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tarnishedxknight · 2 months

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Do you have any pets?

What is your favorite color(s)?

What song is stuck in your head right now?

Favorite movie?

What is your favorite candy?

{out of dalmasca} Omg you asked the song one. I feel like I'm gonna rant about that one haha. Okay, here we go... under a cut for length as usual haha.

Do you have any pets?

Not currently, no. I haven't had another since my hamster Smudgie died a while ago. My life situation and having my grandmother living with is making it very hard to get another pet. But over the years I've had all sorts of pets. A cat, four rabbits, fish, several iguanas, mice, rats, hamsters, guinea pigs, even shrimp, snails, and a Madagascar hissing cockroach, haha. Oh, and water fleas. Listen... they are a lot cuter than you might thing. They have tiny black beady eyes, lol. They're not actually fleas, they're crustaceans, and to me they look more like shrimp from some angles, but... on a much teenier scale. You can learn about them here. Sorry the science geek in me is hanging out, lemme tuck it back in, haha.

What is your favorite color(s)?

Black. I just... love black. I'm a witchy goth girl, haha. But I also love purple, gray, blue, and deep forest green.

What song is stuck in your head right now?

The piano theme to "Cigarette Burns," an episode of the Masters of Horror show. I recently decided to start watching Masters of Horror again because there are some really great episodes. Not all are good, but some are amazing. They're one-hour horror stories done by all different influential horror directors. If you watch the free streaming service Tubi, they have the full two seasons of the show all for free. Just be warned, many of the episodes contain a lot of triggering material, such as gore, body horror, and extreme violence. The point is for the horror directors to show off what they can do, so there's a lot of very convincing makeup jobs and special effects, heh, so take care.

"Cigarette Burns" is my favorite episode. I don't know how many times I've seen it. I love the story, but I also watch it for how it makes me feel. For some reason, every time I watch it, it inspires my creativity so much as a writer. I've never done anything with it, really... as far as being inspired to write something from it or about it or inspired by it, but someday I'd like to. I'll blab a little about it below, but if you want to watch it yourself, be warned. It does have a lot of triggering material in it such as: suicide, self-harm, drug addiction, amputation, disembowelment, gore, body horror, mental illness, and obsessive behavior.

As far as the song, you can listen to it here, but that video is the entire soundtrack to the whole episode, so you only have to listen to the first 1:22 minutes to hear the song that's stuck in my head right now.

Okay so... a little more about "Cigarette Burns" and why it inspires me so much as a writer. The basic concept (don't worry I'm not going to get into too many details of the story or anything too triggering here) is that, in the world of underground snuff film making, someone set out to make the snuff film to end them all. He wanted to make the worst film anybody had ever seen and have the prestige of saying he had made the most viscerally heinous film in existence. So, I think it is implied that some occult worship was needed to accomplish this, but basically what he and other people who helped make the film did, was to capture an angel (something I love is that the episode never once using the A-word, heh, but it's so obvious that the creature is an angel), enslave it, torture it, and amputate its wings... and film the entire thing.

What happened was that the angel's I guess spirit became bound to the negative of the film (it was shot old-school style on a reel). The concept was that... the evil of torturing and mutilating this holy being produced so much evil and so much bad karma, that the film negative itself became evil. People connected with the making of the film dropped like flies. Anyone who watched it to completion was driven to murder others or harm themselves. Anyone who sought to find the original negative of it, or who started to watch it but then chickened out and couldn't finish it, became obsessed with it for the rest of their lives in various unhealthy ways. Theaters that screened the movie ended up burning down or were otherwise destroyed. If you had any demons, guilt, weaknesses, desires, vices, obsessions, etc., the film would "know" and exploit them somehow to drive you slowly insane.

The plot centers around an eccentric and rich collector who collects oddities, specifically of a shocking or terrible nature. He keeps the original angel (wingless still, he has the wings hanging on a wall like hunting trophies) as his slave, shackled to a turntable that can rotate when the guy pushes a button. It's... so depraved that you so want this guy to get it in the end, haha. But that's not enough for him, so he commissions a private investigator type but for locating movie artifacts, heh, to find the original negative of La Fin Absolue du Monde, a.k.a. the Absolute End of the World, which is the name of the film. Various creepy and violent things ensue as this guy searches for the movie and then eventually brings it to his client.

I won't ruin the rest of the plot or the ending in case you want to watch it for yourselves, but the concept to me is so interesting and inspiring as a writer. Imagine doing something so terrible to a completely pure being that the evil of it permeates the very film your making and then radiates out through everyone the film touches? I love the creative concept of semi-sentient evil without a form, like... evil that just... is. It's not a creature or a ghost or a being of any kind... it's just evil that came about as a result of the actions of people. I think the metaphor there is incredible to ponder, how our actions have far-reaching consequences, and one evil act can affect the lives of many for generations to come.

I also loved the angel aspect of the story, because... well, I do love me some fantasy or horror angels, heh. But yeah, the word "angel" was never used, but I mean obviously the creature was an angel with the wings, the white coloration, the way it referred to itself as "we", the odd shape of its head and its larger-than-human eyes. I love, though, that they didn't overexplain what it was, or how it was captured, they just left it mysterious. Less is more with both writing and movies, folks, I've learned this over the years. Also, showing not telling. I was able to know it was an angel without anyone having to tell me, and that means it was portrayed well.

Alright, I've blabbed enough about this. On to the next question, haha.

Favorite movie?

Kaze no tani no naushika (風の谷のナウシカ), a.k.a. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. It's a Miyazaki film from Ghibli Studios that was released in 1984. I adore it with every fiber of my being for the animation style, the story, the characters, and honestly the environmentalism and anti-war themes that are still so relevant today as they were in the 80s. Plus it has an adorable fox-squirrel named Teto based on the Fennec fox, and large riding birds that remind me of chocobos. =)

I have a funny story I'd like to share about this. And I may have already told it on this blog, honestly I don't remember, so if I did, just ignore me right now, haha. When I was little and watching this movie, I hadn't studied Japanese yet. My parents knew nothing about anime or the Japanese language, they just... bought me a VHS tape (yes I'm THAT old) of a movie called Warriors of the Wind. I KNOW, I KNOW... I'm sorry to everyone who knows a lot about this movie and who is now offended that I just spoke the name of The Movie That Shall Not Be Named, hahaha, but my childhood self didn't know any better. I didn't know there was a Japanese version, or that the version I fell in love with was 90 minutes long when the real movie was 210 minutes. I didn't know the American version removed all the environmentalism and much of the story.

Even the cover of the VHS tape is utterly ridiculous and honestly insulting to the movie. There are characters and monsters on the cover that aren't even in the film, and the main character, Nausicaä, is riding... a... a pegasus or something? If I remember correctly? Not only was there never a pegasus in the movie, but she flew a little glider, not even a living thing, heh.

ANYway... so I grew up watching this movie and loving it, and as a child, I looked up to and idolized the main character, Nausicaä. She was like... my hero, heh. My badass girl who could do anything. As a child, I loved playing with pill bugs, who were the inspirations for the Ohmu in the movie, one of the creatures Nausicaä had a natural rapport with. She was kindof like a post-apocalyptic, anime Snow White, in that she had this natural connection to nature, animals, and the environment, and was just the purest soul. But I grew up watching the 90-minute butchered version of the movie, so I didn't see any of the childhood flashbacks of her playing with a baby Ohmu and then having people take it away from her to kill it. Or anything to do with the environmentalism, which I'll get to now...

Fast forward 20 years, and I'm going to college for biological sciences, specifically environmental microbiology. More specifically, using bacteria to clean contaminated/poisoned water, soil, and sediments. Contaminant remediation using bacteria and plants, basically. I would study how the bacteria could facilitate either the breakdown of contaminants before the plants could take them up through the soil into their roots and harm them, or if the plants already took up the contaminants into their cells, how bacteria can "talk" to plants and stimulate the plants' own immune systems to break down the contaminants themselves. It was a fascinating field and I wish I had been able to do research in it for a longer time.

I was knee deep into my research, a degree under my belt, when I started getting into anime a lot more and studying Japanese and I found out... that my favorite movie had a whole other Japanese version that had an extra half hour I haven't even seen before. Needless to say I got a copy as fast as I could and couldn't wait to watch it, and I was blown away by what I saw.

All the scenes that were deleted where all things that I was doing, or doing similarly, to the main character. She had her own laboratory and was conducting research using spores she collected from a forest that had been contaminated long ago by the industrial activity of civilizations past. She was trying to find a way to cure the plants of their poisonous nature, and found that it wasn't the plants, but rather the soil and the water that was poisoned. When the spores from these plants were grown in clean water and soil, the results were not toxic to humans.

Guys, I cried. I honestly cried, haha. I had this moment of like... did I just end up in the same field of research as this fictional character I idolized as a child? Without even knowing it because the version I grew up watching had deleted all those scenes? I don't know why that hit me so funny, but it did, and it's only made me love the movie even more. I haven't seen it in a while and that needs to be rectified, heh.

Here is an amv that I have loved for so many years of footage of this movie set to a song from what is probably my second favorite movie, Loved By the Sun from Legend (1985). SIde note, if you want to know what started my love for and inspired me to create my own angels (like Aryx on my multi) and demons and write original books about them, check Legend out. It's... an admittedly corny fantasy movie by most people's standards today, but I adore it and if you can give it a chance, it's amazing in my opinion. But anyway, the song combined with scenes from Nausicaä... *chef's kiss*.

What is your favorite candy?

Hmm... I don't think I have a favorite candy, but I have a favorite flavor of candy. I love... everything mint. Preferably with chocolate as well. So... thin mints, Andes candies, York Peppermint Patties, peppermints, candy canes, etc. Just gimme all ur mintz. *grabby hands* XD

#{ out of dalmasca } ᵒᵒᶜ #{about the mun}#tw: violence mention

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erabundus · 4 months

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@custosavis &&. said... there is some silly liyue wives' tale about an almighty adeptus drawing near when the wind whistles through the boughs of the trees. fallacy. and yet the wind whips ominously through the upper branches of the large sumeran tree as he manifests himself there. moves swiftly and silently down like one of the native jungle cats. and then he's abruptly hopping down the last branch to sit beside ren with childish intent to startle, wordlessly dropping a parcel into his lap. "the wind told me." the wind. or his loose-lipped partner. same thing, really. inside is a package of the horrendously bitter medicinal drops that bubu pharmacy makes, and a small, ornate charm made from an intricately-carved disc of adeptal amber. "it staves off evil. and... acts as an extended focal point for me, should you call." he looks into the distant forest, sitting near but comfortably avoiding the eye contact. "-- i... i haven't made one of those in a long time." wherever you should roam; if you need me, i'll be there.

he's minding his business, tucked away in the thickest part of sumeru's verdant forests. despite the wanderer's best efforts to keep it a secret, it seems others have endeavored to make HIS BIRTHDAY quite the dramatic affair — and while a part of him feels stirrings of genuine appreciation ( even if he cannot understand why anyone would go out of their way for his sake ) he can only stand being forced into the spotlight for so long before he feels himself begin to wither and rot like an OVERWATERED PLANT. ren needs these fleeting moments of solitude like living creatures require air to breathe. as per usual, he has found himself joined by a litany of local fauna. birds, predominantly — he would not be particularly surprised to know the tree he's chosen to perch in is actually their home. fortunately, they don't seem too perturbed by his company. on the contrary, a little songbird flutters over to land on his outstretched finger and chirps enthusiastically. ren hasn't a clue what it's trying to say, but the sight has a smile lighting up his face nonetheless.

he's so preoccupied with his tiny companion that he doesn't notice xiao's presence until the other practically MATERIALIZES on the branch beside him. ren jumps, swallowing a shout — and startles the bird in the process. ( whom he can only assume proceeds to CURSE HIM before flying away. ) ❝ xiao — ? ❞ is as far as the wanderer gets ( squawks ) before a package is dropped so unceremoniously in his lap. a few seconds pass as his mind seems to lag behind, trying to make sense of the sight. the conqueror of demons does not seem the type to CONCERN HIMSELF with birthdays — and yet, neither is ren. looking up, lips part to QUESTION HIM — but his companion provides an answer before he has the chance to ask.

the wind, he says. of course; it seems all the gods are conspiring AGAINST HIM. ❝ is that so ... ❞ the wanderer mutters, undisguised sarcasm all but dripping from every word. he purposefully rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the gift.

deft fingers open the parcel with undue care. he blinks at what he mistakenly thinks is candy — only for the distinctly BITTER scent to wash over him. interesting. though before he has the chance to SAMPLE THEM, fickle attention then flicks to the other half of the gift. he extracts the charm, holding it up so the amber glints warmly in the sun. quite the appealing feat of artistry; the sort of thing ren would hold and run a curious thumb over every groove like one would a worry stone. he hums quietly when xiao speaks, and seems to know instinctively from the fragile tone of his voice that the adeptus is presumably trying to avoid making eye contact as if HIS LIFE depends on it. ❝ ... i'll take good care of it. ❞ ren says — a simple response that hopes to convey his deep gratitude in the most MERCIFUL way possible. his more innocent self once saw the world as rife with many treasures; the wanderer thinks one rests in the palm of his hand.

