Okay, I'm doin' what some other dudes are doin', don't gang up on me.
Queen's Blade; dun own it. I'm not getting paid for what I'm doing here, and you can certainly go fuck yourself if you think I'm really receiving any sort of succor for doing this crudola.
~W~
Keith awakens to green.
Lots and lots of fucking green.
Bitchin'.
After getting stoned outta his damn mind, Keith Cohens had taken a little stab at the crappy magic book his loser cousin sent him for his birthday as a way of getting back at him for allegedly being responsible for blowing up his phat cooler of the purple drank. Fucker had it coming, too.
But Keith mentally digresses.
The hocus pocus. He, whilst totally fucking baked, found all the ingredients for what he'd read as a "Virility Increassement ritual"(verbatim what he read), and enacted the mumbo jumbo in less than five minutes. Keith has forgotten the specifics, except for the garbled, messed-up recollections of when he must have:
swished around a dead rat tied to a spatula
sang Sympathy for the Devil in B double flat
danced with a previously shaven coconut
sprayed Puerto Rican rum in a circle ten feet in diameter from his mouth
beat his pale wang against the miniature gong that he'd gotten for Christmas
did pushups on his knuckles in a gorilla suit
performed "handstands" with his balls – and walked across the room
half-muttered half-screamed the words from the book backwards, forwards, up, down, diagonally, and finally forwards again- and than some more backwards for giggles.
He'd obviously blacked out and wandered off into a nice big park, from the looks of things. Keith lays there, silently pondering his life and all of existence. Which consists of porn, raeg, and trololo, with a dash of hoers.
He lays there, whilst the birds are birding, the bees are beeing, and the monkeys are monkeying. All is somewhat right with the world in this tranquil… relaxing… positively cathartic moment…
At this point in time, one small word enters his mind much like a tossed pebble, its minute presence radiating outwards. And that word is:
Wat.
There are monkeys. Fucking monkeys. Last time he checked, there aren't monkeys in parks.
But, sure enough, Keith hears monkey sounds. There- he just saw a monkey. And another. And another- wait, that was the same monkey. He even smells monkey… if that isn't just his stale mail order deodorant from some warehouse in India.
He turns his head to meet rhesus. Yep, smelling monkey.
The cute, fluffy monkey stares at him right in the goobers. Kawaii desu.
However, Keith decides not to stay spread out on the ground.
"For fuck's sake, I'd better wake up in the next five minutes," he mutters, and then ambles in a random direction through the weird-ass forest, which seems to be rapidly showing itself to be a big ass jungle.
~H~
Keith drags himself onto the sandy path. This. Has ceased. Being funny.
He'd had to miraculously outrun eight different predators, a few of which he really couldn't name anything other than "ugly fucking monkeys" and "ugly fucking lizards". He's never run so hard in his life, and never that consecutively.
First thing he's gonna do when he wakes up- go to the gym he's forgotten the location of and reacquaint himself with the thrice-damned treadmill.
Keith pants less hard as he begins bumbling down the path. He sees someone not far down the road.
He soon gets to the person, who is randomly standing at the side of the road. Keith comes to a stop and straightens up to ask some pressing questions.
Whatever he had to say quickly dies on his lips when he meets the eyes of quite possibly the craziest-looking lady he'd evar seen. Evar.
His brain shuts down and reboots. Keith's cognitive skills slowly come back, and thence verily attempts to catalogue the brain-breakingly weird woman in front of him.
Tall. Very fucking tall.
Tan.
Scantily clad.
And this is where the pseudonormalcy ends.
The chick is wearing none-too-protective metal decorations that can laughingly be called armor in the real world, whilst animu fans would probably think this stuff is the shit and there's nothing wrong with what's going on here.
She's got pointy fucking ears, each standing out a good two or so inches.
The hair on her head is greener than the trees. Even the eyebrows. Right down to the roots.
Her snake belt seems to be deliberated riding right up her secret treasure, doing nothing more than none-too-discreetly covering her love button.
There seems to be a really pointy wiggly sword strapped to her shapely hip that Keith would have passed off as a gay-ass mail order affair if he hadn't noticed that it had dings, scratches, and a look as if it had been legitimately honed.
Keith brings his roving vision to meet the gaze of this weird person.
She smiles sultrily (read: creepily) at him, beckoning him a tad closer with her finger. The recently stoned dude considers his options.
He looks back at the snake belt. It wriggles a bit. The snake head detaches from itself and turns its nose a bit to look at him.
Keith looks right back. The snakes little forked tongue flits out.
Keith looks back at the lady.
Keith turns fast enough to make a pro b-ball playa envious and runs full tilt in the other direction, leaving the snake lady far, far behind.
~W~
Yeah~
Please don't kill me.
Oh, and a short li'l addition, what one might call an omake if they're a hardcore weeaboo.
~*MMYEZ*~
The tan elf looks forlornly after the unnaturally quickly retreating man in the distance.
She sags a bit, openly sad.
Dammit, she thought she was gonna get lucky.
A weak-looking man had been crashing through the forest screaming his head off for about an hour, a man she'd been tracking in her latent boredom. His determination had won her over after the fifth encounter, this time with a wild red screamer, a beast that she'd never thought to tangle with in this lifetime.
The man had stared it in the eye, blinked twice, and kicked it in the nose, and then ran off screaming again. He was a coward, but he was a cute little thing to scare. The noises she imagined him making…
She shuddered feverishly.
When she'd watched him scrabble on his hands and knees, grunting and gasping for air, she'd just about had it.
She'd put herself a ways down his expected path by way of the roadside branches and bushes, and waited with well-contained expectancy.
He'd come to her, as planned. The look in his eyes was unbearable as he met her gaze, the vulnerability within them making her hairs stand on end. Her nipples stood at attention when his gaze wandered over her form. She nearly gushed when his mouth contorted, causing his scrubby little chin beard to twitch in a just so fashion.
And then he'd sped off so abruptly that she'd barely noticed when the dust kicked up.
The elven vixen growls in bitter consternation and leans hard against a nearby tree trunk. She roughly pulls her scaly companion from his place around her hips and casually tosses him over her shoulder.
Her lips part to reveal lightly gritted teeth as she quickly thrusts her pretty hand on her honeypot, massaging furiously.
She moves back and forth frenetically, gasping and groaning loudly.
Her frustrated voice echoes over the treetops.
"I need a man~!"
The dexterous digits do their medicinal work, writhing in and out like clockwork, doing their best to cool her heat. The tan elf recalls the man's beautiful screams. She comes hard.
It's clear that Leina ain't gonna do it no more. Now there's a new quivering piece of meat to hunt…
*MMDONE*
Okay, I hope nobody kills me for this. Or sues me. Or demands I write more lemons like this. I swear it was an accident.
