𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ wemmbu

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ Of everyone on the server, he was known to be one of the most skilled.

Wemmbu was proficient in weaponry, this was a particularly well known fact about him. He’d spent so long being a chungus that he had worked twice as hard as the average nobody in order to just get to half of where he was now.

Training with Manepear had been gruelling in itself too; the lion was pretty hard in training, choosing to prioritise tough love over coddling on the training field. Being thrown straight into fighting Invisible Mafia members had been pretty good training back then too - or rather, it was good forcible training, making him use his natural combat instinct to gauge his skill.

Not that he held Mane in all that much regard nowadays, but Wemmbu was at least slightly mature enough to know that his current skill should be dedicated to what Mane had done for him and not what was said. After all, the training had been helpful, regardless of their inability to see eye to eye right now.

It was why Wemmbu had been so shocked (and frankly, honoured) when {{User}} had asked him of all people to train {{obj}} up on fighting. He was, most undoubtedly, in love with {{User}} very much so, but to train {{obj}} up on fighting? Why? Did {{sub}} plan on fighting someone? Did {{sub}} want revenge on someone? Why hadn’t {{sub}} asked him to fight them instead? At least if he fought them, {{User}} would remain safe, and still get that revenge - that was, if that was the reason {{User}} even wanted to be trained in the first place.

He had thought a lot about it the night he was asked - Wemmbu was just about the least mentor-like you could get; could he even teach {{obj}} the right things? Would he be able to teach {{obj}} to hold a sword the right way if the “normal” method wasn’t comfortable for {{obj}}? Could he adjust for {{poss}} style and adopt it temporarily to teach {{obj}}?

He really hadn’t known. The alternative was suggesting someone else, i.e Manepear or Flamefrags. The thought still made Wemmbu’s face sour; yeah, no, he wasn’t generous to send such a pretty face to those two, after all, what if they tried flirting with {{User}}? Unacceptable.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

With all the love he could muster whilst admitting this, Wemmbu realised that {{User}} was absolutely hopeless with maces. He handed Crucible to {{User}} on the first day, stood behind {{obj}} with his chest to {{poss}} back, and hands over {{poss_p}}, “Focus on your core. It’ll steady you when you lift Crucible.” His hand, only one, had slid down to pat the outside of {{User}}’s thigh, “And these,” his hand moved up to the hip, “will do all of the heavy pushing.”

With the weight of Crucible still supported in one of his hands whilst the other roamed {{User}}’s muscle, the mace stayed midair. It stayed midair when he poked {{User}}’s spine too, “Your spine won’t have to do much so long as your thighs and hips do the right thing.”

Crucible did not, however, stay midair when he let go and turned to pick Gambit up by its handle. The heavy thud of Crucible hitting the grass had made Wemmbu whip around with Gambit raised, only for him to be met with the sight of {{User}} holding onto Crucible’s handle and trying to lift it.

Crucible is the lighter mace, Wemmbu recalled thinking that day, wondering how on earth he was going to train {{User}} when {{sub}} couldn’t even lift Crucible. Alas, they worked on it. And by ‘they’, Wemmbu really means he quite literally moped over what to do for the next hour, and then switched to sword training, ensuring every few sparring matches and sessions, the material increased.

The wooden swords were easy for beginning, but by the time {{User}} was working with a netherite sword, he hoped that the weight wouldn’t be too far off of Crucible’s weight for {{User}} to be able to carry. Thankfully, what was previously named a bad habit of knowing weapons like they were attached to his palm (which, they basically were) and never relaxing seemed to pay off, because {{User}} was able to hold Crucible.

Not well - not yet - if the time {{User}} swung Crucible at a target and accidentally let go, causing the mace to slam into the brick wall of Wemmbu and Egg’s base, said anything about that. Egg had not been very happy..

At one point, Wemmbu considered having Spoke or Parrot come over to train {{User}} - neither of them were masterclass, which would mean {{User}} could spar with someone a little closer to {{poss}} skill level. He eventually decided against it, after all, he and Parrot hadn’t spoken in a little while, and he didn’t want to make it seem he only reached out when he needed something, and Spoke was-... Spoke was Spoke, and Wemmbu really loved {{User}} alive and nod exploited out of the server.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

It had been months of training when he and {{User}} were finally able to spar properly; he had managed to teach {{obj}} what kits were best, how to arrange {{poss}} inventory, what tool to have where, which kit to have at hand first. He made sure {{sub}} knew how to quick-restock, which he both timed passively, and actively chased {{obj}} down to teach {{obj}} how to do it on the fly.

Now that {{User}} could hold {{poss}} own against him - albeit, not that long - he was confident in using Gambit and a netherite sword, whilst {{User}} switched between netherite swords and an axe. It was a throwaway kit, including half broken armour and weapons, if only to preserve real armour and not waste XP on mending. Even so, {{User}} was proving to be working incredibly well, Wemmbu realised as Gambit met the ground where {{User}} had just been, splitting open dirt and meeting heavy rock underneath.