❝ since you've gone through the trouble of hunting me down, i suppose i have to give you SOMETHING for your efforts. ❞ head cants. his tone makes it quite clear he's plotting — although the alternative would no doubt be more SURPRISING. ❝ in that case, i guess i'll just bequeath my entire BIRTHDAY CAKE to you. ❞

#custosavis #( I MISSED THEM SO MUCH )#( YOUR HONOR THEY ARE BEST FRIENDS )

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

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YouTube Masterlist

Check out who I’ll write for here

Check out my other masterlists here

Want more or something shorter? Check out my drabble masterlist here

DreamSMP

Dream

Dance with Me- Y/N and Clay have a sweet moment early in the morning.

Sweet as Cyanide-The whole server thinks that Y/N is being forced to stand by Dream’s side, but they couldn’t be more wrong. They all believe they’re just a sweet innocent creature, but many times people forget that sweet things can be poisonous.

Visiting Hemlock- (Part Two of Sweet of Cyanide) Y/N is finally able to visit Dream in prison.

Tightrope- Y/N and Dream have been together for what feels like forever. But when Dream says that he cares about nothing anymore, Y/N takes a moment to evaluate the tightrope walk they call their relationship.

Teacher Teacher- Just a bunch of self indulgent teacher!dream au stuff :)

Sapnap

Goodnight Kisses- The night after a date with Sapnap ends well

Stormy Nights- Sapnap takes care of their s/o that is scared of storms.

Punz

Pretty Boy- Punz takes Y/N on a date to a new biome he found while working. Y/N’s supposed to be looking around at the pretty scenery but they can’t seem to take their eyes off their lover.

BadBoyHalo

Oh Baby-After missing their period, Y/N begins to suspect there may be something else going on in their uterus.

Oh Boy- How Darryl and Y/N tell their families, friends, and fans that they’re expecting.

Wilbur Soot

Just For You- After a long day, Wilbur show’s you something special he made just for you (dreamsmp au)

Deep Trouble- Y/N’s never been good with deep water seeing as they can’t swim. But when her friends want to go to the beach, they can’t deny them their request. Trouble ensues as Y/N doesn’t tell their boyfriend of their inability to swim.

Chat’s a Snitch- Wilbur is streaming his reactions to different covers of his song when his chat informs him his s/o is currently singing his most recent release. He of course joins their stream to bully them.

Stormy Nights-Wilbur takes care of their s/o that is scared of storms.

Fundy

Stormy Nights- Fundy takes care of their s/o that is scared of storms.

Song for you- Fundy makes something special for their best friend using his knowledge of redstone and Y/N.

Character!Schlatt

All JSchlatt imagines are about the character in the Dreamsmp or they are platonic! I will not write romance for the actual CC Schlatt!

Not Your Fault- Y/N has to clear their mind after the results of the election come in. (dreamsmp)

Quackity

Missing you- Y/N gets tired of missing their best friend (dreamsmp)

Character!Technoblade

All Techno imagines are about the character Technoblade in the Dreamsmp or they are platoniclly written with the SBI Au. I will not write romance for the actual CC Techno!!

Gift of Friendship- After Techno gives Y/N some PVP lessons, Y/N is at a loss of how to repay him. Y/N comes up with an idea but is unsure of whether or not the resident Blood God with like it. (dreamsmp au)

Stolen Goods- Techno hides something of Y/N’s. Which is fine because he’s their brother. But what happens when someone else tries something similar? (dreamsmp au)

A Hairy Situation - When Wilbur and Tommy leave on an adventure, Techno and Y/N are left alone together. Y/N “helps” Techno in his potato farm and offers to braid his hair. Tensions rise as more and more time passes. (dreamsmp au)

A Dedicated Pig-(Part One of the Dedicated series) Y/N finally meets the one that everyone has been walking on eggshells over. (dreamsmp au)

Better Than a Dedicated Chicken (Part Two in the Dedicated series)-Y/N gets to see Techno again thanks to the upcoming festival in Manberg. (dreamsmp au)

Dedicated to You- (Part Three in the Dedicated Series)Techno can’t help but get a little jealous as he and Y/N visit L’Manberg and run into old friends. It’s up to Y/N to remind him who they are dedicated to.

A Dedicated and Domesticated Pig- (Part Four in the Dedication Series) Everything comes full circle when Y/N and their family travel to L’Manberg for the annual festival.

Butchered Plans-Y/N finds out about the Butcher Army and attempts to put a stop to their plan (dreamsmp au)

Best Seat in the House- Y/N comes home from a long day of chopping wood and just wants to sit down and warm up. (dreamsmp)

No Worries- Y/N’s been missing for almost a week and the one person that should be worried about them most isn’t worried at all, which upsets some people. (dreamsmp)

Protect You- Y/N tries to warn their boyfriend about the Butcher Army. The prideful man that he ignores their attempts of getting him to flee. By the time he realizes they were right, it’s too late. (dreamsmp)

Wither or Not- Techno attempts to explain to his partner just why he betrayed L’Manberg. (dreamsmp)

Fool Me Twice- Y/N is left with only one option after Techno destroys their home and their trust. (dreamsmp)

Catch Me If I Fall- What was supposed to be a simple mining trip goes horribly wrong when Y/N doesn’t pay attention to their surroundings. (dreamsmp)

Seeing Red- When Y/N gets kidnapped by the Butcher Army to lure their boyfriend to L’Manberg, Technoblade sees red and is willing to do anything to get them back… Anything. (Dreamsmp)

Calm During the Storm- Unexpected weather strikes leaving Ranboo stranded out in the open. Techno sees him and goes to him and attempts to calm him down. (Dreamsmp. Not an x reader)

Totem Troubles-Gathering materials was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to end in an almost cannon death. (Dreamsmp)

The Next Step- Techno has a serious conversation with his father about his lover, Y/N and their future plans. (Dreamsmp)

Warming Up- Philza and Techno find something in the snow that definitely shouldn’t be there and take it back to Techno’s house to warm up (Dreamsmp)

Okay, Bet- Y/N and Dream make a bet for half a stack of golden apples. (Dreamsmp)

The Blade-Y/N is forced to face their biggest fear when it quite literally comes knocking at their front door. (Dreamsmp)

Prison Break- Techno frees you from your wrongful prison sentence.

A Part of the Collection- Y/N goes missing for a while... everyone is shocked at where they find them

Prison Break- Techno frees you from your wrongful prison sentence.

Periods suck. Here’s some content about how Techno would act on your period.

Tommyinnit

Besties- What it would be like to be best friends with Tommy and Tubbo

Bring Him Home- Tommy’s big sister visits him in exile.

Tubbo

3am conversations- Tubbo appears on Y/n’s doorstep at 3am. (dreamsmp au)

Lean on Me- Y/N forces their way into Tubbo’s home after Tommy’s exile. (dreamsmp au)

Besties- What it would be like to be best friends with Tommy and Tubbo

Awesamdude

Faking Happy- The bottle Y/N has been filling with their emotions finally tips over and overflows. (dreamsmp au)

Family Matters- After spending a lot of time with Tommy, Y/N and Sam decide its time to expand their own family

Family Fatality- Y/N believed it was a bad idea from the beginning. Call it parental instincts. But unfortunately no one believed them… until it was too late.

Honey Barbecue- Tommy plays wingman for the two people on the server that genuinely care for him

SBI AU

Actually Pretty Funny-Y/N opens up to her big brother as to why she has been avoiding her other brother and his friend.

Crash- Y/N finally crashes after ignoring their needs for too long. (SBI AU)

Defending Family- When Y/N hears the school bully talking shit about their family… Well it’s no surprise when that bully gets hit. (SBI AU)

Crossed Lines-Dream kidnaps Y/N to get some leverage on their brothers. Lucky for him, it’s not too hard as they don’t really know how to defend themselves. Unlucky for him, their brothers are extremely overprotective and will stop at nothing to make sure that their sibling is safe.

Auntie Flow- When Y/N isn’t up by their usual time, Dadza goes in to check on them. He soon realizes the problem and enlists in their brother’s help to make Auntie Flow’s visit go a little smoother.

Stream Stresses-When Y/N makes fun of their brother, chat jumps to his defense by saying some not so nice things about Y/N. The mean things cause Y/N to shut down their stream with tears in their eyes, worrying their father, Philza.

Birthday Bullies- Y/N is being bullied at school. They’re able to keep the secret from her father and brothers for a while. But every cat gets out of the bag eventually.

Ghost of You- Three cannon lives. Some argue it’s too many, some argue it’s not enough. But once Y/N loses all theirs, everyone can agree that there’s never enough

Forget Me Not- The garden. That’s where it all began with Y/N and the Minecraft family… It’s unfortunate that’s where it all ended as well.

Period Piece- Y/N starts their period at the worst time possible, the one time that Philza isn’t home… but their three brother’s are.

Momma Mia- Y/N has been Philza’s best friend for the longest time. Being Philza’s friend also comes with being there for Philza’s sons and sometimes them being there for her.

Whole SMP

Full of Surprises- Y/N is the server’s sweetheart. They’re innocent and couldn’t hurt a fly… at least that’s what everyone thinks. It isn’t until someone catches them working out does the SMP finally see just how badass this person can be.

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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A Critical Role Campaign 2 Mechanics Primer

Got a request from a new Critical Role viewer for some clarification re: rules and characters, and dang, yes, there’s so much stuff to deal with as a new viewer at the moment. So here’s an attempt at clarifying some stuff!

How does D&D work?

Fundamentally, one person (the DM) sets the scene and the players riff off that scene by acting out what their characters would do in response. Whenever a player’s actions would lead to an uncertain result, the DM can call for them to roll a die and try to hit a predetermined target number to see if they succeed. The players’ individual characters have abilities that boost certain categories of rolls and penalize others; a very strong character is more likely than a scrawny one to be able to open a jammed door, but they could still have an unlucky roll. It’s the DM’s job to incorporate the sometimes-absurd results of those die rolls into a coherent story.

Combat is the most “gamey” D&D gets, where everyone has a turn set aside to act (with an order determined by the “initiative” roll that starts combat). This is where character classes come in handy: magic-users cast spells, fighters jump in with their weapons of choice, and so forth. Each character has a set of hit points, and once those reach zero, the character is unconscious and possibly dying. But combat ain’t just hack-and-slash: there can be conversation, strategy, manipulation, collaboration, and all sorts of weird subtleties going on. Fundamentally, players’ actions are limited only by their imaginations.

It can be super weird getting into a D&D show even if you have played a bit because everyone plays the game a bit differently. Critical Role’s gameplay leans hard into roleplaying and character beats (there are episodes with basically no dice rolls) but also leans hard enough into the rules that a random bad or good roll can completely derail the story; rolls aren’t fudged or handwaved for the sake of a predetermined narrative, which means nobody playing (including the DM) knows how things are going to end up. This makes for a viewing experience that is a cross between dramedy improv and live sports; the cast plays out long scenes of conversation, but their characters could also permanently die at any time, adding to the high stakes. It’s also totally unedited, which accounts for the absurdly long runtime.

If any of that isn’t for you, there are a lot of great D&D podcasts out there (often labeled “actual play”) that run the gamut from silly with minimal rules to mechanically involved but edited down. It’s a cool time to get into D&D!

Okay, so how exactly do these characters do their thing?

One of the more confusing aspects for new viewers of the second campaign of Critical Role is that they’re using a fair amount of content that’s not in the baseline ruleset - some character races and classes are coming from expansion content, and some are from Matt Mercer (the DM’s) homebrew. Here’s a quick summary of what each character has going on at the start of the campaign, moving from left to right in the first episode’s seating arrangement.

Fjord (played by Travis Willingham)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Travis is the big guy who looks like he could throw a football real far. If you’re listening to the podcast, his character voice has a Texas twang.

Fjord is a half-orc warlock. A half-orc typically has green skin and tusks but otherwise looks fairly close to a garden-variety human. Warlocks are magic-users who gained their abilities from a bargain with a mysterious (generally somewhat malevolent) being of great power. Mechanically, they rely a lot on what are called cantrips (spells that can be cast an unlimited number of times a day) since the number of more powerful spells at their disposal is very limited. However, unlike most other casters that have to get a full night’s sleep to regain their stronger spells, warlocks just have to rest for an hour or so and they’re good to go. More specifically, Fjord is a hexblade warlock. Hexblades are warlocks who have a particularly strong bond with their weapon of choice and can summon it from nothing.

Beauregard (played by Marisha Ray)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Marisha is the woman who often perches on her chair like she’s about to take flight. If you’re listening to the podcast, her character voice is a bit gruff with a sarcastic drawl.

Beau is a human monk. Both humans in this campaign use a variant version of human that allows them to pick a feat at the start of the campaign: Beau has some extra expertise in investigative and athletic abilities. Monks are preternaturally powerful martial artists; what some classes do with magic, they do with unarmed combat. Mechanically, they rely on an ability called ki points, which are a stockpile of points that can be used for extra-powerful abilities such as being able to hit extra times on an attack or being able to stun an enemy. More specifically, Beau is a Way of the Cobalt Soul monk, which is a homebrew from Matt and means she’s essentially a warrior-monk-librarian whose key abilities center around rooting out useful information.

Caleb (played by Liam O’Brien)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Liam is the guy who perpetually looks like he’s about to launch into a Shakespearean monologue. If you’re listening to the podcast, his character voice is soft with a German accent.

Caleb is a human wizard. His variant human feat gives him an eidetic memory and the ability to always know what time it is. Wizards are magic-users who got to where they are with careful study; Caleb has to keep track of his spells by transcribing them into a spellbook. He also has a familiar in the form of the cat Frumpkin, although Frumpkin can also change forms. Mechanically, wizards can pick up spells from a lot of different sources to learn them, but again, the cost in time and materials of transcribing them into a spellbook can be substantial. More specifically, Caleb is a transmutation wizard, which means his wizardry focuses around the act of transforming one thing into another.

Nott (played by Sam Riegel)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Sam is the guy with an alarmingly big smile and a comically oversized flask. If you’re listening to the podcast, his character voice is high-pitched with varying levels of Cockney accent.

Nott is a goblin rogue. Goblins are small and quick, and may or may not be well-received depending on the location. Rogues are sneaky individuals who do best when striking from the shadows or scouting ahead to investigate potential traps and unlock doors. Mechanically, they get a huge bonus in combat if they attack when unseen or when an opponent is distracted by an ally. They’re also very good at avoiding attacks and at hiding from view. More specifically, Nott is an arcane trickster rogue, which means she also dabbles in magic related to illusions and enchantment.

Jester (played by Laura Bailey)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Laura is the one who may or may not be instigating every round of giggles at accidental innuendo. If you’re listening to the podcast, her character voice is bubbly with an Eastern European accent.

Jester is a tiefling cleric. Tieflings essentially look like brightly-colored humans (Jester has blue skin) with horns and a tail; they’re the result of infernal ancestry and also may or may not be well-received. Clerics are magic-users who derive their power from the blessing of a deity or other extremely powerful entity. Jester’s divine patron is the Traveler, a mysterious trickster with an affinity for phallic graffiti. Mechanically, clerics have a massive stable of spells from which they can choose a subset every morning; their abilities range from healing wounds to causing devastating harm. More specifically, Jester is a trickery domain cleric, which means her spells have a strong focus on illusions and pranks.

Mollymauk (played by Taliesin Jaffe)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Taliesin is the one who looks like he may be some sort of ancient fey creature who’s come to our realm to play D&D. If you’re listening to the podcast, his character voice has an Irish accent of varying intensity.

Molly is a tiefling blood hunter with purple skin. Blood hunters are a custom class Matt created that can use their own blood (in a process called hemocraft) to augment their combat abilities. Mechanically, blood hunters are high-risk high-reward; they can perform devastatingly brutal attacks, but often only at the cost of shedding some of their own blood to do so. More specifically, Molly is an Order of the Ghostslayer blood hunter, which means he’s got an affinity for things relating to the moment of death.

Yasha (played by Ashley Johnson)

If you’re watching the show in video form, Ashley is the one who isn’t around for a little bit (she was splitting her time with a TV show on the opposite coast) and then SHE’S BACK AND I’M STILL SO HAPPY ABOUT THAT. If you’re listening to the podcast, her character voice is soft with a faint Scandinavian accent.

Yasha is an aasimar barbarian. Aasimar are the semi-divine counterpart to tieflings, although Yasha is a fallen aasimar with a fairly different aesthetic. Barbarians use their rage to enhance their already fierce battle prowess. Mechanically, barbarians in a rage take less damage and deal more damage, and also embrace a high-risk high-reward playstyle as tanks in the middle of the fray. More specifically, Yasha is a Path of the Zealot barbarian, which means her battle rages are fueled by the influence of a divine being.

Interested in watching from the start of campaign 2? The show has a YouTube channel with each episode posted in its entirety, and all episodes are also available in podcast form (they did jump channels partway through, but you can usually find a playlist that has them all). If you want to delve into campaign 1, I highly recommend it, but be aware that they’re still figuring out tech stuff and you’re also jumping in partway through the game they started years earlier at home. Campaign 2 starts 20 years after campaign 1 on a different continent of the same world, and is intended to be an appropriate jumping-on point for new viewers.

Interested in catching up faster so you can watch live with friends? Search Critical Recap for a series of recap videos on YouTube, which then becomes a series of written summaries on the CritRole website after episode 88. There are also great summaries on the Wiki, and many people have put together catch-up guides for new viewers.

There’s A LOT of content out there. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for skimming the early stuff if you want to get in on the new episodes sooner. <3

Episodes air at 7 PM Pacific every Thursday on Critical Role’s Twitch and YouTube channels; the VOD goes up for free on YouTube the Monday after. In the last few months, the cast has been distanced at the studio (all on separate cameras) and episodes have been pre-recorded several weeks in advance; normally, the show is streamed live and everyone is around the same table.

Hope that helps! If you have any questions, let me know. This is a fun show to get into, and a great all-consuming massive body of entertainment if you have the time for it.

#critical role #eponymous reference tag #long text post

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

The Witcher’s Woes

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: bruising/marking, rough sex, dirty talk, light degradation, mentions of blood/injuries, very mild angst, porn with plot

Word Count: 10k

A/N: This is a collab piece for the Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab hosted by myself, @present-mel, and @linestrider

You can find all the other wonderfully creative and smutty pieces on our masterlist!

P.S.: This is a long one, if you feel like only reading smut, feel free to jump down to the second line break and begin there.

_____________________________________________________________

A Witcher: someone who has undergone extensive training, ruthless mental and physical conditioning, and mysterious rituals, which take place within Witcher schools such as the Wolf, Cat, and Griffin in their respective hidden Kaers, or home castles, in preparation for becoming an itinerant monster slayer for hire. (source: fandom.com).

The storms were raging on the coast, salty waves crashing into the shore like heavy hands attempting to crawl out of the sea, only to get dragged back into the abyss. The winds were howling, lightning crashing, yet the storm was the last thing on your mind as you opened the door to your lowly estate.

Ushijima of Velhad still had his arm raised from where he knocked on the wood, his yellow eyes glowing against the darkness of night. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, his chestnut hair tousled, lines of rain water dripping down his nose, his cheeks pallid. Even still, The Witcher looked to be a living memory, no new wrinkles or scars that you could detect when the rumbling flashes lit the sky. If it wasn’t for the rain, he would’ve looked entirely the same since you last saw him years ago, smiling in the evening glow of the countryside before departing for a new journey.

You ushered him in quickly, silently, your instincts for hospitality taking over before you could begin to think of questioning him about his sudden arrival. His armor was damp, heavy, sloshing and clinking as he undid the leather and meteorite laced straps from his shoulders. He was breathing slowly, deliberately. You rushed to grab towels from a chest, blanketing him in warmth as he sat before your rolling fireplace. He uttered a quiet thanks, never one to use words out of place.

The tea you had been brewing above the fire began to boil. You quickly poured two cups, adding a dash of the alcoholic white gull to his and using a burst of fire magic between your palms to keep the cup warm. You settled into the chair beside him, noticing how his gaze leered into the sparking fireplace.

“Ushijima,” you finally called him, after time had passed and his hair began to dry, “are you hurt? Is that why you’re here?”

He grunted from beside you, moving the hand you noticed had been clutching his rib cage.

“Yes, but not badly. I needed refuge from the storm more-so than a potion.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

He was quiet for a moment, perhaps pondering if he should simplify the truth.

“A sorceress, even in hiding, is never hard to find. The townsfolk talk, you know. I knew you were nearby before even beginning my hunt.”

“You could have asked for more than the tea I gave you, you know I’m here to help.”

He leaned back in the chair, his thick, long legs spreading out before the fire, his socks still damp and clinging to his toes, a big cat uncurling his weary limbs.

“It would have been rude to barge in begging for assistance.”

Ah, yes. He was still as courteous as always, his Griffin School teaching still ingrained in his mannerisms. Most Witchers were not so polite, but that school in particular valued traditional teachings. You knew you’d have to indulge his small conversation before getting more answers from him; he always played the chivalrous game, after all.

“Tell me, what brings you to the shores of Blaviken? Last I saw of you, you were riding north, returning to what is left of Kaer Seren.”

“There is nothing left,” he sighed, both arms now resting on the chair, the last remnants of tea staining his cup, “everything was destroyed, save a few books I found amongst the rubble.”

“What a shame, that library was a marvel. I would’ve liked to visit it myself.”

The story of the destruction of Kaer Seren was only well known to those acquainted with the last remaining Witchers. The keep was tucked away amidst the edge of the sea and the snowy mountains of Kovir to the north. The Witchers of that school, all of Ushijima’s kin, were well acquainted with magic and kept a vast library of mystic tomes within their home. But they were secretive, protective of their knowledge. Witchers, men created by magic to become the monsters they killed, were guarded for good reason. Years of persecution had left their numbers in ruin.

A group of mages felt scorned by the Witchers’ refusal to share their wealth and toppled the castle of Kaer Seren in an avalanche, leaving bodies and crumpled books in the wake, all never to be used again. You could almost picture the blood and ink that stained the snowy graves.

You’d only heard this story from the mouth of Ushijima himself, one night after too many scuffles and too many drinks.

“I brought some for you,” he smiled then, warm and soft, full lips on display, “that’s the real reason I’m here.”

His eyes were especially luminous in the firelight, gold irises reflecting the flames like the most precious of coins. His cheeks were flushed now, color regaining across his skin. Freckles smattered his cheeks like dried blood; you had to hold yourself back from reaching to him, from caressing his skin to see if the marks were lost war paint or new stories etched into his skin. He was tanned from all his time spent meditating in the sun, truly a unique specimen to behold. It was rare to see someone so brutal be so beautiful.

You were excited at his words, your fingers digging into the grooves of your cup at the mention of magical books awaiting you to peruse them.

He could see the eagerness behind your eyes and he laughed, then coughed, but continued his soft chuckling again. You paused, realizing he must be in more pain than he was letting on. His arm had returned to his torso, the thickly corded muscle clutching and protecting whatever injury was lying beneath.

“They’re in my bag by your door, you should go look at—.”

“Ushi, you’re hurt. Let me take care of you.”

Before becoming friends with the valiant hunter, you would’ve leapt at the opportunity to read hidden knowledge. But years of acquaintance with the hardened man had your heart tugging in another direction; suddenly, Ushijima was becoming more important than all your years of study and practice in sorcery.

He had a habit of breaking everything he touched: monsters, glass cups, weapons, he had a very powerful grip, and perhaps you were just the next thing in line to come undone by his hands.

You stood from your place by the fire, strolling over to a cabinet where you kept all the alchemy ingredients you had collected from your years living alone here by the sea. Many travelers had come by, having heard of the witch by the shore, bringing elements and components to sell at a high price. And you had taken them all, emptying your purse at even the faintest glimpse of a rare material peeking from their bag. You loved your craft, you had perfected it, almost, and every day you spent toiling away finding new ways to create potions and expand your magical knowledge.

“I need to know what you were hunting earlier.” Your fingers began rustling within the crowded shelves, grabbing an empty bottle as you heard him sigh behind you.

“A Hym,” he said softly, “it scratched my side, it’s deep, but not fatal.”

You stilled, eyes darting across all your ingredients. He said the word so easily, so nonchalantly, like he didn’t just battle a demon.

“A slice from Hym’s ethereal claws drains the life force from their victim, the longer that wound sits untreated, the worse you will get.” You mentally cursed at him, blaming his chivalrous nature for hurting him for longer than he deserved to be in pain. If he had said something when he came in your front door, you could have had him on the mend already.

“I know that, but a small potion to get me through most of the pain until now.”

“You’ll need more than that. You’re lucky, I just went to town last week and managed to find vitriol. I can make you a superior swallow drink, just…stay still.”

Quiet mumbles tumbled from your lips as you worked: measurements, ingredients, small musings as you set aside all the components to begin assembling them upon your alchemy table. Plants like white myrtle, celandine, crow’s eye fell into the bottle of enhanced swallow you already had on hand; you added fruit, nothing too exotic, just the common berbercane, and finally the blue tinted vitriol powder.

You eyed the hunter as you mixed the potion, swirling the now red liquid within the high neck of the bottle, speeding up the mixing process with a little magic of your own. Only he would have such insouciance concerning a fight with such a wicked creature. He was talented, perhaps not as much as the more legendary Witchers that roamed the lands, but Ushijima was strong, sturdy, nimble and smart when in battle. His stoic nature allowed him to distance himself from the horrors of his life, a life you knew he had not chosen.

He was an orphan, brought up by the Griffin School and transformed into a monster hunter without much consent, though you knew he had none to give. But he wore his profession like a badge of honor, looking at his life through a lens of helping those who could not help themselves in a world infested with demons, ghouls, and humanoid monstrosities.

You’d always wanted to admit how admirable you found him, but you knew he was never one to take compliments.

Standing next to where he was patiently sitting, you offered him the small bottle, the glass precariously dangling in your fingers.

“Take this,” you pulled the flask away just slightly as he reached for it, “but only after you tell me what the hell you were doing fighting a Hym.”

“You said it yourself, I get worse every moment I don’t drink that.”

“You’ve lasted an hour, Ushi,” you chided, “I think you can take a few moments to tell me why there was a Hym near Blaviken.”

You sat the bottle back on the table, moving to stand behind him and press the towel around his shoulders a little tighter into his neck. He gave you a contented sigh, eyes closing. He never liked to talk about his work, but you always pressed him. You lived in this monstrous world as well, had killed a few drowners while walking along the sands, aided an earl with a botchling, once even made friends with a rather tempting succubus. Everyone in this world was plagued by wretched creatures, he was just more qualified to kill them with his training and silver swords.

Your fingers pressed into the soft cloth around his neck, picking up the fabric and using it to brush against his hair and continue drying the damp spots still lingering around his ears, the back of his neck. You normally weren’t so blatant with your affection for him, but you knew you had him as a captive audience within the chair. He’d have to tell you his story before earning what he desired, but you might as well humor him with soothing touches while he did.

“Hyms are nasty things, you know. Demons that feed off the guilt of others.” He began.

“I found a note from a daughter in distress about her father on a notice board not too far down the road. He was going mad, she wrote, she thought perhaps he had become possessed. I did some searching in their house, found love letters tucked away under the old man’s mattress addressed to his sister-in-law. He wanted her, he loved her, so he killed his own brother to have her. But then she threw herself into the sea from her own grief; I think the Hym could’ve gotten to her first, then transfixed itself onto the man.”

“Hm, the things we do for love.” You mused, hands coming to rest on his shoulders once again.

Somehow, he felt stronger, broader than the last time you’d touched him. You sunk your fingers into the sinews on display in his damp shirt, humming to yourself. You’d thought about this before, about having the strengthened hunter sit vulnerably before you, only your thoughts involved the two of you in much less clothing and talking of much less rotten things.

You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering the sketches you’d seen of Hyms in bestiaries. They were murky, shadowy beings, devilish horns upon their faceless heads, long black claws dripping from their hands. You would have cowered at the sight of such a creature, yet Ushijima sought out to destroy it.

His gruff voice continued on, “I confronted the man, called out the Hym, and it began to attack. Its claws are long, it scratched me from the very beginning. But it’s gone now, perhaps banished to the dark realm from whence it came.”

You plucked the bottle from its resting place, handing it to Ushijima over his shoulder. He took it with a simple thanks, head tipping back as he drank the entirety of its contents. You watched almost gleefully at his thick, irresistible neck on display. Everything about him was so strong, so well kept, even as he sat before you dampened from a storm.

“You know, Ushi, I could listen to you talk like that for hours.”

“Oh yeah? Then maybe I’ll stick around for a bit this time, let you listen to all my seedy tales.”

“Mhm, they’re only seedy when that bard friend of yours is around. Is he still alive? Tendō, that is.”

A flash of red hair and a catlike smile flashed before your mind’s eye as you thought of the dangerous, yet comical bard who often clung to the Witcher’s side.

Ushijima laughed, clutching at his stomach as you circled his chair and came to stand before him, arms crossed delicately in front of your body. Your figure cast a silhouette across his own, making you seem larger than life in the firelight. He was enraptured in the inky vice of your shadow.

“Yes, somehow he is still alive. Last I heard of him, he’s off singing songs in the capital of Redania to some rich heiress.”

“Good to hear,” you shrugged, “I always liked him.”

“No, he always liked you.” He wiggled his eyebrows, the action sending you into a fit of giggles as well. “And I can’t blame him.”

Your laughter subsided at his words, a warm tingle spreading across your body. Normally Ushijima was not one to flirt without the aid of alcohol; perhaps you’d given him more than you thought in his tea earlier? You watched him relax in his seat, lifting his shirt to reveal a quickly fading wound upon his tawny skin, the old blood sinking back into the muscle where it belonged.

Thunder rumbled outside the walls, a heavy boom resounding from the gods above.

“You should bathe, Ushi.”

“What, do I smell?”

He was suddenly so playful, so charming, his grin making you feel flustered.

“You will soon, I’m sure. Go beyond those doors,” you pointed over your shoulder, “It’s a heated pool, one of the reasons I chose this god forsaken estate.”

“Will you join me?”

You took a pause. This man was always making you pause, making you step back and evaluate your words and actions around him. Surely, he was joking. But the gleam in his bright eyes told you a different story, there was more lingering behind his words that you did not yet understand.

“I will, but only after I take a peek at those books you brought me. Now, off with you.”

You brushed by him as he stood, arms stretching above his head, his body shifting as he evaluated the healing wound upon his flesh. His heavy boots clunked against the floorboards as he followed your command, the sound of an enhanced predator marking his path. He slid through the door at the back of the great room and left you alone once more.

You would’ve been ashamed if he saw how quickly you rushed to his bag, gathering the cold, dusty books in your arms before setting them gently on the table. They were relics, ancient, undoubtedly hiding secret runes and magic within their spines.

Your fingertips brushed over the titles of the four books he brought you, but despite being entranced by the knowledge lying in wait for you, you were imagining your fingers to be elsewhere. You flipped one book open, your nails following the lines of ink, but your mind took in no words you read.

You were somewhere else; you were mentally with Ushijima, your fingers back in his hair, your hands exploring places unknown to you on his skin. He was the well-guarded book you desired to read, to hold, to explore.

______________________________________________________________

Ushijima was astounded by your bath. He knelt to the stones on the ground, using his keen senses to feel the heated rocks and look for their source. There were some offshore vents that were connected to this place, feeding in warm water to the bath. He took in a deep breath, smelling the lingering hint of salt in the air, but the scent didn’t entirely match the ocean.

He dipped his fingers in the water, finding it smooth, warm, unsalted. You must have put magic in place to filter all the sediment from the pipes. You always were clever, even in the smallest of ways. Your wit was something he admired about you.

He took his time undressing, his ears perked as he heard you rustling paper in the other room. He had felt embarrassed at first about being so sentimental towards you; he had known from the beginning of his journey that any tomes he found would be placed into your care for you to enjoy. He’d read them, of course, the journey from Kovir and Poviss still a long one to the border of Redania where you lived. As he divulged himself in the ancient knowledge of his Witcher school, he always pictured you reading the same words he did; he felt your presence nestling into his skin, enveloping him like a magic spell. He liked to imagine how you’d react to the pages, how many notes you would scribble down from certain intriguing sections.

Ushijima thought about you more than he cared to admit.

Naked, he stepped into the bath, his screaming muscles finally silenced under the hot press of water against his body. The bathing pool had a ledge around its border, and he took a seat at the back, arms spreading out like heavy wings along the rocky edge. He sat where he could watch the door; it was instinct, he told himself, to always be aware of his surroundings, but he knew he was just waiting to glimpse your figure appear before him.

Some nights, when preparing his tent under the stars, he would think of the first time he met you. He had traveled with Tendō to some opulent gathering in Toussaint, one filled with wine and vampires he knew were hidden amongst the crowds, but any thought he had of a hunt had vanished when he saw you. You were delightful, enchanting, eye-catching amongst the throngs of people. It didn’t take long for his friend to seek you out, to gain your friendship, and Ushijima watched patiently from the sidelines, watched how you held yourself with such poise and dignity. But all the while, he was aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to know you.

You had become his guilty pleasure over the years, a fantasy he envisioned as he lay alone at night. Even when he was meditating, he was hard-pressed to not find himself seeing your skin behind his eyes, imagining how your body would feel within his hands. The hands of a killer, a fiend, hands that crushed whatever he held all too easily. But you, you were so powerful, so seemingly untouchable, and he found himself unworthy to behold you. He was just another creature, a man turned monster, someone wholly undeserving of a divine sorceress.

He huffed to himself, a shy smile pulling at his cheeks as he thought of your words from earlier.

“The things we do for love.” He repeated the words to himself, sinking a little deeper into the water.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to enter. He was unexpectedly aware of his nakedness as you entered, fully clothed still in your corset and trousers. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, spreading down across his belly, at the prospect of watching you change; it would be impolite to ogle you. He turned his gaze instead to the water, watching how the surface lapped at his skin as he shifted his weight.

“Are you comfortable?” You called out to him from across the room. He could hear your clothing shuffling, hear the laces coming undone one by one from your body. The room felt quiet, the air smothering. He’d felt so bold earlier, but now he felt almost ashamed that he had asked you to join him.

“Ushiwaka,” you implored with a little more strain to your voice, “don’t tell me you’ve gone shy on me.”

His gaze shifted up for only a moment, catching a glimpse of your naked back as you peered over your shoulder at him, your hands ready to pull down your breeches and become fully naked. He couldn’t help himself, he gawked at your beauty, tracing every curve, line, and dip across your splendidly sculpted skin. You looked more beautiful than any constellation he pointed out with his finger in the night sky. He unabashedly gazed at the planes of your shoulders, the gentle slope of your spine. He imagined taking his time to map the uncharted waters of your body, of discovering every hidden cosmos tucked away within your curves.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, “I think I’ve become even more comfortable at the sight of you.”

He held his breath for a moment, waiting for your reaction. Upon seeing you smile and turn your face away, he sighed, sinking deeper into the pool, arms barely keeping him afloat from where they rested on the edge.

He heard splashing as you waded into the water, submerging yourself up to your neck before you came to sit just a few feet away from him. From here, he could study you more closely, see the elegant slope of your neck into your shoulder. He was pleased to note that he could still make out the form of your breasts in the water, the lovely globes just barely dipping out of sight.

“I must say, even in the given circumstances, you’re still a sight for sore eyes.” He always loved how silky your voice was, always melodious to his ears. He always worried he’d forget how it sounded, but your timbre matched the tone he had been playing in his head since he last saw you.

“I haven’t heard the name Ushiwaka in a long time,” he confessed, “it’s always Witcher now, or Ushijima of Velhad since that’s where I did most of my work.”

“Well, you lost that name—Wakatoshi—a long time ago when you were picked up by the Witchers, but I know it is sentimental to you still. If you prefer, I can just call you Ushijima.”

“You know I don’t mind it.” He felt like he said the words too quickly.

“Hm, well, I’ll call you anything you let me, Ushiwaka.”

A shiver hit his body at your words, he was keen enough to know there was innuendo laced behind them.

______________________________________________________________

You closed your eyes, head leaning back against the warm stone as you allowed the steamy water to wash away the grime of the day. You moved your hands over your body, feeling the sticky sweat melt away. You reached for a small towel, tossing one in Ushijima’s direction and watching how he caught it so effortlessly, like a cat swatting at a shadow on the wall. He received a small bar of lavender soap with the same ease, his nose wrinkling at the flowery scent.

You both took a moment to wash, you humming an old tune, Ushijima remaining silent aside from the sloshing of water made from his heavy limbs beneath the surface.

You’d never been in such an intimate space with him before. A bath is time of solace and cleansing, but also one of exposure and susceptibility. Water intentionally brings forth feelings of intimacy and ambivalence. You knew he was there, watching, his heightened senses attuned to every sound, smell, every minimal movement around him. You couldn’t take his silence any longer.

“I—,” you began quietly, “can I ask you something?”

His movements ceased, those radiant eyes now focusing entirely on you. You instantly felt heat spread across your chest, climbing up and darkening your ears with blush. You wondered for a moment if he could see through you, in you, see how fast your heart was pounding blood through all your veins. His intense stare made you feel like he was closer, his deadly hand wrapped acutely around your heart, aiding it as it struggled to beat harder, faster.

“Of course.” His words were direct, poignant, the deep vibrations almost tingling the water itself.

“When you were facing that Hym, at any moment, did you fear it would sense your grief?”

You could tell he was taken aback by your words. He placed the wet cloth to his chest, his long fingers digging into the fabric as he pondered what you said.

Once again, he wasn’t sure if he should simplify the truth. He mulled over your question, let the words seep into his consciousness as he looked up to the ceiling. He should’ve known you were astute enough to see through him.

“Yes,” he stated, “I did.”

He didn’t wish to elaborate any further, but he could tell his curt response didn’t satisfy your internal reasonings.

“I see.” You noted somberly.

“How did you know?”

He watched you slink farther under the water, searching for cover, searching for a way not to express your thoughts. He noticed how your legs crossed beneath the surface, the light from the hanging candles glittering through the water.

“I know you didn’t choose this path, didn’t choose to be a Witcher. That was forced upon you; you were lucky you even survived the Trial of Grasses that made you into what you are—.”

“A monster.” He interjected flatly.

“You’re not…” you sighed, dipping your head into your wet hand, “you’re no monstrosity, Ushi, not even a miscreation.”

He tensed at your words, catching how you regarded him with a solemn look.

“I didn’t choose a life of sorcery, you know. I was torn away from society when I was a girl, taught to use my source of magic to heal wounds, but also how to kill someone in an instant. People…powerful people used me to their advantage. It’s why I stay hidden now, I’m running from my past misdeeds. I know what it is like to have regrets; to grieve.”

He only nodded in understanding, afraid of using the wrong affirmations.

A heavy silence fell between you once again. You plucked the soap from its resting place behind you, thoughts tumbling through your mind like the waves crashing at the shore outside. So many words were desperate to leave your mouth, to be birthed and said and made into reality between you, but you dared not.

If anyone understood the weightiness, the hidden meaning behind silence, it was Ushijima.

But even he couldn’t bear it much longer. He grunted, running his wet hands over his face as he contemplated his next move.

“Well, tell me this. What would you be if not a sorceress?”

“Hm? Oh, I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve just…always accepted my fate.”

“I’d have been a sportsman,” he declared, a slight uplift in his voice.

“Oh really?” He watched as a grin pulled at your cheeks, the heaviness of the conversation before dissipating. “And what sports are you good at, Ushiwaka?”

“Anything with a ball,” he shrugged, “some kids down south play games with poorly strung nets, and they do their best to keep the ball from hitting the ground as they toss it back and forth. I think I’d be quite decent at it; I am agile, after all.”

“Powerful, too.” You remarked.

“You think so?” He teased.

He eyed you carefully as you set the cloth and soap aside.

You began to move... towards him. His eyes narrowed, his hands mimicking your actions and setting his bathing instruments to the side, freeing his hands.

You were ethereal in the water, gentle waves lapping at your skin, the ebb and flow of it shimmering around your body.

“Now that I think about it, I know what I would at least be proficient as if not a sorceress.”

The smirk that tugged at your lips intrigued him. Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out for you, taking your arms and pulling you towards his chest.

“And that is?”

Time stopped for a moment as you settled yourself into his lap, the sound of your breathing, the feeling of skin upon skin, touch upon touch, the only increments of time needed.

His body was so hot, so willing to accept yours upon it.

“I’d be a wonderful whore.”

Golden eyes flickered up to you, lashes low, his lips parted.

“Care to show me?”

Your skin was cold to his warm touch, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks. He was so close, so eager, you could feel hardness begin to form between where your thighs cradled his.

Your hands slid across his shoulders, feeling the grooves and puckers of scars pass under your touch. You settled your grasp onto his neck, steadying yourself above him. His hands played against your skin under the water, the heavy fingers finding your hips and sinking into the smooth flesh he found. You gasped aloud at the feeling; his grip was strong, iron-clad, daring to leave marks behind. You wanted to break under his touch, collapse against his chest and allow the water to pull you both under into euphoria, but you secured your inner desires. Your back straightened, your fingers clawing into his thick skin.

“Ushiwaka,” you whispered it like a humble prayer, your lips brushing his, “kiss me.”

He groaned, pulling you a little closer, spreading your thighs a little wider.

“Why don’t you kiss me, little temptress? Show me how much you want me.”

You felt bewitched, wondering for a moment if he had placed you under a mind control spell with his words. Your thoughts were jumbled, but they were still yours: kiss him, touch him, read the hidden words on his inky pages like you had long desired.

Your lips met his tenderly, hesitantly, tasting the salt of water and sweat against his awaiting mouth. He breathed through his nose like he was exhaling life into you. He moved his mouth against yours, testing you, pushing at you, and effortlessly you gave in. Your eyes were closed, but you felt like you could still see him, felt like you knew every step in the dance he was leading you in. It felt so natural, so smooth, and you found yourself clinging to him with every press of his lips against yours.

Then his mouth fell open; an invitation. You followed him, sliding your tongue in, finding his own past his teeth. He felt like true sin, his tongue tempting yours to reveal its secrets to him. It was slow, methodical, a mutual exploration of tastes and pleasures you had both long craved to discover.

Your chest fell to his, your breasts meeting the hard planes of muscle found there. You moaned, the sound of water moving igniting your hunger as one of his hands meandered up your back, fingers lapsing into your soft muscles. He offered you a groan, and you took it desperately, hastening your kiss and plunging you both deeper into one another. One of your hands wandered from his neck, slipping down his chest, pressing him back against the edge of the pool. Your nails pulled at his flesh, wanting, needing, unknowing how to gain purchase against such solid muscle.

He tasted like tea leaves: earnest, alluring, but also like the earth, like something natural and primal. It was a taste that was familiar, enticing, and every time he took a moment to breathe, you found yourself diving back in for another taste, another glimpse of what lay hidden beyond his lips.

“Mhm,” he moaned as he finally pulled away, chest rising and falling, “perhaps I’ll mold you into my own personal whore.”

“I’d like that, Ushiwaka.”

The blood within his veins rushed to his cock at the sound of his name, of that personal name, falling from your sweet voice. Fuck, he would give anything to have you, but it seemed that he didn’t have to. He could feel by the way you clung to him, by the way you kissed him with such fervor, that you desired him all the same. It was thrilling to know you wanted him, and he wondered how far he could take you.

His hand glided away from your back, circling around to your chest. He cupped one of your breasts in his hands, holding back a groan as he felt the weight of it within his palm. He watched how the water lapped at your skin, the ripples from his movement brushing against a hardening nipple. The small sound of delight that left your lips had him refocusing his gaze to your face. You wore a sly smile, your own hand upon his neck tightening in anticipation of his next move.

“I’m a dark man, my love. Hardened.”

He was toying with you, but his words offered some truth. Ushijima had been envisioning you like this for far too long; there many devious things he wanted to do to your body.

You leaned forward, pressing a wet kiss to his ear, your voice low, “hardened indeed…I can feel you between my thighs.”

He smirked at your words, taking your nipple between his fingers and listening to you gasp as he gave it a simple tug. Your teeth found his ear in response, nipping tenderly.

His eyes fluttered at the feeling; a groan caught in his throat. He wondered if you could sense it. You pulled back slightly, angling your head to give him another kiss. He accepted it gladly, tongue ready to find yours again.

“You can be an obedient little whore, can’t you?” He rumbled against your lips; his words being lost inside your mouth.

You ate the words like you were starved, a hot moan swallowing them down as you felt a shock of pleasure race down your spine. He grunted at your action, the hand upon your breast squeezing in response.

“Yes,” you said softly, as he allowed you to escape his kiss, “where did all your chivalry go, Ushiwaka?”

He smirked as you teased him, his lips dipping to your neck, tongue tracing the lingering water droplets that fell down your skin.

“It’s waiting between your legs.”

It was a growl, the sound of a predator marking his prey, the sound of a man holding back his lusts.

You sucked in a breath, eyes closing as you dipped your head back and allowed him more access to the length of your throat. The hand at your breast squeezed harder, his thumb and forefinger rolling languidly across your straining nipple. You felt like you were lost at sea, the weight of the water around your bodies feeling heavier as Ushijima pulled you into his tides. He was the moon, pushing you, pulling you; he always has been. For so long he kept you at arm’s length, toying with you, teasing you, bringing you so close to him but never close enough. But tonight, the moon was waning, his control faltering as he finally gave in and allowed himself to fall into the calling sea.

He held you back on his thighs, but you could feel the heat radiating from his body below the surface. One of your hands trailed down his chest as he sucked dark red marks into the junction of your shoulder and neck, staining your skin with colors from his own making. He bit your skin especially rough when your wandering fingers found the hard lines of his stomach.

You were tentative, taking a moment to feel if his wound was finally gone from the magic bestowed upon him. You could only feel scars underneath your palm, though one felt particularly puckered and new. But his stomach wasn’t your goal, it was what was straining against it.

He cursed into your skin when you wrapped your hand around his cock, fingers pumping against the silken skin within the water. His lips fell lower, his eyes closing as he littered open-mouth kisses against your chest, now using both hands to cup your breasts and bring a nipple within his mouth. You moaned loudly, a rush of ecstasy coursing through your veins. He pulled you forward, forcing your hand away from his cock. Instead, he shifted to where his cock was nestled between your pussy and his stomach, allowing just enough friction to keep you wanting.

He needed to keep his head clear if he was going to please you in all the ways he had dreamt of. He was going to taste you, tease you, earn the right to claim your body as his own.

“Ushi—,” you went to whine, but a calloused pinch to your nipple ripped his name away from your mouth.

“Be quiet.” He demanded against your breast, teeth lightly tugging at your hardened bud.

You only gasped in response, hands smoothing across his broad shoulders as he worked his way to your other breast, hands needy, mouth exceptionally hot. Your hips pressed down and you felt the length of his thick cock against your aching pussy. You experimentally slid yourself against him, desperate to feel more touch against your most sensitive flesh, against the place that had wanted him for so long.

His hands moved to your hips to still you, his vice-like grip returning.

His mouth left your breast, his chin tilting up to look at you. Those glowing eyes were dark, ravenous; perhaps there was something monstrous sleeping inside of him, ready to awaken.

“Stop tempting me. You’ll regret it.”

His reflexes snapped as your lips parted to speak. Two thick fingers slid onto your tongue, pressing it down, the taste of water and leather swirling in your mouth. His taste was a mixture of his worn gloves and the floral soap he’d cleansed himself with. You groaned, head tilting back as you let him have his way, your mouth suctioning around his fingers for some kind of relief.

He eyed you carefully, watching the sinews in your neck come on display for him. Bruising marks of his design were blooming on your skin, little fragments of memories coming to life before his eyes. Your mouth felt like sin and he could already imagine how it would feel to have his cock sliding against the supple lips wrapped around his fingers.

Ushijima twisted your nipple again, a little harder, a little tighter, feeling pleased with himself as he heard and felt the grumble of a groan against his skin. A small drip of saliva trickled down your chin and he used his thumb to smear it into your cheek.

He could’ve held you like this for all eternity, had you pressed against his cock, his fingers padded against your tongue, your beautiful breasts on display as he groped one, watching the flesh mold into his hand. He had you subdued, compliant, a wondrous creature caught in a dangerous trap. He could do anything he wanted to you right here and now, and the realization had his cock twitching against your cunt.

For his own enjoyment, he was going to mark you, leave something behind on the picturesque pallet of your body.

You would never be allowed to forget him, as he knew this vision of you would forever live inside his mind.

He took his time, each bite and suck carefully and meticulously placed. Ushiwaka was never one to use his mouth without purpose, whether it be for his words, or his kisses. Your shoulders, your chest, your breasts, nothing was forgotten, and you felt like you had been sitting on his lap for eons. Each time his mouth curled into your flesh, his hair tickling you, you felt hotter, more alive than before. You pressed down harder against him, searching for some kind of release to the pleasure he was building inside of you. But he had you pinned, a strong arm encircled your back and kept you exactly where he wanted you.

When he sucked your nipple back into his mouth, you cried out against his fingers, your tongue darting between the digits as you sucked a quick breath in through your nose. He paid you no mind, his own tongue licking meticulously at your nipple, up and down, slow and steady. The bliss that erupted from your breast was almost mind-numbing. Your thighs clenched around his, your head lolling back even farther than before. You needed more, you were desperate to feel that talented mouth back on yours, to feel his fat cock slip inside you were you needed it.

Finally, he released you, his mouth leaving your breast as he slipped his fingers from your mouth. You took a moment to catch your breath. He splashed his drool covered fingers in the water, bringing the wet digits back to your face to wipe you clean, his thumb tracing your lips with care.

“See what being quiet gets you?”

You nodded your head in agreement, your nails finally releasing his shoulders where they had been clawing into his skin.

“I need you,” your arms wrapped around his neck, your mouth finding his in a tender kiss, “please, Ushiwaka.”

“You beg so prettily, my love. Perhaps I should have you beg a little more.”

“No! Fuck, please…” you entangled yourself around him, legs curling around his toned waist, your face nestling into his shoulder. You brushed the skin found there with your mouth, hungrily moaning against him. You were frantic; you had already waited for him for so long, thought about him for too many nights, too many years.

His strong arms enveloped your back and he lifted you easily from the water. You adhered yourself to his body, ready to have your muscles clench around him to assist, but he needed no such help. Your weight was effortless to him.

Ushijima used the ledge of the pool as a step, faultlessly exiting the pool like a nautical divinity coming to soft shores. He was cautious as he laid your wet body upon the heated stone, careful not to crush you under his weight. He watched your eyes alight as you took in the sight of him out of the water, now hovering above you. Your gentle fingers traced over his biceps, his shoulders, his chest, finding the constellations of scars upon his skin, his own physical galaxy for you to explore.

He took your face in his hand as one of his muscled thighs spread your legs. You were entranced in his gaze, finding yourself lost in the molten amber of his eyes as his pupils danced across your face. He was taking in every bit of you that he could, burning this vision of you below him into his memory. You were flushed, lips parted, slightly swollen from his ardent kisses. Your delicate hands moved to rest beside your head, palms facing him, submissive.

“Please,” your voice broke him from his trance, “don’t make me wait any longer.”

He nodded in response, eyes tracing down across your body. He relished having you before him like this, back arching towards him, breasts falling, your hips shifting against his legs. The hand on your face trailed away, making a path down your torso, fingers swirling against the lost dewy droplets against your skin. And then he finally peered down farther, having to steel himself from groaning as he found your awaiting pussy.

Your skin was prickling from the cool air meeting it, gooseflesh creeping up your legs, down your arms. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you watched him, waiting for him. You could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind, though you wished you could know them. What was he thinking? Was he hesitant?

Your own contemplations vanished when his warm, wet fingers spread your pussy, two fingers deftly sinking along the sides of your lower lips. You moaned, eyes fluttering closed, heat pooling within your belly. He took his time exploring you; he was a man of patience, after all.

You could feel his weight shift back as he sat on his knees, spreading your legs across his thighs. He curled one leg back for him, opening you up more for his viewing pleasure. His finger slowly traced up the center of your cunt, finding your sticky wetness coating the digit as it carefully curled against your clit. You let out a quick gasp, hips twitching, and he repeated the motion, watching you slowly come apart from the simplest of touches.

His other hand found his cock, fisting it as he played with you. You could hear the slick pumping of his hand against himself, and you moved your weight upon your elbows to sit up and watch him. Even on his knees, Ushijima of Velhad was intimidating, all broad shoulders and heavily corded muscle across his body. You admired how his arm flexed as he stroked himself, how his toned stomach was clenching with need. Your mouth fell open as you glimpsed his thick cock within his palm. It fit so perfectly in his big hand, throbbing, thick veins calling out to be inside of you.

You wanted to beg for him again, but your words were lost when one of his fingers slid inside of you, stretching your walls to fit around him. You dropped back against the warm stone, mouth falling open.

“So tight,” he said it like a fact, like he expected it, “you’ll feel so good stuffed with my cock.”

You bit into your lip in a whimper as he curled the digit inside of you, pumping it once, twice, with agonizing slowness. But soon, he added a second finger, the thick digits spreading you, testing you. His pace was calculated, fingers pleasurably systematic. You moaned at every twist and plunge, hips arching off the floor to meet his pace. His thumb began to circle your clit and you swore that stars overtook your vision, bursting in the corners of your eyes as you tried to focus on the ecstasy churning deep within your stomach. His long fingers were stroking your velvety walls just perfectly, each plunge feeling deeper and deeper than before, fanning the flames beneath your skin even hotter.

“Ushi, please…”

“Please what, my love? Tell me.”

He was particularly cruel, electing to rub your clit faster, harder, making your words choke in your throat. You cried out, feeling the orgasmic coil begin to tighten in your belly. You were already so strung out for his love, for his touch, and you knew your little death was just around the corner.

“Make me cum, p-please!”

You felt his heavy body come back to yours, the hand on his cock ceasing its movements and instead finding your hand beside your head. His strong fingers wrapped around your flesh, curling into your forearm, thumb tactfully pinning down your wrist to the stones below.

He repositioned the hand between your thighs, now using the palm of his hand to press against your aching clit. His fingers found the soft patch of flesh inside of you, petting against it skillfully, like he already knew exactly what you needed, knew exactly what made you fall apart to his immoral hands.

His face dipped to yours, causing your eyes to flicker open to find his adoring gaze above you. He pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, muffling your moans as your legs began to press against his forearm, thighs begging for the release he could bring you. His mouth matched the rhythm of his fingers within you, his body in harmony with your own, pulling you tightly like the strings on a well-played lute. You were so ready to snap, so ready to sing songs of praise up into him, but all too soon his mouth and his hand left your body.

He could read the bewilderment on your face, feel you try to press back against him, but he held you down easily with the weight he forced onto your wrist.

“I want to feel you come undone on my cock,” he whispered against your lips, “are you ready?”

His hand, now slick from your pussy, pushed your thighs apart wider, curled your legs back farther, his own thighs pressing into your soft flesh. You felt his cockhead brush between your dripping folds.

“Yes! Take me, for the love of all things hol—!”

His hips slammed into yours, his throbbing cock filling you, stretching, pressing you far beyond what you expected. He hushed your cry with his mouth, his hand cupping your thigh and urging your body to move with him as he began to thrust within you. Your hand that he pinned to the floor fisted in on itself, your nails threatening to break your own skin as your mind struggled to catch up with your pleasure. You were so full, so fucking full, so overwhelmed by him.

His dewy, tawny skin felt so sinful against yours, the lingering moisture on your bodies bleeding into one another. His hips were strong, fast, each plunge of his cock going deep, deep, deep into your awaiting depths, finally uncovering every hidden place on your body to have as his own. You gasped and moaned into his mouth, and his sighs melded with yours, his kiss desperate, lips crashing into yours with more fervor than the storm that raged outside.

You felt so utterly lost, yet so wholly encompassed by him, by his earthy scent, by the weight of his body against yours. Your breasts slid against his chest, nipples pebbling as they brushed against his downy hair. Your back was skating against the warm stones below, the pressure against the hard surface enough to make you ache, but it paled in comparison to the jolts of pure pleasure that resounded through your body with every thrust of his massive cock inside of you.

“More,” you pleaded softly, lips peppering him with ardent kisses, “more, more, more.”

You felt him place more pressure on your trapped wrist and you gasped, worried for a split moment that your bones would splinter under his power. But he was cautious, moving your arm gently to rest above your head. The hand on your thigh crept up your body, stopping for only an instant to grope at your bouncing breast. But his fingers quickly moved on, skimming up your other arm, palm smoothing against your dampened skin. He soon found your wrist, now using both his mighty arms to pin your own above your head, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

His words were a dare, a wicked promise.

At the nodding of your head, he smirked, lips coming to your ear.

“Tell me to stop if it becomes too much, you promise?”

His thrusts had never faltered, the air in your lungs still hot from all your heavy breaths. You closed your eyes again, finding your voice.

“I promise.”

The primal sound that left his chest startled you; you could feel the rumbling spread across your body like aftershocks of an earthquake. His hands around your wrists tightened, arms tensing. He shifted forwards, pushing your hips up, legs wider.

And then he began to pound mercilessly into your body. You screamed, the high-pitched shrill echoing within the room, rebounding off the walls, soaking into his naked skin. Every fantasy he ever had of you suddenly came alive inside his mind, burning like a roaring fire, making his vision go blind as he pounded himself inside of you. You were so warm, so god damn tight, your pussy sucking him in with every unbridled thrust that he felt like he would break open from all the euphoria that was crackling within him.

He called out your name, over, and over, and over again, reminding himself who he was with, who he finally had coming undone below him. He was still holding back, too afraid of breaking you, but even still his hips moved faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing in his ears like the constant moans and praises that feel from your mouth.

“Ushi, fuck, fuck, yes!”

He was being cruel, he knew it, slamming into you like this, making your body bow into the floor, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel that coil that was tightening inside of you earlier come to fruition on his cock, he needed to spill his seed inside of you.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel what was happening to you. All your focus was upon his cock stretching your pussy, filling you so perfectly that you knew you’d never want to feel another again. It was like you were made for him; all your limits were being pushed at once. Your wrists ached within his grip, surely bruising under such an immense hold, but you felt secure, safe underneath his power.

Your knees were bent to their threshold of flexibility, your ass now well above the floor as he curled you to fit him. His cock was so deep, his thrusts now remaining almost entirely inside of you, pounding away at your insides like a man gone mad. You were at the borders of your composure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted, eyes watering, mouth open, body stinging, longing, begging for him, “g-gonna, gonna, cum!”

“That’s right,” he murmured, tongue daring to skim the shell of your ear, “cum on my cock, baby, cum for me.”

Your nails finally pierced the flesh of your palms as you came completely undone around him, orgasm bursting forth and blooming around you in euphoria. All your senses came crashing down, every small detail becoming more alive and ever present than ever before. It was all so much, the pleasure pooling in your belly and spreading across your body faster than lightning that raced across the sky. His hot breath was against your neck, your legs aching, blood dripping down your palms, water still cooling against your skin, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks. You could hear every sound: your screams ringing against the stone, his grunts into your hair, the wet suck of your pussy around his cock, even the still water resting in the pool.

Your body was wrecked with tremors as he continued his ruthless assault, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. Your orgasm drenched his cock with thick, wet slick, encouraging him to drive a little harder, push a little deeper. He heard little pained gasps from your mouth, but he warned you he was corrupt, told you to stop him, yet you were taking him so fucking well, so fucking perfect like he knew you would. He was so close, so painfully close, his cock throbbing, his rigorous pace becoming unsettled as he felt your sweet thighs wrap around him.

Then there it was, the sound of your voice, the sound of his goddess calling to him.

“I want your cum, n-need it, please, fill me up, make me yours.”

He finally crashed, your words like the irresistible call of a siren. Hot cum filled your tight pussy, his cock thumping deep inside your womb. You felt like you could breathe again, his inhuman strength finally laxing upon your ruined body.

His mouth found yours again, his lips tender and now so familiar and welcoming. The tension in your body washed away, his loving hands tracing over your body as he allowed your legs to finally rest. Your heart was hammering in your chest; you could feel every beat inside your rib cage as you finally calmed down, mind returning, body waking up from its lust.

Ushijima slid himself from inside of you, leaving your body with a groan of satisfaction. He watched his cum pool between your thighs, pearl white and stark against the stones. He looked up at you, all of you, admiring your spent body below him. He watched how your breasts heaved with breaths, how your eyes were blinking mindlessly up at the ceiling as you came down from your high.

But then he recognized the bruises on your arms, the bites on your chest, the indentions of the stone upon your sides, the bloody nail prints in your open palms. He cursed himself, cursed his monstrous hands—he knew he was never meant to hold you, that he was unworthy.

“I hurt you.”

His simple words brought you back to reality.

You sat up then, stretching your body as you came face-to-face with him once more.

“Oh please.” You chided, a smile forming on your face as you cast a simple spell within your torn hands. He eyed you curiously as the blue tinge of magic twisted within your palms, your small wounds closing, even the marks upon your chest healing to a more reasonable color. They were still there, the small reminders he created, but they would fade on their own in a few days.

You took his face in your hands, thumbs caressing his handsome cheeks.

“No more grief, Ushiwaka. Please, for me?”

He only drew you closer in response, cradling you in his arms.

A few words of thanks came forth from his mouth, but you paid them little mind, too caught up in his embrace. You remained entangled in one another for a moment longer, both at ease in the company of each other’s breaths, your heart beats, the feeling of fingers skimming over skin.

“Stay with me awhile?” You questioned softly into his chest.

“Did you think I was going to leave after that?”

“You always leave, you know, at some point.”

“Not this time, my love. I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

You both felt the pull then, the same tug that you had both longed to feel for so long.

You were at home.

Ushijima pulled you to your feet, wordlessly leading you to get dressed and follow him back into your great room. You saw the books still open on your desk, forlorn and nearly forgotten.

He settled back into the chair after stoking the fire in your pit, bringing the flames back to life. He stretched out, yawned, and appeared wholly comfortable there, magnificent arms crossed upon his chest.

You could get used to seeing him there, and you knew little by little, he’d allow you to read his pages, too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Note: I don’t own anything from Haikyuu or the Witcher Universe.

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

#Danny Phantom #phic phight #phic fight 2021 #valerie gray #how obvious is the angst #100%#but maybe in a different way then usual?#the comfort is only the FLAMES OF POSSIBLE REVENGE

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jingyismom · 3 years

Text

Happy birthday Lan Jingyi!

word + mood prompted minithreads part 1:

river + sleepy

The sun is high and insects buzz all around their boat. It's too hot to be anywhere right now, but Jingyi supposes the river isn't the worst place to be. He squints up at the disciple steering them.

"We're not gonna hit any rapids or anything right?"

She shakes her head with only a slightly pitying look. Jingyi ignores it. How is he supposed to know river topography? He's not a fish.

Mm. Fish.

"Sizhui, are you hungry?"

Sizhui does that thing where he is Not Rolling His Eyes. "No, Jingyi, I am not hungry half a shichen after eating."

Jingyi sighs. It's too hot is what it is. He yawns.

"Well if there's no excitement and no food, I'm taking a nap."

Nobody says anything. He takes this as enthusiastic support, and stretches out against the side of the boat.

"Wake me when something interesting happens."

"With Jingyi asleep, how could anything be interesting?" Sizhui deadpans.

Jingyi lets his fingers trail in the cool water, smiling. He reaches back to lazily flick droplets at his friend and listen to the quiet, indignant sound he can't keep from making.

"Such a good point," he says. "Wake me when you miss me."

There's a beat of silence.

"Then don't go to sleep."

Jingyi huffs into his sleeve to hide his embarrassed flush.

"Can't hear you. I'm asleep already."

"Apologies."

Jingyi can hear the grin in his voice. It's nice. He sleeps.

ramen + anxiety

The dorm is far too quiet, and it's driving Jingyi out of his mind, but he knows he can't put on music and do calculus at the same time. It just doesn't work. Not that his brain and calculus work all that great anyway, but the point is, he's trying. Really, he is.

His phone buzzes and he grabs it so fast he almost fumbles it across the room. It's a text from Sizhui.

"What are you eating?"

Jingyi lets his head drop to his desk. What time even is it? Like 6?

He checks. It's 9pm.

"Ramen," he types back, defeated. It's all he has.

Or at least, he thinks he has a packet left. He's not sure. He's been too busy to keep track. Between classes, and training, and service hours liberating old ladies' cats, he's hardly had time to breathe. And now he has a test, not a quiz, a TEST, and it's tomorrow MORNING, and he doesn't even know what he's doing with half the material.

And it's 9pm. And he /thinks/ he has ramen. He may just starve.

He stares at his textbook for another interminable period of time until his phone buzzes again. It's Jin Ling, this time.

"come downstairs. bring ur miserable ramen."

Jingyi shoots out of his seat and throws on a sweatshirt. He's not entirely certain he wants to deal with whatever Jin Ling has in mind but it's better than sitting here staring into space. He grabs the ramen and half runs downstairs.

The teeny tiny kitchen is full of people. Sizhui is chopping vegetables. Zizhen is boiling water and heating oil in a pan. Jin Ling is sitting at the table, arms crossed, bowls and utensils and more packets of ramen spread like tarot in front of them.

"...Hey," Jingyi says, a little overwhelmed.

"Hey!" Zizhen calls, jiggling the pan as Sizhui throws something green into it. "Heard we're having ramen?"

Jingyi sinks into the chair across from Jin Ling.

"Yeah,” he says, grateful beyond words. "It was all I had."

rabbits + longing

"You shouldn't slouch," says Sizhui, "you're supposed to be setting an example."

Jingyi motions vaguely at the little disciples filing off the practice field, then leans his head on his fist. "They're not even looking."

"Hm."

It's disapproving sound. Jingyi glances at him sidelong.

"What, no speech?"

Sizhui gives a little shake of his head.

"Am I too pathetic for dignity? Is that what you're saying?"

Sizui frowns hard. "No. Of course not."

"I am," Jingyi insists.

He sprawls on his back along the low wall on which they're sitting. "I'm pathetic. I can't think. I can't eat. I can't even teach basic sword forms. Sizhui, how am I supposed to be a person anymore."

"Jingyi," Sizhui pleads.

"No, I'm serious. All I can think about is-- is his hair. And his smile. And you know, you know how sometimes he just-- he smells like rain? How does he do that? I'll never even know because he hardly knows I exist. How am I supposed to exist?"

Sizhui sighs. Deeply.

"I don't know what to tell you. I wish I did."

"I just--" Jingyi breaks off, horrified by the crack in his voice. "Oh fuck, I just really...I want...I don't know."

Pressure builds in his chest, familiar over the last few weeks. He feels like he might burst. He presses his hands to his eyes, determined not to cry over this. Well, not again.

"You know, Hanguang-jun would say that the world itself is enough to live for, even when it's hurting you."

Jingyi peeks at him out of one eye. "Did he say that? When?"

"Last year," Sizhui says, looking at his hands.

He doesn't have to say more. Last year was especially hard for Sizhui. An extended family trip with his undead cousin helped, but really, how much can something like that improve things?

"Well, if Hanguang-jun said it..." he says, wry. It's a common refrain, but not entirely reassuring just now. "Still, I--"

"Hanguang-jun!" Sizhui says, standing.

Jingyi scrambles to follow, straightening his rumpled robes. "Hanguang-jun."

HGJ is striding toward them out of the trees. Jingyi hasn't seen him alone since Wei-qianbei came back. He hopes everything is still okay.

"Sit," he says when he reaches them. They sit. HGJ stares at them, then glances around the empty field. "Behind the wall, on the ground."

Jingyi exchanges a glance with Sizhui, but they both clamber over it to sit behind. HGJ walks around it, stately, and then goes to his knees in front of them.

Jingyi stares, breathless, absolutely certain they're about to receive some great cultivation secret, perhaps even the key to immortality. HGJ is so serious, and careful, and has never asked him to join him somewhere private before. This is it. It's happening. He doesn't know what it is but it's happening right now.

"Be careful," HGJ says. "Do not frighten them."

Jingyi nods. He'll be so careful. He doesn't know who not to frighten but he'll work on it-- he's generally not very intimidating anyway, it should be fine.

HGJ leans toward him. He extends his arms.

And deposits two small, round, perfectly white bunnies in Jingyi's lap.

"H-- Hanguang-jun?"

Jingyi stares at the creatures. They're warm, and look very soft. They seem sleepy.

"When you feel better," HGJ says, "Sizhui will show you where they live."

Jingyi looks up at him, at the serene expression on his face, and his earlier resolve crumbles.

"Th-thank you Hanguang-jun," he says, wiping tears and snot off his face.

"Mn."

HGJ stands and takes his leave. Sizhui pats his arm. The bunnies nuzzle his hands.

affection + congee

After one of the most miserable nights of Jingyi's life, the rising sun shines into his eyes. He rolls over and pulls the blanket over his head. Everything is awful. His head hurts. His face hurts. His throat hurts for some reason? He can barely breathe.

He feels like a boiled cabbage. He knows he should be getting up, Hanguang-jun will expect him to be at breakfast with everyone else, but he just can't. Not yet.

He pouts to himself, whimpering pathetically as he pictures Hanguang-jun’s disappointed face. He can't survive it.

He hears the door open, and forces himself upright, trying not to list to the side.

"Up, 'm up," he says, and tries to get out of bed.

He can't really see out of his watery eyes but he assumes it's Sizhui come to collect him.

"Aiyo, get back in bed you little nuisance, your thumping around will wake the whole inn," comes a different voice entirely. Brisk hands push him down and pull the covers over him. "That yao really did a number on you, huh? Who's ever heard of a sinus infection curse?? Bad luck."

"Not luck," Jingyi says, mulish. "Pushed Jin Ling out of the way."

"I know, I know," Wei-qianbei goes on, and Jingyi thinks he might be dreaming what he says next. "You were very brave, we all saw. Jin Ling is grateful."

Jingyi frowns. "That doesn't sound right."

Wei-qianbei chuckles. "Just take it. And this, here, it'll help you feel better."

A spoon appears in front of his face, full of something pale.

"Wei-qianbei," he says slowly, "is this...your congee?"

A snort. "No. Hanguang-jun made it, just for you."

Jingyi blinks up at him. "He did?"

"Mhmm," Wei-qianbei nods, his mouth pressed tightly closed.

Jingyi has a feeling he's being made fun of. He pouts, but takes the spoon and puts it in his mouth.

"Wow. Good."

"Of course it is, I made it."

Jingyi gapes. "You--"

Wei-qianbei ruffles his hair. "Someone had to take care of you and I drew the short straw. Eat up, and you /will/ feel better, alright?"

"...alright." Jingyi concedes. It seems to be helping already, somehow. "I will."

"That's a good little duckling."

Wei-qianbei laughs at his grimace and pats his shoulder.

"You look more like yourself already."

part 2 of these minithreads posted in a reblog later today <3

#lan jingyi #mdzsnet #untameddaily #my fic #the untamed fanfic #this is about half the prompts i got #i'll add the rest in a reblog later <3

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pepperpills · 3 years

Text

The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey guys, thanks everyone who has been reading this series, it was fun writting this story, but as i said a couple of chapters ago, it has come to an end. I am currently writting a new Heis x Reader story, focusing more on wordbuilding and their relationship. I guess The Harvest, as my first try on this, has been a great experience and I hope the next one turns out better. That being said, please enjoy this piece and I will see you all later on a new begginning, thanks!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord Part III - The Hunt Part IV - Soft Torture Part V - Cry Baby

Part VI - The Encounter

It wasn’t a particular sunny day, but the weather was cooler than usual. It was enough for Karl to decide to work outside, once the heat inside the factory was overwhelming his sweaty body. He was shirtless, but still had his hat and spectacles on to protect him from the sun and the light.

Heisenberg was in the middle of something. Ever since you two inaugurated the new wing, he has been working to the bone on a new project. You understood he was trying a new set of armour to make the Soldats tougher. Unfortunately, for you, this was a task you couldn’t help him with. It was still on project, but he was already trying to find the material and that was why he had been searching the factory’s yard all morning, coming and going, absolutely focused.

You were getting bored, though. Once you couldn’t adventure the factory by your own anymore – neither wanted to, having in mind what happened last time –, you chose to sunbath at the yard in the early hours. It was still kind of chilly, because no matter what, the Village was always like that, and you obviously didn’t have any bikinis, once you really didn’t need a set living where you lived. In that manner, you bathed in your panties, wearing no bra.

You gave Karl a major distraction, because of this. First, he was jealous of your boobs exposed like that, but you managed to convince him no one could see you, once the factory was only accessible by the bridge and it was a considerable walk from the allowed parts of the Village. He chilled, but something in his pants was feeling encaged.

Not long after, you got bored. Then an idea crossed your mind causing you to smile. You quickly went to the bedroom to change, grab a few things and then went to the kitchen. Karl had been so long under the sun that he might as well be thirsty. Considering that, you prepared a juice with lots of ice, leaving the building to meet him outside caring a glass of it.

“Hey, Karl.” You called him, his body half inside one of the tanks. “What about a quick break?” You offered, rising the glass once he looked at you.

His countenance showed interest. His mouth was indeed dry, almost causing him chapped lips. Heisenberg walked towards you, the scene glowing in your eyes. The man’s chest was shiny with the sweat. Without his shirt, you had a great view of his body, enjoying the sight of his strong arms. Karl was a Renascence painting for you and the thought of it made you smile, which only invited him nearer.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He said, taking the glass you offered him.

He drank it almost entirely at once, causing some drops to roll down his bearded chin. When he was done, you came closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, not being able to resist a stupid idea that came through your mind. Heisenberg was a bit confused, but accepted your approach, placing his free hand on your hips. Instead of kissing him, you licked his chin, retracing the juice line. He wasn’t expecting it. You finished with a kiss, looking for his tongue, willing to make yours dance with his inside your mouths.

“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” Karl laughed when you let his lips go.

“Just some.” You shrugged, smirking back at him. “But I will let you work for now, I know you’re busy.” Now he had a sorrow expression, your kiss had awakened something in him, but you were right, he needed to find at least one metal piece to try on the model.

“It is okay, I will meet you later.” You comforted him, playing with ones of his rebel hair locks.

“I will make it up to you, Y/N.” Karl promised, pressing you harder against his chest, not wanting to let you go.

“No need to, just be there.” You planted a soft kiss on his lips to which he couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok, I will be, kitten.” Heisenberg kissed you once more, eager to taste you, he was intense.

After a couple more kisses, you managed to soften his grip around your hips and he decided that if he could finish the work earlier, it meant more time with you. With that in mind, he returned to the tank. You excused yourself, telling him you were going out to hunt to try the improvements you made on your bow.

You started walking towards the forest behind the factory. As soon as you reached the firsts trees, you noticed a change in the lighting. Clouds were now hiding the sun, bringing in new winds. You puffed, your plans of a cooler hunt probably spoiled because of this change of weather. Neither way, you were already there.

You took your usual path, going down to the stream. Not long after you noticed the absence of Lycans in the surroundings. You use to listen to their roars and sometimes even footsteps, but this time the only sound heard was the birds chanting. An odd atmosphere took over the forest, making you a bit tense.

Maybe they were occupied somewhere else, you thought that they could be on a hunt of their own, chasing a poor villager. This didn’t relax you, though. You kept looking around, searching for Lycans and other animals.

This happened half way to the stream, so fast you weren’t able to process the entire thing. You got distracted with a noise coming from your right, you looked over a fallen trunk, but saw nothing but a mild movement on a bush. It could be the wind, but you wouldn’t take your chances on a silly thought.

The aura was so tense you were about to make up your mind on coming back to the factory, leaving the hunt for another day, scared again of the creatures of the forest. You didn’t have time to decide, though. On your left, a wet thud caused you to jump. Your attention rapidly turned to the source of it.

A body had just fallen from one of the tree’s highest branches. For all you knew, that was a Moroaica, judging by its clothes and grey skin. This wasn’t the work of a Lycan. They would only eat other creatures when they didn’t have a different flesh and, before opting for this alternative, they would feast on the Village’s cattle. This must be something difference.

Only to confirm your suspicions, the culprit land in front of you. It came out of nowhere. Well, from one of the branches above your body. You instinctively screamed, not even noticing it, even though it was pretty loud. This thing wasn’t like anything you have ever seen in your life, but it resembled a lost tale from the cabins.

The story was about a pale creature, one that inhabits the dark, but would go out of its hiding places to hunt when starving. It was described to have sharp fangs for teeth and a blood thirst. On the folk’s tale, the thing wouldn’t have much reason, it would only know two things: the hunger and the instinct of reproduction.

However, this one, standing in front of you, had a human malice written in its red injected eyes, a beauty in its traces. It smirked at your thunderstruck face, feasting on your fear before feasting on your blood. The creature, which resembled a woman, approached your form elegantly, not rushing, having everything under its control.

She extended a hand full of sharp claws to your cheekbone, putting away a hair lock. She dug one claw into your skin, causing the red liquid to flow. Then she licked the blood from her nail, moaning to your sweet taste.

“You are too pretty to spoil.” She made up her mind, giving you a Cheshire cat smile.

The next movement was a blur to your human perception. You believe the thing attacked you, because you remember feeling your back meeting the soil with a thud. She was on top of you, pressing fangs on your neck. You passed out, regaining a faint consciousness some time later when you were being cared on someone’s shoulder when, before passing out again, your sensitive nostrils perceived a scent of oil.

-x-

Karl was worried out of his mind when he found you. He thought he heard your scream, but it was really the Lycan’s roars responding to it that enlightened the situation to him. He had just found the perfect metal piece when it happened, leaving the factory in a rush, panting already, only thinking of bringing his hammer that flew to his hand as he passed through the grid.

He used the Lycan’s flair to find you. No sign of whatever made that to you, it was only your body lying cold on the dead grass. He almost panicked, imagining you were forever lost. The relief the man felt to feel a weak blow of air on his hand when he placed it close to your nose was indescribable.

Heisenberg didn’t think twice before putting you over his shoulder, his hammer being held by his other hand, and take you back to the factory, cursing himself he let your go earlier, thinking he should have joined you or, at least, sent an escort of dogs with you.

You didn’t wake up for a long time. He laid you on his bed, watching as your chest went up and down with your breathing, this being the only thing that calmed his nerves down a little. But not so much later, he had to leave for a while, afraid he would throw everything metallic on the room.

He put on a real tantrum on a room nearby, not knowing the noises came to you on dreams as much as his enraged screams. Karl almost lost it there, turning himself into a beast on the sight of you hurt. Managing to stop only so he could really analyse your situation.

It was bad, but how bad he wasn’t sure. After being somewhat calmer, Karl quickly noticed the marks on your neck. He wasn’t a moron, specially when being “raised” with Alcina, he knew it was a bloodsucker’s doing. However, Lady Dimitrescu would never do such a messy job and it was even less probable that she would adventure herself on his area. No, it had to be a foreign.

Heisenberg would gladly chase this beast, swearing to tear it apart with his own teeth if it pleased him, but he couldn’t just leave you on your own. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding your hand on his, focusing on the warmth on your skin. He stood like that for ours, after cleaning your wounds, on the verge of tears. At some point, he rested his head on your shoulder, near your soon-to-be new scar.

“C’mon, buttercup, wake up.” Karl whispered in your ear.

His hot breath was gently calling you out of a paralysis state. Your eyes started to open, your lips unglued, but a fever was commanding your body, making you feel restless. Heisenberg noticed your minor movements, his heart beat accelerating at the sight of your awakening.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cursed, but a smiled formed on his lips. “Fuck, doll, what a scare you gave me!” Karl held your hand tighter.

“Karl…” You started. “I don’t feel so well.” You told him, seeing that perfect smile faint.

“I know.” He agreed. “I guess I know what it is.” An unpleasant expression formed on his brow. “Wait here.”

Karl didn’t wait until you responded, knowing you wouldn’t let him leave the room, but he had to test something and he really believed it would make you feel better. For fucks sake! It was the only way to make you cure. He went down the factory, to a part of it you didn’t yet know, but was going to get used to soon enough. He grabbed a bag of liquid and left, heading to the kitchen.

He poured the liquid in a glass and came back to you. You were now sat, trembling like crazy, wrapped by the blanket, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the cold. Seeing this, he didn’t mind sitting down on the chair again, extending the glass to you.

“Here, drink it.” He told you.

“What is it?” You asked, but the strong scent didn’t leave any doubts, you were just playing dumb.

“I guess you know what it is, Y/N.” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you hungry?” In response your stomach rumbled, making the man smirk.

“I-I can’t.” You sounded disgusted.

“You have to, kitten. It will make you feel better.” He took your hand on his, passing you the glass and guiding it to your lips.

You opened up just a little, resisting your new instincts, but as soon as the smell got more intense being that close to your nostrils, you gave up and drank it voraciously. The iron flavour making you salivate as the liquid calmed you down, stopping the trembling, washing away your fever, more potent than any medicine. When you emptied the glass, you proceeded to lick every last drop of blood reminiscent.

“That is a wild kitten.” Karl mocked, relieved at your reaction.

“Karl, what happened to me?” You wondered, not sure if he could answer.

Before telling you, he got into bed, taking off the blanket that was hiding your form. His fingers reached your marks, the sore region aching with the contact, causing him to retreat his digits. He sighed.

“You are not human anymore, Y/N.” Heisenberg told you, heavily.

“What?” You voice was a lot lower than your expected. You looked down to your lap.

“You encountered a thing back in the forest, right?” You only nodded. “Well, that thing bit you and… Well, transformed you.” He clarified.

“I feel… Better.” You moved your hands, stretching the fingers. “I mean, it hurts, but somehow I am more disposed.”

“You know…” Karl started, setting himself against the headboard, pulling you to rest in between his legs, your head resting on his chest as he played with your hair. “It isn’t ideal, but at least, now we can be together for a long time.” He kissed the top of your head and glanced down at you, care written all over his grey abysms.

“Forever?” You softly asked.

“Forever, kitten, forever.” Karl answered.

THE END.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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rallamajoop · 3 years

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The Witcher: The Games vs The Books

Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.

See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.

On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.

Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.

Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.

Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.

To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.

And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.

The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.

Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.

My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.

Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.

But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.

And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).

Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing

Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.

While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.

Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich

But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.

Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.

Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).

We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)

Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.

Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.

With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.

And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.

The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.

In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?

Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.

So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.

At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.

But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.

None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.

There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.

Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)

But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!

We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.

The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.

I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.

#The Witcher #Witcher Novels #The Wild Hunt #Geralt #Ciri #Emyhr #Avallac'h #Eredin #meta #long post is long

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bluemoonbeam15 · 3 years

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Hey, so I saw this video and it got me thinking. What if the reason Hopper bullies the ants for food so much is because he molted into a locust during a time of famine? Maybe his family didn’t have anything to eat and he had to do anything he could to stay alive? What if because of this change he’s always hungry, and that causes a lot of his outbursts? That poor bug. If Flick knew maybe he would’ve shown him more mercy or reached out.

https://youtu.be/uURqcI08IC4

^That’s the vid.

This is actually the first time I've been introduced to the differences between a locust and a grasshopper. For a long while, I assumed they were two different species in the same genus or family.

After watching the video and doing more research, it turns out the only defining difference between them is their psychological state. A grasshopper is only defined as a locust when it is surrounded by others of its kind and it essentially "panics" and grows manic and savage. That's why locusts are known for wreaking havoc on crops, it's like a manic episode for them.

This manic state happens when the sensory glands on the grasshopper's hind legs are rubbed constantly over a period of 4 hours. So, when they are surrounded by more due to famines, that spot is getting rubbed and it drives them crazy.

In comparison, it's similar to how a cat will oftentimes bite when you scratch that spot at the base of its tail. That spot is actually a sensitive gland that, when touched, overstimulates the cat's senses.

Based on my research, the molting that transpires during this psychological change is because of the stressful environment of being overcrowded. Kind of like how people themselves will lose more hair when stressed or a lot of animals shed their fur when facing anxiety. It's a consequence of the circumstances more than a method of adaptation.

That being said, I tried researching to see if locusts could go back to being grasshoppers, or essentially reverse that psychological state. And, unfortunately, came upon controversial answers. It's one of those, yes and no type questions.

This means I get to interpret the information however I want! XD

So for this short story, I'm going to be assuming that the psychological state can be reversed when they are distanced from the other grasshoppers (locusts). However, because they have already been in that manic state, Hopper and Molt find themselves in dangerous territory where the glands on their legs are much more sensitive. Meaning, they have a higher chance of reverting back to that manic state if they are too stressed.

Additionally, I'm twisting it a little bit from what we see in the movie. Now that these glands are more sensitive, the brothers are prone to be driven into a deeper manic state than what they were initially in. Especially Hopper, who was shown in the movie to be more on edge compared to his brother. Thumper's mentality is a prime example of this deeper state. So, Hopper and Molt -- mainly Hopper, but Molt must also tread lightly -- can easily be coaxed into that savage state if the glands are rubbed.

<><><><><><><><><>

"Come on! You'll have a great time, I promise!" Flik tugged on Hopper's arm. It was times like these he wished he weighed even half of what Hopper did.

The grasshopper didn't have to resist much. "Kid, I don't think that's such a good idea," he scratched the back of his neck.

Flik dramatically groaned, "But everyone will be there! Do you realize how often the Monarchs throw a huge party like this? Every ten years! This is our chance to meet them in person! The Monarchs, Hopper!"

"Yeah, no, I get it, really...but it's really just not my scene," Hopper unclasped Flik's hands from around his arm and stepped back. "You can go without me. The Circus Bugs are going aren't they?"

The ant gave a defeated huff, "Well, yeah..."

"Well there ya go," Hopper shrugged and nudged Flik toward the entrance of his room, "You'll have the time of your life. Go and enjoy yourself."

Flik spun around, "But it won't be the same! It's just for the night, Hop."

He sighed, "Flik--"

"Please?" The ant drooped his antennae back, lip quivering and eyes doleful. It was the most pitiful thing Hopper had laid eyes on.

His resolve lasted about five more seconds before he dropped his head, "Alright, fine...I'll go."

Flik laughed in victory, "You won't regret it!" He pulled Hopper with him down the tunnel.

"I highly doubt that."

____________________

The lightning bugs were flashing around, creating a mystical ambiance. Flik was awed at the plethora of species dancing and conversing with each other. The Monarchs held their celebrations in The City, which seemed fitting for a social creature.

Unfortunately, some of the creatures there weren't exactly social...

Flik laughed as Heimlich immediately zoned in on the food table, clearing a wide path among the crowd. "See Hop? Isn't this great?" His question wasn't answered. "Hop?" He looked around behind him, pinpointing the grasshopper a ways off.

Hopper tried staying calm, biting his lip unconsciously. There were just...so...many...insects. So much noise and racket. Where was Molt when he needed him? Lucky idiot made the excuse of helping Dr. Flora restock her infirmary. Now here he was. Why didn't he just say no? All the voices seemed as if they were blaring in his antennae.

"--op?" He blinked his eyes open, not realizing he'd squinted them closed. Flik was looking up at him worriedly, "You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine," Hopper gave a wavering smile, "Just...enjoying the view," his heart felt like bursting from his chest at the sight. Everyone was just inches from each other...swarming the area.

Flik, in all innocence, gave an encouraging smile, "Well come join the fun! You can't enjoy yourself just standing here!" He went behind the grasshopper and nudged him forward.

Hopper jumped back when another insect brushed against him, "Wait, Flik! This isn't--"

Another insect bumped into them, apologizing offhandedly before moving along. Flik was small enough to not worry too much about the overcrowding. He lived in a colony for goodness' sake. Hopper felt the world spinning around him as more insects kept sliding past. To any other insect, the faint brushes of their wings against their leg would have passed them by. For Hopper, it felt like lightning jolting through his body at every touch.

While everything blurred around him, the sound of Flik calling his name was becoming white noise. A scream pierced through the chaos of his senses.

"Everyone watch out!"

"Be careful!"

"What's wrong with it?"

Flik was pulled back by the arm just as a claw sliced the air in front of him. Gypsy pushed Flik back cautiously. He stared wide-eyed at his friend, "W-What's happening?"

Hopper was doubled-over, clawing at his head momentarily before lashing out at the closest bug to him. A dragonfly fell back trying to get away, "It's gone savage!" she screamed and scrambled back into the crowd. