lower your hips onto him. Now he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, your eyes fluttering shut as you race toward oblivion, your body seemingly moving on its own accord.

“E-Emet,” you whine, feeling yourself so very close that edge. Distantly you realize you’re not ready for it to be over yet, not ready for him to stop looking at you as if he had not seen something so magical.

The choice is taken from your hands as he rubs at your clit and you come undone, crying out his name in release. Stars dance behind your eyelids as your orgasm sweeps you away, feeling Emet-Selch follow you soon after with your body clenching him so tightly.

The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath as you bask in the afterglow. He is the first to move by trailing a hand lightly on the skin of your back, seeming to be content with the silence as you come down from your high.

You shift to meet his gaze, which you’re surprised to find calm and affectionate. “Well?” He prompts, the corners of his lips pulling into a satisfied grin. “I made good on my word, I hope?”

You hum thoughtfully for a moment to tease him, giggling at his displeased expression. “Yes. It was more than satisfactory.” You concede, giving him a mischievous grin of your own as you trail your finger across his chest. “And you? You seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit.” You tease, pleased to see him suddenly unable to look you in the eye.

“Yes, well...it certainly wasn’t a waste of my time.” He scoffs, giving your skin a light pinch, smirking at your yelp of pain.

“I have half a mind to crush my head between my thighs Ascian.” You snarl, giving him a hard jab, to which he gives a genuine laugh.

“If that is your way of asking for another go Warrior, I find myself ready for the task.” His touch turns heavy as it snakes down your body, his voice but a whisper as he holds you close.

You try to ignore the way your heart flutters at his amorous actions, but find yourself unable when his eyes glitter, knowing he is looking upon the beauty of your soul. It is certainly not the strangest compliment you’ve received, but it is by far the best.

#Emet Selch #Solus zos Galvus #FFXIV #ff14 #Shadowbringers #FFXIV Commissions #Writing Commissions #Commissions #Comms #my writings

75 notes · View notes

wizardsnwookies · 6 years

Text

POTA091718 - Behind the Door

The place was feeling more and more like home, Poh thought to himself. It was dark, warm, and apparently filled with Duergar. He kicked the dead dwarf in the ribs as he passed, likely hired as experts or guides to help this cult settle into it’s new home somewhere beneath his feet. Poh was surprised to find that the memories associated with Skullport brought feelings of nostalgia. Very strange indeed. So much suffering occurred there, so much he was ashamed of, so much he was trying to avenge himself from. He wondered if the other two had the same feelings? They most likely had better memories associated with the place than he. He shook these thoughts from his mind, what did it matter? This was a useless line of thinking. How had he let himself become so soft? He’d have to ask forgiveness by the whip later.

“Last two doors.” Drenaris looked at the other two thoughtfully. ‘The thing’ in the room across the hall from the scribe room didn’t fill them with confidence. They all agreed it would be best to clear the rest of the floor first, rest up, before tackling whatever was behind that door.

Poh turned to the second door, lock pick in hand. Far too easy. He felt he could have breathed on the door and it would open for him. Then again, he thought, this was once just an ordinary Monastery. What would a bunch of monks possibly have to keep secure?

The door opened to the smell of old wood. It was dry, and cool inside without a single cob web in sight. It was a place well cared for. Smiling as much as a Kenku can smile, Poh selected one of the clean brown bottles from the shelves. The liquid inside was clean and light. Ale. Monk brewed ale. Everyone has their vices he supposed.

There was a gentle clinking of glass and Poh emerged from the darkened doorway holding three large bottles of ale in between his fingers. “FOR LATER.” He mimicked.

“Now we’re talking.” Drenaris nodded approvingly, her mouth already puckering in anticipation of the bitter ale she knew monks tended to prefer. “That just leaves this last one.” She gestured towards the door, the door across from the scibe room where some ‘thing’ had been reported to reside.

Without having to be told, Poh slid up to the wooden slab and gently tried the knob. Surprisingly, he found it turned with ease and without any kind of lock to hinder its movement. He slowly pushed inward, careful to keep his ears tuned. He had no idea how old these hinges were, they could very well disagree quite loudly to being forced back into regular movement. The door didn’t budge. He pressed harder, leaning into it so as to let his full weight do most of the work. Again, nothing. Straightening he shook his head.

“Stand back, let me handle this.”

“Drenaris...do it quietly, we don’t want to let-” Aviate should have known it would be a futile effort. Before his sentence was finished the hallway echoed with a large crash as the teifling threw her shoulder into the door.

Drenaris groaned, her shoulder quickly becoming sore. It was like trying to knock over a stone wall. No matter how hard she forced herself upon it, she felt no resistance. But that never stopped her before, and she’d be damned if it will stop her now. Again and again, taking longer and longer sprints before throwing out her shoulder. The sound of her solid frame against an unnaturally sturdy wood filled the halls to the point of a low roar.

“DRENARIS, ENOUGH!!” Aviate ended his plea with mouth agape. Almost on cue, the door gave way, swinging hard on its hinges before slamming against the opposite wall.

Unlike the rest of the monastery that was bathed in a constant darkness, there came the faintest of lights from within the room. A dancing glow like the flickering of a candle. The air that poured out of the chamber was stale and cold, rolling out like a thick fog on the water.

“See? I got this.” Drenaris smirked and made a move to the open portal.

“Wait...be careful. Something’s not right about this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember the journal.” Drawing her sword the gladiator pressed forward, her bare skin quickly developing goose-pimples in the chilled room. In the faint light she saw furnishings and objects quite foreign to any monastery she had ever heard of. Flasks, burners, a large stone mortar and pestle, corked bottles of every shape and size, and shelf after shelf of ancient texts.

She felt a presence looming behind her, turning with sword at the ready she met Poh with a single finger to his beak. She hadn’t even heard him approach. But then again, she supposed, that’s one of the reasons they kept him around. Gathering her wits the two pressed on, passing more and more objects of calculation and experimentation. As they rounded a large wooden cupboard the source of the flickering light came into view. Towards the back of the room a long table was pushed up against the stone wall. Shelves of tiny bottles and scrolls hung just above it, with a single candle to illuminate the entire work station.

“I told you before...NO.” The tall figure of an aged man bent over the table, in deep study of some large tome. His robes were tatters, but not out of any kind of rip or tear. No. It was if the old man had been standing in his quiet study for so long, the very clothes on his back had begun to rot from time. It would not have surprised Drenaris if this was the case. For the man was indeed old. Older than any other living creature she had known. His skin was taught against bone, smooth and dry like parchment and pale like bleached bone. He did not so much have a beard as he had a tangle of snow white fibers sprouting from his chin. She suspected a slight breeze would send this man to the next world.

“Leave me...now.”

His voice sounded like boot upon loose gravel, and there was no missing the menace in its tone. Still, Drenaris was a champion of Skullport, she would not be so intimidated by such a feeble old man.

“Relax, we just have a few questions.” Her approach ended abruptly about five feet from the old man. Drenaris stopped suddenly in her tracks, stunned and shaking from head to toe. It was as if she had leaped into the frozen waters of winter. She could now see her very breath billowing out of her mouth like dragon’s fire. But there was more, so much more. Her very strength was being sapped, and not just from the cold. Something else reached out and griped her heart with icy fingers, draining her of the energy to even stand upon her own duress.

“You will leave wanting of answers...or you will not leave at all. This is my final warning.”

Poh was never one to ask much questions. He was also never one to think too much about what he was told to do. He was used to acting, swiftly and brutally. It was no surprise then that he found himself drawing Spite and Malice on a sprint towards the old man who had done...something...to his comrade. He hit the wall of icy cold and felt it wash over him. But he was used to pain, used to the intense sensations that one’s body could endure. Loviatar had prepared him for this. He pushed through it, closing the distance in an instant. He muttered a prayer to the dark lady, asking her to bless his weapons, that they might bite hard and teach his foe the pleasures of pain. He did not get the chance.

A single finger, nobbed like a twig on a dying tree, reached out and poked the Kenku between his eyes. A ripple of energy shot through his system, locking every muscle in his body save - mercifully - for his lungs. “Very well...you brought this upon yourselves.”

Drenaris got a good look at the man as he turned, arms held outstretched wide in a sweeping gesture. His sunken eyes connected all the dots for her. The tight, leathery skin. The dry, knotted hair. The rotting garb. And now...sunken, milky white eyes that should not be able to see. This man, was not a living being. What confused her was his magical ability. Were undead able to use magic? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t encountered any in the fighting pits. It would have to be a question for later, as a billowing green fog began pouring out of the man’s sleeves, quickly filling the room ankle deep in a noxious smelling mist.

“If you survive. I suggest you do not return here, I will not be so lenient next time.” His words faded to almost a whisper as the fog quickly rose, obscuring him in a green haze until he had dissipated into nothing.

“DRENARIS! GRAB POH AND GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!” Aviate screamed through a handkerchief pressed to his face. Looking back at him, then to Poh, Drenaris felt her lungs beginning to burn. Her throat revolted against the very air it was breathing, forcing it back up in hacking coughing fits. She lifted the frozen birdman and slung him over her shoulder, desperately drying to seal her mouth and nostrils with her free hand.

As soon as they were past the threshold, Aviate slammed the door behind them and collapsed in his own coughing fit. “What in the nine hells was that??”

“I don’t know.” Drenaris wheezed between gasping breaths. Clean air, cleansing her sore lungs. “But I want to kill it.”

Buy Me a Coffee

#Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #princes of the apocalypse #campaign diary

2 notes · View notes

fuukonomiko · 7 years

Text

Meeting of The Minds NSFW

First things first. This is @possiblyhereticalultramarine ‘s fault.

This was his idea (which I went along with), but we collaborated on writing it together. If you are familiar with any of our writing styles you can tell who wrote what and where.

Not much on the plot. Of course it’s smut. No need for a reason. Know that you have been warned. Feedback appreciated!

Is it going to make a lot of sense? No, not really.

Is it going to be OOC? Let’s put it this way, @possiblyhereticalultramarine wrote the man, I wrote the woman, maybe a few lines for the man. You be the judge.

I enjoyed writing this though, even if it is rather heretical. LOL.

On AO3 if you prefer that format: Meeting of The Minds

The sound of torrential rain hammering down onto the marble tiles above him calmed Roboute Guilliman as he looked out at Hera’s Falls cascading down the mountainside. The Fortress of Hera had grown exponentially in size since he had last seen the city. It had overtaken several districts of Macragge Civitas and swallowed up large parts of the mountain, including the body of water that led down into the river Laponis from the mountains. The untamed beauty of its natural waterfall had given way to architectural elegance; its rocky sides smoothed and the flow of its current directed in an efficient manner down the side of the Fortress’ walls.

He focused his attention at the sky above him. His vision was filled with the neverending torrent of rain, the gloom of the cloudy sky and the occasional flash of thunder. In the distance he saw faint observation lights coming from boxy silhouettes descending to and ascending from the city. Even with the bad weather, thousands of bulk landers and cargo transports made their way to and from the landing fields. It was to be expected, he thought. There was a sector-wide war encompassing Ultramar now.

He sighed. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of the war. He had taken a few hours to himself while his commanders looked over his orders. Depriving himself of both his armor and his bodyglove and adorning himself in his ceremonial robes, he had secluded himself onto the hillside promontory to calm his tired mind. He let out a breath and forced the thoughts of war and empire out of his mind as he looked on into the rain.

A thought glided through his mind. But it was not his own. He frowned for a moment before he realised who it belonged to.

The guest has arrived at the Landing Fields, my Primarch

He smiled as he recognized the soothing presence of Varro Tigirus. The talented psyker made it a point to deliver his mental messages smoothly as possible with minimal discomfort to him. He appreciated the gesture.

Tell her to join me at the terrace he thought back. He had mastered the ability to respond to a psyker’s mental inquiries from Ptolemy when he had first joined his legion.

Is that wise, Lord? the voice in his head sounded again. She is at least above Gamma level in psychic potential. Perhaps I should-

Send her in, Varro he thought back. Then with a softer manner of thought I can take care of myself, my friend.

Yes, my Primarch was the reply before the mental connection was severed.

The guest wore a hood that bore traces of the torrent outside. It did not disguise the fact that the wearer was feminine. Even if it had not been announced to him he would have figured out anyway. Her gait was smooth and confident, with a mild sway of her hips that waved the cloth dramatically. She stopped a few paces of the Primarch before bowing her head in acknowledgment.

“Karimah Mehta, my Lord.” she introduced herself. “High Sorceress of Sortiarius.”

Roboute Guilliman stiffened and his hand twitched towards a sword that was not there. He forced himself to relax and slowly looked at her with a level stare as he took in her title and origin. Few would be so bold as to declare that they wield psyker powers and hail from a planet labelled as traitorous to the Imperium.

Had Inquisitor Greyfax or Saint Celestine were here they would have labelled her a heretic and drawn their weapons.

He knew a threat when he saw one.

He also knew a smart person who would know when they would be severely outmatched if they did become threatening.

His current guest seemed to be of the latter.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice sharp and almost as cold as the air around them. He realized his muscles had involuntarily tensed. Noting an expression of slight amusement from the woman, his lip curled and he gestured towards a marble bench.

She lowered the hood, revealing herself to him.

The woman was rather stunning to look at. Her cascade of lustrous, ebony hair extended to her waist. She was olive skinned, with radiant amber eyes and a full-lipped smile. She was the kind who would turn heads when she walked by.

“I repeat my question, mamzel” he said, his piercing blue eyes focusing on hers. “There are very few individuals alive to whom I’ve done that”

“Is that how you welcome a guest, Lord Guilliman?” she raised a brow. “As you can see I bear no weapons on my person.” she took off her hood and threw it aside, revealing a simple, red, form fitting tunic. She had a necklace, a thick gold belt and matching bracelets. “I’m simply here for a tourist attraction.”

“You seem rather cavalier about meeting a demigod” he replied, fixing her with a stern stare. He was putting up a front of course. He had no delusions of grandeur about himself. He processed her words in his head. Cryptic. Like most sorcerers, he decided.

“Is that how you see yourself?” she laughed, a risky maneuver on her part.

“It is how all who I have met do” he said, a bit put off by her informal manner. His meetings with mortals usually ended with them being fixed with awe by his very presence. The nobles usually get over their awe due to their arrogance and sense of entitlement but even they pale in silence the moment he offered a word in rebuttal. This one...this one was different.

“Primarchs are a matter of legend ten millennia ago.” she said as she stood up to walk around him, eyeing him as she did. Another risky endeavor she thought, but she did not venture this far to play it safe.“Substances of lore. The kind that children listen in awe to. I listened to those when I was a child in Sortiarius.” she paused and stood before him, her eyes sweeping his features. “I can see where they had things correct and where they have been exaggerated. She shrugged. “You are quite impressive Lord Guilliman.”

“As you can see” he said, raising his arms “I am quite real”. A tight smile appeared across his lips but it did not reach his eyes. “You come from the planet of sorcerers. A planet that was born into this galaxy from the blood sacrifice of the Fenris system. The world under the sway of my crazed brother Magnus…”. He took a step towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. “And yet you come to the most heavily defended Imperial planet in this entire segmentum to offer me pleasantries? Mamzel...you are either very dangerous or very foolhardy ”

“I could offer you the contrary, sir.” a corner of her mouth lifted. “I did not receive my title by being complacent in my abilities. Would you like to see what is faster...your hands or my mind?”

“A challenge now?” he was towering over now, her head reaching up to his lower chest. “You are playing a very dangerous game” he said, his voice almost threateningly low now. He was aware of her powers but not afraid. He was confident in his own latent psychic defenses that had never failed before, even when fighting the Crimson King. Not to mention that any psychic flare up would be detected by his entire librarius.

“Dangerous?” she raised a brow. “If there is anyone here playing a dangerous game my Lord, it would be the one welcoming an absolute stranger into their most vulnerable environment. I could be completely lying of my nature, my identity, my loyalties and my intentions.” she looked up at the Primarch and smiled. “You can always threaten me with execution….whether by your hand or those who protect you. But see….my loss is of no consequence to the grand scheme of things. Sortiarius will go on without me. But you..” she pointed at index finger at where one of his hearts would be, but stopping a few millimeters of his chest. “You’re but a hair of going back into a coma or perhaps a more permanent end should I touch just the right spot...and send an entire Imperium reeling from the loss of their greatest Champion.” She moved her finger away from his chest and put both hands on her hips. “I’m just here to see a living legend, really. Is that so wrong?”

Normally the Primarch would have let the visitor get in line with every other diplomat who had wished to meet him. But when his monitors detected the cloaked ship and sensing the unnatural amount of psyker activity surrounding it, he opted not to take chances.

He was not going to allow a band of powerful mindbenders run amok around Macragge because he did not take them seriously enough.

He decided he would let his guard down again. If he could take foolhardy risks for the sake of killing enemy commanders, why couldn’t he do the same for someone who came offering an olive branch of peace? Letting out a small laugh, he eased his muscles. “Perhaps that is a matter for another time” he said, feeling his mood improve. He had spent the last century in war and now someone had come to him to simply talk he did not feel like igniting more conflict. “You have answered my questions so, far. I suppose I should return the favor. Speak your mind” he said.

She tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “I have encountered tales of the Heresy in my studies. To receive facts instead of fiction would be a most welcome learning experience.” Her facial expression turned from a minor threat to a friendlier smile. “Would you care to enlighten me on that subject?” she moved to sit down on a bench by the balcony. “I am both scholar and sorceress, you know. My thirst for learning is equivalent to that of mastering the arcane”

“You came all this way to a sector in the middle of a war to satisfy your curiosity?” Guilliman said, unable to keep an amused smile from his face.

“If it entails meeting an actual, living, walking, demigod, my Lord, wouldn’t you think it be worth the journey?” she smiled as she raised a brow. “Besides, I’m a risk taker, and some risks have greater rewards. Don’t you agree?”

“So now you consider me a demigod.” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “And what rewards did you have in mind?” he asked as he started into the thunderstorm intensifying in the distance. “You expect me to grant you authority to match your power?”

“Knowledge is my greatest reward, Lord Guilliman. First hand knowledge from one who actually went through a turbulent period of the Imperium.” she answered as she crossed one shapely leg over the other. “As for being a demiGod, those are your words. Not mine. So far I have not have any proof that you are...other than your conquests in battle. Thrones know how much of that is fact or fiction.”

Guilliman gave her an inquisitive look. “You are either putting on a very humble act or you are the least ambitious person I have met today” he said, thinking back on the nobles and how they did their best to cling to power. “And I assume you have heard of my conquests outside of battle?” he asked her.

“Your glowing achievement of the five hundred worlds...yes of course.” she rested her chin on her hand, tilting her head his way. “How you designed Macragge brick by brick. Every nook and cranny of this world. How efficiently you’ve run your micro-empire. Yes I have my Lord. I do my research like the diligent student I am. I suppose that could be considered Demi-Godlike.”

“You don’t seem too impressed” he said, curling his lip slightly. But a bittersweet memory lifted his mood. “You sound like my brother” he said. Always so focused on the material world, Roboute. Not an inkling of interest on what lies beyond the realm of flesh and steel.

“I am from Sortiarius.” she stated. “The material world is irrelevant. But knowledge...knowledge is immeasurable and infinite.” she sat up straight. “Now...are you going to entertain me like a proper guest? I have never set foot on Macragge until this point and I would like a taste of your...hospitality?”

He made his way over to one of the low hanging trees whose branches touched the roof of the balcony. Reaching up, he plucked a piece of yellow fruit and offered it to her. “Macragge’s freshest” he said with a small grin “Try it. The trees grown here were rumored to have been planted by the first colonists on after the Long Night. It is known in ancient tongue as mangu fruit.”

She took it from him with a mental swipe, making it land swiftly on her hand. With a flick of her thumb the peel came right off. Karimah tried the fruit as she sat there and watched the Primarch as he leaned by the balcony. “You are not what I expected at all, Roboute Guilliman...not at all.”

‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he found himself smiling genuinely.

“For now it is just a thing.” she laughed as she finished the fruit.

“I wish I could say the same of you but I was not sure what to expect..”

“Is that a thought that bothers you?”

“If I was not capable of defending myself against a sorceress, perhaps it would.”

She laughed at his insinuation as he took a seat beside her. “You do not see me as a threat?”

“I do…” he confessed. “I see all things as a threat. It’s all a matter of whether I can handle it or not.”

“Do you think you can handle me?”

“That remains to be seen, does it not?”

A loud thunderclap overhead silenced them as the torrential downpour increased. They watched as it came down in cascades.

“Now…” Roboute spoke first, which tale of the Heresy would you like to hear?”

“All of it.”

“It may take use all day and night.”

“I’m sure you could put up with my company for that long. I promise not to bore you..”

“That I can see.”

He spoke. She listened.

She asked. He answered.

At some point they even heatedly debated.

But there was not a dull moment to their exchange.

For several hours they were uninterrupted.

Roboute Guilliman, for a short period over the last several decades, had let his guard down, somewhat.

“Nuceria was not the only time I let my leash slip” murmured Guilliman, his glacial blue eyes looking into the darkening sky. The gloom was now being replaced by a darkness as the sun set. The torrent of rain, however, was unceasing. “But it was the most memorable. I should have been in orbit with my men...what hope did I have against the best part of two legions led by their primarchs with less than forty-thousand men? None. But I did not care. I led my outnumbered men to the surface where they fought and bled while I satisfied my little vendetta against Lorgar. I remember every detail. The sound of his bones breaking with the strike of my fist, his groans as by stormbolter fed its rounds into his breastplate, the crack of my skull against his...Throne it felt good” He unclenched his fingers as he realised he had involuntarily curled them into his fists.

She took another pastry from the plate one of his servitors brought in, eating it delicately and wiping the crumbs off her lip. “You like fighting, my Lord? And what I mean by that is...do you enjoy the rush of battle? You speak about it with such passion.”

“Against the traitors? Yes, it does give me satisfaction to see them suffer for the folly of their ways”. He was silent for a long moment as he considered the wider scope of her question. “Anything I can analyse, study and refine for the good of humanity receives my passion. Let us leave it at that.”

“Such a righteous man you are, my Lord. I am genuinely in awe.” she commented. “But what are you to do should the battles come to an end? Granted war is a constant in this universe of ours...have you other interests? ”

He raised his hands and gestured at the city below them. “Is it not obvious?” he asked. “While certain accounts are exaggerated, I do not boast when I say that my passion was what drove me to create the 500 worlds”

“It is quite an outstanding achievement if I do say so myself…” she murmured as she glanced at him. “Perhaps you are indeed a demi-God. Perhaps my voyage here is not in disappointment.”

“No? Then perhaps you should show me your interests as well?” he asked, turning around to fix her with an inquisitive look.

“Learning and the Arcane Arts are my passion, Lord Guilliman.” she said as she vanished into thin air, reappearing right next to him within the blink of an eye. “I did not earn the title of Sorceress by bribing the magistrate. Illusions are my specialty. I perform divination, biomancy, and to a certain extent I read minds.” she touched his chest with her index finger. “Shall I tell you know what is currently going through your pretty little head?”

Guilliman’s reaction was instantaneous. Adrenaline was already pumping through his veins the moment she vanished. When she re-appeared, his mind had yet to catch up with his instincts and he grabbed her smaller form, intending to smash her into the side of one of the balcony’s marble pillars. At the last moment, he realised what he was doing and managed to stop himself. She was pressed against the pillar but he had slowed his body down and she only felt a slight pressure from his grip. I know I am paranoid he thought. Just didn’t know how much. “That...was a foolish move, sorceress” he said, his voice dangerously low.

The color left her face for a few seconds as she realized what he had nearly done. She put her hand over his that was currently holding her neck. “You do not trust me…” she said once she had gotten over the initial shock. “You wonder, who is she and what does she truly want from me? I doubt she came here out of morbid curiosity. She has to have some ulterior motive...which is unfortunate because she’s actually rather attractive.” she smirked as she met his gaze. “Is that an accurate enough reading,my Lord? I can do more, if you wish.”

“My life’s experiences have only ever increased my faith in my fellow human being” he said, his tone obviously sardonic. He frowned inwardly. His latent psychic powers should have prevented this. Then again, he had never tested them against a Gamma level mind before. He relaxed his grip on her neck, his thumb moving up and tilting her jawline up. This has two way connection then he thought as he looked into her eyes. Most impressive, sorceress. He mentally repeated the enumerations his librarians had taught him, making the psychic connection between them stronger.

“Am I to take it that you can read my thoughts as well?” she met his deep, blue gaze with her own amber ones. The way the light cast upon them made it look her eyes were on fire. “Tell me, Roboute Guilliman….” she traced the shape of the fingers that were still on her person. “Tell me what I think of this little scenario you put us in….what I think of the demi-God who holds the very thread of my life in his strong hands.”

He needn’t be a high level psyker to discern her thoughts. Her body language, the tilt of the corner of her mouth, the hint of mischief in her eyes.

The sorceress was a sly one, he’ll give her that.

“Inelegant thoughts” he said, and the faintest ghost of a smile was visible on his lips. His face was close to her now. Too close. His warm breath snaked its way down her neck and shoulders with every word he took and the cold air around them only amplified the sensation. Very, inelegant thoughts .

The sorceress pried his fingers off one by one from her neck by sheer mental force. The Primarch did not resist when she telepathically moved it down to the smooth skin of her exposed shoulder. “You did not resist.” she murmured. “I take that as a good sign that you may actually approve of my inelegant thoughts...as you clearly feel the same way.”

His hand continued the motion unaided, moving down across shoulder and sliding the strap of her dress over the edge so that it hung loosely by her side. “I have been forced to feign elegance amongst mortals for far too long” he said, the smile becoming more obvious now. Flashes of lightning illuminated his face and she found an expression of daring.

Her skin felt warm where he touched her, and that heat started to slowly spread. She guided his hand and took it to the opposite shoulder to pull the other strap down. Before it completely lowered she paused, a wicked grin on her full lips. “I can see desire in your eyes my Lord.” she licked her lower lip before she spoke again. “Do you suppose I will reciprocate should you dare make a move on me?”

“I’ve taken gamble after gamble in the battlefield, sorceress” he said, matching her smile “This is one of my more educated ones”. He thought of ravishing her there and then but he waited for her response.

“I am not your enemy.” she dared place a hand on his robe, pulling him closer to her as she spoke against his mouth. Her lips were but a breadth from his own. “Now kiss me before I change my mind.”

“That is a welcome change. ” he said as he kissed her, his tongue easily parting her lips to enter her mouth as he pressed her body against the pillar. He realised that most mortals who had been this close to him during the last century were crazed packs of cultists who attempted to drown him in waves of their own bodies. One hand tugged on the edges of her dress while the other went down to her hip.

She welcomed the Primarch’s invasion of her mouth. He knew how to kiss well, she noted as she pulled at his clothing. Tender, soft, but with the same kind of conviction he exhibited as he spoke about his love of his worlds. She slid her hands into his robe. His skin was warm, his muscles very responsive to her touch. She pulled his robe open and pressed her body against his, molding her curves upon his angles. It was quite a perfect fit. The storm had chosen at that time to regain its strength when it started pounding rain again, the lightning increasing its flashes across the skies. The rumble of thunder shaking the very balcony they stood on.

Her dress slid down, revealing her naked chest to him. The sorceress had more than an ample bosom. Shapely and well proportioned and a visual treat, he allowed one hand free roam, filling it with her supple softness. He felt her groan against his mouth when he touched her. “A passionate woman I see...in more than your studies. ” he said as he broke the kiss and went to work on her neck and shoulders. As he bit down on her soft flesh, his thumb had caressed her exposed nipple, stimulating it to pebble hardness. His other hand went underneath the hem of her dress and raised it above her thigh, exposing the entirety of her leg to the cold night air.

“Have you ever laid with a psyker, my Lord?” she spoke in between gasps of pleasure. She applied her fingers to the curve of his back where it met the lower half of his body, putting gentle pressure and stimulating the nerves that distributed to his pelvic area. The Primarch flinched as she amplified the intense sensations he was already experiencing.

She worked to get his robe off as he tore through her multilayered clothing, allowing them to be skin against skin. The cold air did nothing to dispel the heat between them. She ran her hands all over his muscled arms and back, venturing lower to squeeze his buttocks. She murmured her approval as his exploring mouth teased the nerves of wherever it grazed.

He clenched his teeth as the sensation of pleasure was intensified. He had never taken any kind of stimulants save for those injected by his armor during combat so had no reference for this, but it was definitely the greatest high he had experienced in his life. He hungrily devoured her neck and collarbone, visible red marks left wherever he bit. He grabbed her exposed leg by the thigh and raised it, simultaneously lifting her up against the pillar so that they were level without him having to lean down. “That...was certainly something new” he said, feeling the excess of dopamine she had released within him

She ran her fingers through his hair, arching her body towards him, as though she could not get close enough. She wrapped her legs around his waist. “There’s a first time for everything.” she whimpered as his lips got closer to her chest. When he took her breast in his mouth she cried out in delight. He suckled at her hungrily, biting gently, savoring one before switching to the other. His hands cupped her buttocks as he held her tightly. He could feel the heat from between her legs and it took the utmost restraint from him to plunder her then and there.

His hand slid behind, palm spread across the naked arch of her back and pressing her into him as he looked up and held her gaze. “This may not be part of what you have come here for...however….” he said as his other hand had lifted her dress above her waist from the side, the lower part of his robes mostly gone as well.

She pulled away slightly. Her gaze swept the now naked Primarch, the admiration evident in her eyes. “You remind me of the magnificent sculptures in your court, my Lord.” The sorceress reached down to touch his erection, barely being able to encircle it with her warm hand. A mischievous grin decorated her face as she gripped it firmly, rubbing it against the moisture between her legs. “Remind me again why you deserve my unabashed admiration.” The throbbing heat in the pits of her stomach were becoming intolerable.

“I see you have not completely dissociated yourself from the matters of this world” he said with a wolfish grin before he entered her with a grunt, his hips thrusting forward as he pressed her into him.

She jerked when he plunged into her. She gasped as she accommodated to his turgid shaft. He buried it deep into her wet, warm sheath. Her fingernails buried on the muscles of his arms as the line between pleasure and pain was crossed. She found herself biting on his shoulder. “Thrones...haaahh…”

He pulled all way out before entering her again, his hips moved, attempting to find a rhythm with hers. His hand cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it as his other hand went down and clamped down on her buttocks. He decided he would find out just how well the sorceress could take him. He went to work on her neck again, this time making his bites harder, more painful now that the pleasure was added to the mix. “Now, show me how you handle a Primarch, sorceress” he between mouthfuls of her dark flesh, his voice authoritative but with an edge of tease in it, ensuring that she knew he was challenging her.

She met him with a forward movement of her hips, as she tightened her hold on his member. Every thrust jolted her with exquisite sensations that started from her lower abdomen through the rest of her body. She applied more stimulation to his flesh with her hands, wracking his nervous system with intensity from their lascivious act. She held onto him tighter, dragging her nails across his back and leaving marks.

He gritted his teeth as another rush of sensations surged through his body. Every hair on his skin stood on end and he felt his skin flush with excitement. They had found a rhythm now and she was moving her hips back and forth as she put all her energy into keeping up with him. He met her eyes and entered into a deep kiss again, his tongue wrestling with hers and coming off slightly better in the exchange as her human physiology struggled to keep up with a primarch. Not bad he thought in his head, though the thought was addressed to her as his hand grabbed onto a fistful of her hair from behind and yanked it hard, pulling her head back so he could bite down on her neck once more.

Is that so? She telepathically messaged him.She bit her lip as he nibbled on her neck. She clung to him as the threat of a climax built in her belly. It came on torturously slow and the sorceress decided she was going to let the Primarch feel her orgasm. She applied both hands to his scalp, triggering the nerves that responded to the ultimate pleasure as she screamed against the backdrop of the stormy weather. She exploded unto him, her sexual high making every inch of her body tingle. She quivered as its intensity rocked her to her core.

He allowed her to finish, letting out a breath as she pressed into him. He felt her muscles relax and her hands drop to her sides as he withdrew and slid out of her, letting her down gently so she was half-collapsed against the pillar, her knees the only thing keeping her propped up. He gave her an approving smile though it was tinted with a layer of triumph. “Not quite enough to match a Primarch” he said. “But you are the first mortal to come close”. He felt that last sentence would only frustrate her even more. As he intended.

Her eyes were still rather glazed over from reaching her peak. Her breathing was labored, her chest rising and falling with each intake of air. Are you challenging me? She communicated to him mentally. Once her breaths slowed down she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to come closer. The Primarch approached, his shaft still rigid and glistening from being inside her. When he got within arm’s reach she took hold of his hips and guided him into her mouth.

Guilliman tensed when he felt her lips close around his manhood. The sorceress pressed her warm tongue against the shaft as it entered her mouth. Her hand wrapped around his throbbing member, gasping firmly as she drew him in and out of her throat. He grabbed handfuls of her hair, pushing into her as far as it would go before withdrawing. Her fingers had made their way to his buttocks, sinking into the muscles for leverage and control.

“You certainly know how to surprise a man” he said, smiling as the feel of her tongue sent electric pleasure coursing through his veins. He clenched his fists, clutching her hair tightly and lightly moving his hips back and forth, firmly holding her head in place. Now this was new he thought.

Her gaze met his, a smile evident in her eyes. I guess whoever you have been consorting with has not done a good job, m’Lord. She clamped her mouth tighter around him, the roughness of her tongue adding friction. Her psyker abilities triggered more sensations from him. He pulled her hair tighter as he grunted with delight.

“Most women I have been would blanch at such blasphemous actions” he said with a grin as more waves of excitement within him. His grip on her hair became tighter and he was thrusting almost as hard as he had been before. The women he had slept with before were usually highborn nobles or planetary governors. They would have considered such...unconventional behavior a stain on their bloated sense of honor.

She gripped him tight, her hand now sliding along with her lips. The sorceress pulled a trick with her tongue, sending currents through his shaft and eliciting a guttural sound from the Primarch’s lips. He tensed as he felt the sensation bubbling inside him.

He came rather vigorously, spilling himself in her mouth. He pulled her head back by her hair and his seed painted the lower half of her face and her exposed breasts. He gasped as his hands let go of her, releasing himself from her mouth. You are certainly no governess he communicated to her mentally. Although the phrase itself seemed like an insult, his thoughts only showed that he was impressed with her.

Her tongue stuck out to lick whatever was around her lips. Oh but we aren’t done yet, my Lord. You don’t suppose I would go down that easy? Her fingers took what spilt on her breasts and licked them all off. She sat back, leaned against the pillar and parted her legs. I need a little attention here you see. That is...if you aren’t spent yet.

He let out a throaty laugh. “At least I know you are no pretentious noble now” he said and placed his arm underneath her thigh, effortlessly lifting her up against the pillar. He held her up so his face was level with her sex. He noted that her crimson dress was still on her, except that it was folded up in an undignified manner around her stomach. He sank into her, his tongue entering her energetically, intent on returning the favor as his free hand hand moved up to caress her breast.

“Haaaah…” she cried out as his tongue made contact with her still throbbing folds. He delved deep, thoroughly sweeping her orifice. His lips pressed against her lower ones, enabling a gentle suction. She thrashed as she held his head between her legs. He tasted her, savored her, her feminine fluids seeping on his tongue and lips.

He slid his other hand down, now holding her thighs still with both hands. He moved his tongue quicker, exploring deeper while his teeth now made contact with her flesh. He was careful not to hurt her however, but he did make sure she felt it. The rain intensified around them, drops of rainwater now partially hitting their exposed skin.

She held onto him tightly, her claws digging in the flesh of his shoulders. Her lower abdomen tightened with every stroke of his tongue. The crescendo started once more , building up as she tensed against the cold and the pelting of the rain. The warmth in her belly rapidly spread, culminating into an explosion that rendered her crying out and gasping for air as the tide of pleasure spread through her body.

He smiled and released her, causing her to fall for a moment before he caught and steadied her against the marble. A rather racy idea entered his mind. If we are to cast aside all aspersions of nobility here then it is better to make the best of it he thought to her. As a confused expression crossed her face, he turned her around, stepping aside from the pillar and gently pushing her forward. She caught the lip of the marble railing of the balcony and looked out into the evening sky. The rain had subsided now and she could see patches of light from the sunset peek through the clouds.

The Primarch was hard again, as she felt him rub against her naked buttocks. I guess your physique is not the only one that’s demi-Godlike. She took a sharp breath when she felt him touch her where she was still sensitive from her recent climax. The tip of his shaft teased her as he leaned over, his breath warm against her ear.

One of his large hands closed around a fistful of her hair while his other one held her securely by her hip as he slip into her, her walls resisting him the whole time with their tightness even as he thrust into her. He pulled her hair back at the same time. Flecks of rain splayed across her face as the rain started up again.

She spoke his name out as she seemed to be in a trancelike state. His warm body pressed against hers, negating the cold splash of rain on their person. She parted her legs slightly, deciding she felt empty and needed to be filled again. She bit her lip as his slow entry sent intense currents throughout her body. He plowed into her when he felt her give, holding her hip steady as he rammed into her. She felt him breathing hard against her ear, panting with every strong thrust. “Did you cast a spell on me, witch?” he grunted. He felt her laugh against his playful accusation.

“You are not the first to tell me that, Primarch Guilliman.”

He was not going to lie to himself. The sorceress had him addicted. Whether it was to the soft, suppleness of her warm body, the lure of those eyes that teased him, the fire in her voice that enticed him. He was hooked. By the thrones he was hooked.

He smiled to himself. Fulgrim had told him he would never take satisfaction with himself anymore. His errant brother was clearly mistaken. He pulled back from her ear, straightening and taking in the lovely view of her half naked back that glistened with sweat. He lifted his hand on her hip slightly and brought it back down on her ample flesh, a distinctive smack sounding across the balcony as he thrusted to and fro, his tempo only increasing in response to her heavy moans.

She put her hands on his, transferring to him whatever pleasure she experienced, cranking up the high he was already on. The Primarch’s fingers sank on the flesh of her thighs and she could tell her ministrations were working well. He plunged into her so hard her feet almost left the ground with every push. She felt him move his palms over her naked breasts, squeezing firmly to cross the line between pleasure and pain. A storm brewed in the pits of his abdomen. She was going to climax again if he didn’t slow down.

One hand stayed cupped to her breast, squeezing it hard while another slid to her back, arching her body and forcing her to grab onto the marble with her arms against. The pleasure was incredible and he savoured every moment of it as he plunged into her again and again, the speed of the thrusts ever increasing. The free hand then grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked it back roughly as he began to climax inside her. I imagine your expectations are exceeded he communicated with her mentally as he felt her finish at the same time as he did, grunting as her walls clamped down on him as she underwent total release.

The sorceress let out a final guttural cry when she did. It felt as though fireworks detonated within her as a powerful orgasm swept her. She held onto the railing for support as her legs threatened to give way, her knuckles turning white as she savored release. Time seemed to slow down as she fell limp into the Primarch’s arms.

He placed his large hand on her stomach and deftly caught her before she fit the marble floor. Straightening and setting her down on the cushioned bench she had been sitting on earlier, he began collecting his robes that had been scattered across the floor. Her dress was completely folded up on her upper waist. He gave her a satisfied look. “I suppose you know what a primarch is capable of now” he said.

She gathered herself, putting everything back in its place with a swipe of her hand. Even her tousled hair untangled itself. “Is that a good thing, my Lord?” a corner of her mouth lifted. “Are you not least bit worried I will try to test you again...well...not now but in the not so distant future?”

“Well, I am more than happy to accept such...tests” he said, returning the smirk as he gazed up into the sky. The rain had cleared completely and he could now see the lights of the landing ships illuminating the night sky. “I suppose you are to return to the Planet of the Sorcerers the same time I leave for my campaign then?”

Most likely, my Lord.” she took a deep breath. “There is much to learn here in Macragge however. As you know, knowledge to me is the greatest enticement.” her gaze swept his now dressed form. “Among other things.” she picked up her cloak and put it back on. “Until such time...I believe you would know how to get in touch with me if you so please.”

He gave a look that danced between wariness and amusement. “The Library of Ptolemy is still off limits” he said “I very much recommend you stay away from that building. Even a psyker with power such as yourself would find herself beset by the many defenses it has; both physical and ethereal.” He wondered for a moment if she really would go for it despite his warnings. It would be interesting to see her try that was sure enough.

“Perhaps I will.” she smiled as she tugged at the neckline of his robe to pull him down, kissing him deeply, briefly before releasing him. “I could use another….challenge.”

He let out a laugh. “Then, until next time, sorceress Karimah” he said as she began to walk away.

The woman vanished as soon as she arrived. She reappeared at the landing of her ship. She was greeted by a convoy of men, her personal entourage of guards from the planet of the Sorcerers. Psykers all of them and they spoke to her with their minds.

“Are we leaving, m’Lady?” the head of her guards asked.

“Not yet, Rahul.” she replied. “I have gathered what we need, but I have one more hurdle to cross. The Library of Ptolemy.”

A conniving smile appeared on the captain’s lips. “Did the Primarch live up to his hype?”

She laughed at his inquiry. “You can try prying my mind for that one, Captain. I doubt you will find an answer.”

Also this is not Magnus' Karimah. That lovely lass is his, and his alone. This Karimah is written differently, exists in a different timeline, and has a different last name. Just so we're clear.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer smut #roboute guilliman

31 notes · View notes

lumiose-fletchling · 4 years

Text

Alright, so, my response to swsh post-story, now trying to complete the dex:

First things first: I had fun. I really did. A lot of the characters are staying with me, either as children I need to protect, or crushes, or people I just genuinely enjoy. I feel like Pokémon is easing into a nice rhythm of establishing other characters in your journey who achieve their dreams alongside you, pulling away from the idea that you’re so super special that everyone falls to incompetence in comparison. The Gym culture feels like a large-scale adventure with the world watching, and now more than ever: being a gym leader is about choosing your aesthetic and dying on that hill. Designs were so good. And what has me loving them even more is the idea that the challenge involves everyone, all ages, and can open up the world for people at any point.

Galar was still very linear, with a plot that was... not pushed to any kind of real immediacy until national monuments are getting crushed and Leon’s having his straight-up confrontation with Rose. “Don’t worry! Let the adults handle it!” does nothing to make us care about the mysteries afoot. It even gives us the option to not care! One of the most frustrating moments was to learn that a pokémon Dynamaxed, we watch Leon chase after it, we don’t SEE it, and then bam! In a heartbeat it’s taken care of. There’s not even an aftermath to witness except a photo on a phone that I couldn’t justify because in real time, this literally just happened. I, in all seriousness, just ran through this tunnel, dude, and things should not have happened that quickly. Things are happening to other people, but not to us.

Wouldn’t it have been great if Dynamaxed pokémon were all over the Wild Area, and we honestly had to skirt around them in genuine fear? Wouldn’t it have been cool to see, I dunno, things actually get ruined because of this phenomenon? Make it scary! Make it a problem!

Things pick up, especially post-game, when we as Champion need to resolve issues at the gyms. That felt like a duty. I loved Hop coming into his own and also getting a legendary. I adored that he and Sonia will work together. I laughed that Piers is like, here’s my league card now never call me again dear Arceus please.

But, Game Freak needs writers. Personally, I think of Paper Mario, and miss that snappy, funny kind of dialogue that might not have a place here, but made itself so quintessentially Paper Mario. Pokémon doesn’t have that. The anime has character! That has charm! They need a bigger team and more resources to manage a good story alongside graphics. Which leads me to say that while I love pokémon, there is no reason why, 20 years into the most financially successful franchise in history, on their most advanced system, the game looks like this.

There are flashes of brilliance in certain character animations. But, overall, characters are still moving stiffly, especially with how NPCs pivot and run in cut scenes. Rose has fantastic, subtle expressions and was so, so well designed, but we didn’t get that with others so much. Oleana was fun to see transform a bit. And, our character’s face is conveniently hidden in a lot of moments, but does have expressions this time around. But oh, how obvious it is that Hop borrows from Hau, and how obvious it is that not everything was treated with care.

It’s a strange mix of really beautiful scenery, but closer looks revealing poor textures and basic construction of objects. Some character models look fantastic, but still move pretty blandly. When people are wondering where animations were improved and where graphics were enhanced... that ain’t good! It should be immediately evident, no guesswork.

Now, I don’t know exactly how Game Freak runs. A lot of people running their mouths in this conversation don’t. So much was hearsay, and I am not here to talk about friggin’ trees. But Pokémon, and Nintendo at large, are far too wealthy to let their big-ticket franchise break into the Switch without an astounding bang. Someone sacrificed innovation and ambition for a release date. Someone took what could have been an entrance like Breath of the Wild and Luigi’s Mansion 3 and squandered it for the sake of a schedule and possibly mitigating costs. Is it Game Freak refusing to expand? Who knows. I certainly don’t know.

But, oh, look at Luigi’s Mansion 3! Look at that cinematic quality that only built off of what Odyssey gave us! It’s games like this that make it uncomfortably clear what is possible, and now, expected, from the Switch... and what Pokémon did not achieve with their current operations. (Duly noted that all these other games are produced by different teams, but Nintendo rules over all and has quality to maintain. That’s what I’m arguing for.)

Now, what I will say about the whole Dexit thing: I don’t care. Controversial opinion of the day! I don’t care that not all the pokémon are there! I don’t know that they would have added anything to the experience, and I’m glad that I don’t have to look at pokémon that have been featured in almost every gen. It is also entirely possible that they couldn’t have put all of them in there anyhow. It is completely within the realm of possibility that Game Freak was right (because, wow, they’re the people making the game) about not being able to fit in 800+ pokémon models and animations. I let that go. My concern is quality over quantity.

Hauling back to the story, there’s a lot that was told and not shown. Bede, for example, was dropped pretty quickly without more explanation. He was basically a ward of Rose, but, Rose doesn’t seem to care? We don’t see interactions between them? Being spirited off by Opal was genuinely funny, and such a great twist for him, but... what about everything before that? No reckoning with Oleana? No confrontation with Rose where he says Hey, you used me! Nothing?

I can keep going back and forth between what I loved and what concerns me. I love Sonia! I love Marnie! I love Hop, and Piers, and Raihan, and the moms. I adore so many of the new pokémon. Camp is so pure, and I love throwing that ball, and jingling the stick with the sneaking suspicion that my team could kill me with one swing. There is so much good here. Have you ever seen Appletun run towards you with happiness? A+ pupper. What a pie.

So let me say once again that I have had FUN. I’ve absolutely loved seeing the jokes, fan art, compilations, everything coming from this. It’s so full of joy, and I am back to fangirling over (adult) fictional characters. But, I’m genuinely concerned with where this is going. I don’t know that I’d buy the next game unless there was sweeping change, like, blow-your-socks-clean-off change from production on up, because there is no way that the franchise can continue successfully without it.

#pokemon swsh #swsh spoilers

0 notes

theconservativebrief · 6 years

Link

Is a “blue wave” really coming to sweep Republicans out of office?

For a while, it seemed Democrats were poised for a historic election that would bring them back into power in one or both chambers of Congress.

At one point last December, a CNN/SSRS poll gave Democrats a whopping 18-point advantage in the generic ballot. (Polls like this ask voters if they are likely to pick a Democrat or Republican for Congress.) As the Times pointed out, a 13-point advantage would be comparable to or larger than the one Democrats had when they retook the House and Senate in 2006.

Other factors seemed to suggest that things were moving in Democrats’ favor. A record number of House Republicans — including Speaker Paul Ryan — have announced their decisions to retire in lieu of facing battles for reelection.

But with midterm primaries underway, some of that early momentum appears to be flagging. In light of booming economic growth, Republicans are starting to make some inroads of their own, including narrowing voter margins on the generic ballot and a steady rise in President Donald Trump’s approval ratings. The electoral math on a number of crucial districts is also beginning to look tougher for vulnerable Democrats, with relatively safe states like Florida and Ohio emerging as possible battlegrounds.

“The blue wave may not be crashing, but it’s seeming inevitable ascendancy has certainly flattened out,” says Tim Malloy, an assistant director of the Quinnipiac University Poll. “Our surveys show the president’s numbers rising, gradually building on a surging economy.”

I talked to 11 experts to get their take on the likelihood of a blue wave actually coming to fruition. Here’s what I learned.

Patrick Murray, director of the Monmouth University Polling Institute, says that the influx of recent data has, indeed, tempered the Democratic lead in the generic ballot. He emphasized, however, that a lot more information was likely to continue affecting the polls in the months to come until Election Day.

“Let’s pour a little water on the hot takes,” he said. “The generic House ballot seems to have improved for the Republicans … although this average is driven largely by a few polls that have been bouncing around a lot.”

Murray says that this variability is what makes it tough to make any sort of definitive call at this point in the race. “In reality, the generic ballot has been pretty stable since March but is significantly worse for Democrats than where it was at the start of the year,” he said. “The Democrats are not in the same enviable position they were five months ago, but that doesn’t mean we have any idea what the next five months will bring.”

Jay Leve, the president of SurveyUSA, noted that it was important to take such polling measures day by day. “It’s ebb tide for the Democrats right now. That may change any moment, but if [there’s] a general election today, there is no blue wave,” he said when asked earlier this week.

MIT political science professor Charles Stewart, who specializes in the study of election data, argues that the odds have always been roughly 50/50 for Democrats to retake the House — and even slimmer for them to flip the Senate. He doesn’t think this has changed much since the 2016 election.

“The case that the wave was never as big as the Democrats hoped is based on two things,” he said. “First, to capture the House, Democrats would have to see the biggest election swing (from presidential election to the next midterm election) in their favor in the entire post-World War II era. And, even then, they would only have a 50/50 chance of taking the House.”

Historically, the pendulum tends to swing back against the president’s party during midterm elections. Democrats, however, hold seats that are harder to defend, especially in the Senate. In both chambers, there’s also the push and pull of factors like negative Trump sentiment bolstering Democrats’ chances, while the strength of the economy bodes well for Republicans.

The presence of these countervailing forces can serve to muddle attempts at predictions, especially when the actions of an individual candidate are yet another unknown thrown into the mix.

“When looking at the fate of the Senate, we’re seeing a collision of two big factors — a historical trend of the president’s party losing seats versus an electoral map that highly favors the Republicans,” says University of Houston political science professor Elizabeth Simas. “In these races, the quality of the candidates and their campaigns are going to be very important. Republican candidate blunders certainly helped both Joe Donnelly (D-IN) and Claire McCaskill (D-MO) in 2012.”

Candidate blunders are among the variables that Vox’s Dylan Scott has previously highlighted when detailing the myriad things that could still change — and shape the election — in the months to come.

“It is entirely possible that events might occur between now and November that could shift the momentum to the Republicans or alternatively, lead to the Democrats taking control of Congress,” says USC law professor Franita Tolson. “Any predictions that are made about the blue wave crashing, based on polling about the economy conducted five months before the elections, are premature.”

“Ultimately, I think trying to make accurate predictions at this point is a little like trying to pick a World Series champion in April,” says Simas.

While it may be way too soon to determine which way the midterms will definitively go, experts say it’s likely fair to say that Democrats will see some pick-ups. What’s unclear is whether this will be a true wave or just a steady drip.

“Democrats are sure to make gains in this year’s midterm elections, but the monstrous wave that appeared to be building in late 2017 now appears to be more modest,” says Barry Burden, a political science professor at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

As Vox’s Matt Yglesias writes, despite the declines in Democrats’ generic ballot numbers, the data, including the results of the California primary, still hints at a likely advantage for the party.

Though it feels like the odds for liberals have gone from overwhelmingly positive to desperate quickly, the reality is a bit duller. As a country we have, in many ways, failed to process some of the key lessons of the 2016 campaign. Modest-sized polling errors are common, events are important to politics and they are inherently unpredictable. But Democrats retain an edge in the polls, and the results from California continue to suggest that Democrats are modest favorites to win a House majority.

MIT’s Stewart also argues that the progress Republicans have made this year couldn’t make up for the lingering and pervasive negative impact of Trump’s unpopular presidency. “Even if Trump’s popularity is easing up and the economy continues to be strong, the damage has already been done,” he says. “The question remains, how bad will the damage be to the Republicans in the House?”

“If there is going to be any kind of wave, it’s going to require a strong turnout from Democratic voters,” says Simas. It’s a lesson Democrats learned in 2016 when voter turnout ended up being a major Achilles heel. At the time, Reuters polling director Julia Clark told Vox, “When fewer people vote, Republicans do better. That’s a modern political fact.”

Emerson’s Spencer Kimball notes that voter registration could be an important indicator to track as a sign of engagement ahead of the election. “Florida, for example, has seen a slight pickup in GOP voters and a slight downtick in Democratic voters,” he says. “This may be an indication of under the radar momentum, similar to voter shifts in Pennsylvania in the 2016 primaries.”

In California, meanwhile, the state saw voter registration numbers for independents surpass those of Republicans for the first time last week.

Much like in the 2016 presidential election, independents will be particularly important to watch, says Harvard Kennedy School’s Pippa Norris, who pointed to a May YouGov/Reuters survey that highlighted a general uncertainty among independents about which party to go with.

“Trump appeals strongly to the base, but he hasn’t reached beyond to independents, the largest category in the electorate. These are also the people most up for grabs — and least likely to vote,” she adds. “So any appeal by either party has to reach the independents, which means the center of the political spectrum, not the conservative or liberal wings.”

“Competing for independent women and married women will be key to the margin of victory,” Democratic pollster Celinda Lake says, adding that she perceives Democratic voters to be “more motivated than Republicans and more consolidated.”

In an interview with Bloomberg, voter “intensity” is also something that Peter Hart, who conducts the Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll, cited as a factor Democrats have going for them: “Two-thirds of Democrats in [Hart’s] survey expressed a strong interest in this year’s election versus 49 percent of Republicans, exactly the intensity advantage Republicans had in 2010, when they won back the House in a landslide.”

Tufts political science professor Eitan Hersh was a bit more wary about the electorate’s broader energy ultimately translating to a desired result for Democrats. “Democrats should indeed worry about complacency,” he said. “On the left, there was a sense in 2016 that Trump was so toxic of a candidate that Clinton’s victory was inevitable. So Democrats voted less and volunteered less than they otherwise would have.”

Original Source -> Is the blue wave crashing? 11 experts on Democrats’ chances in 2018.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

0 notes