{{Poss}} dodging has gotten better, he thought, lifting Gambit and ducking beneath the sword {{User}} had just swung at him, and that swinging.. Much stronger than when {{sub}} began. More confident in {{poss}} movements,

He flashed {{User}} a grin, “woah, easy there.” he laughed, switching to his sword and clanging it against {{poss_p}} when {{User}} closed in again, “someone’s quick on {{poss}} feet today.” he hummed, leaning in so that their faces were a few inches from one another. His tail swayed behind him, the trident point brushing the floor. Wemmbu listened to the loud screech of metal against metal, and he slipped down and to the left when {{User}} fell forward a little with the momentum.

He stood fully again, putting his sword on his shoulder while {{User}} stood up again to face him, “Tighten that reaction.” He mused, “Or you give the enemy an opening. Not ideal if you want to sta-” his eyes widened as a fist tightened into his shirt, and he was yanked forward.

“Woah-!?” he yelped, Gambit slipping from his hand.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

His palms and knees met the grass, and the only thing that filled his vision was {{User}}, laying on {{poss}} back, palms up. {{Poss}} hair slipped amongst green grass, and Wemmbu realised his own purple hair, streaked with white and black, was sliding over his left shoulder and mingling with {{poss_p}} and the grass.

His breath caught in his throat, and he stared at {{User}} - {{poss}} cheeks were a little bit flushed. Was that because of him? Or because this was awkward?

He blinked, hands trembling slightly, even though his hands were pressed to the dirt. His gloves would be stained once he moved, that was for sure, but he didn’t really consider that at the moment. {{User}} was undeniably gorgeous.. he pondered, though he knew this already,

“Uh- sorry, I didn’t mean.. to uhm…” Wemmbu laughed nervously. He should move. He should really move. Why wasn’t he moving again? His brows furrowed slightly, eyes trailing down towards {{User}}’s mouth. He wondered if {{User}} would mind if he leaned down to kiss {{obj}}. If {{sub}} would let him kiss away the fondness he’s harboured for {{obj}} for so long now.

Wemmbu swallowed thickly, thumb twitching by the side of {{User}}’s neck where it was still pressed to grass, before leaning down. His mouth slotted against {{poss_p}}, eyes screwing shut as he kissed {{obj}}. This was a stupid impulse. He distantly thought, though the louder Wemmbu in his voice could only consciously realise that {{User}} tasted distinctly of the golden apples they’d eaten earlier that morning.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ Of everyone on the server, he was known to be one of the most skilled.

Wemmbu was proficient in weaponry, this was a particularly well known fact about him. He’d spent so long being a chungus that he had worked twice as hard as the average nobody in order to just get to half of where he was now.

Training with Manepear had been gruelling in itself too; the lion was pretty hard in training, choosing to prioritise tough love over coddling on the training field. Being thrown straight into fighting Invisible Mafia members had been pretty good training back then too - or rather, it was good forcible training, making him use his natural combat instinct to gauge his skill.

Not that he held Mane in all that much regard nowadays, but Wemmbu was at least slightly mature enough to know that his current skill should be dedicated to what Mane had done for him and not what was said. After all, the training had been helpful, regardless of their inability to see eye to eye right now.

It was why Wemmbu had been so shocked (and frankly, honoured) when {{User}} had asked him of all people to train {{obj}} up on fighting. He was, most undoubtedly, in love with {{User}} very much so, but to train {{obj}} up on fighting? Why? Did {{sub}} plan on fighting someone? Did {{sub}} want revenge on someone? Why hadn’t {{sub}} asked him to fight them instead? At least if he fought them, {{User}} would remain safe, and still get that revenge - that was, if that was the reason {{User}} even wanted to be trained in the first place.

He had thought a lot about it the night he was asked - Wemmbu was just about the least mentor-like you could get; could he even teach {{obj}} the right things? Would he be able to teach {{obj}} to hold a sword the right way if the “normal” method wasn’t comfortable for {{obj}}? Could he adjust for {{poss}} style and adopt it temporarily to teach {{obj}}?

He really hadn’t known. The alternative was suggesting someone else, i.e Shoebilly or Minutetech. The thought still made Wemmbu’s face sour; yeah, no, as much as they were both respectable and great mentors, Wemmbu shuddered at the thought of anyone else getting close and personal with {{User}}.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

With all the love he could muster whilst admitting this, Wemmbu realised that {{User}} was absolutely hopeless with maces. He handed Crucible to {{User}} on the first day, stood behind {{obj}} with his chest to {{poss}} back, and hands over {{poss_p}}, “Focus on your core. It’ll steady you when you lift Crucible.” His hand, only one, had slid down to pat the outside of {{User}}’s thigh, “And these,” his hand moved up to the hip, “will do all of the heavy pushing.”

With the weight of Crucible still supported in one of his hands whilst the other roamed {{User}}’s muscle, the mace stayed midair. It stayed midair when he poked {{User}}’s spine too, “Your spine won’t have to do much so long as your thighs and hips do the right thing.”

Crucible did not, however, stay midair when he let go and turned to pick Gambit up by its handle. The heavy thud of Crucible hitting the grass had made Wemmbu whip around with Gambit raised, only for him to be met with the sight of {{User}} holding onto Crucible’s handle and trying to lift it.

Crucible is the lighter mace, Wemmbu recalled thinking that day, wondering how on earth he was going to train {{User}} when {{sub}} couldn’t even lift Crucible. Alas, they worked on it. And by ‘they’, Wemmbu really means he quite literally moped over what to do for the next hour, and then switched to sword training, ensuring every few sparring matches and sessions, the material increased.

The wooden swords were easy for beginning, but by the time {{User}} was working with a netherite sword, he hoped that the weight wouldn’t be too far off of Crucible’s weight for {{User}} to be able to carry. Thankfully, what was previously named a bad habit of knowing weapons like they were attached to his palm (which, they basically were) and never relaxing seemed to pay off, because {{User}} was able to hold Crucible.

Not well - not yet - if the time {{User}} swung Crucible at a target and accidentally let go, causing the mace to slam into the brick wall of Wemmbu's base, said anything about that. Wemmbu had repaired it yes, but it most definitely made him rethink his decisions.

At one point, Wemmbu considered having Jaden or Zam come over to train {{User}} - neither of them were masterclass, which would mean {{User}} could spar with someone a little closer to {{poss}} skill level. He eventually decided against it, after all, he and Jaden hadn’t spoken in a little while, and he didn’t want to make it seem he only reached out when he needed something, and Zam was-... Zam was Zam, and Wemmbu really loved {{User}} alive and not dragged down by the ever-egotistical princess.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

It had been months of training when he and {{User}} were finally able to spar properly; he had managed to teach {{obj}} what kits were best, how to arrange {{poss}} inventory, what tool to have where, which kit to have at hand first. He made sure {{sub}} knew how to quick-restock, which he both timed passively, and actively chased {{obj}} down to teach {{obj}} how to do it on the fly.

Now that {{User}} could hold {{poss}} own against him - albeit, not that long - he was confident in using Gambit and a netherite sword, whilst {{User}} switched between netherite swords and an axe. It was a throwaway kit, including half broken armour and weapons, if only to preserve real armour and not waste XP on mending. Even so, {{User}} was proving to be working incredibly well, Wemmbu realised as Gambit met the ground where {{User}} had just been, splitting open dirt and meeting heavy rock underneath.

{{Poss}} dodging has gotten better, he thought, lifting Gambit and ducking beneath the sword {{User}} had just swung at him, and that swinging.. Much stronger than when {{sub}} began. More confident in {{poss}} movements,

He flashed {{User}} a grin, “woah, easy there.” he laughed, switching to his sword and clanging it against {{poss_p}} when {{User}} closed in again, “someone’s quick on {{poss}} feet today.” he hummed, leaning in so that their faces were a few inches from one another. His tail swayed behind him, the trident point brushing the floor. Wemmbu listened to the loud screech of metal against metal, and he slipped down and to the left when {{User}} fell forward a little with the momentum.

He stood fully again, putting his sword on his shoulder while {{User}} stood up again to face him, “Tighten that reaction.” He mused, “Or you give the enemy an opening. Not ideal if you want to sta-” his eyes widened as a fist tightened into his shirt, and he was yanked forward.

“Woah-!?” he yelped, Gambit slipping from his hand.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

His palms and knees met the grass, and the only thing that filled his vision was {{User}}, laying on {{poss}} back, palms up. {{Poss}} hair slipped amongst green grass, and Wemmbu realised his own purple hair, streaked with white and black, was sliding over his left shoulder and mingling with {{poss_p}} and the grass.

His breath caught in his throat, and he stared at {{User}} - {{poss}} cheeks were a little bit flushed. Was that because of him? Or because this was awkward?

He blinked, hands trembling slightly, even though his hands were pressed to the dirt. His gloves would be stained once he moved, that was for sure, but he didn’t really consider that at the moment. {{User}} was undeniably gorgeous.. he pondered, though he knew this already,

“Uh- sorry, I didn’t mean.. to uhm…” Wemmbu laughed nervously. He should move. He should really move. Why wasn’t he moving again? His brows furrowed slightly, eyes trailing down towards {{User}}’s mouth. He wondered if {{User}} would mind if he leaned down to kiss {{obj}}. If {{sub}} would let him kiss away the fondness he’s harboured for {{obj}} for so long now.

Wemmbu swallowed thickly, thumb twitching by the side of {{User}}’s neck where it was still pressed to grass, before leaning down. His mouth slotted against {{poss_p}}, eyes screwing shut as he kissed {{obj}}. This was a stupid impulse. He distantly thought, though the louder Wemmbu in his voice could only consciously realise that {{User}} tasted distinctly of the golden apples they’d eaten earlier that morning.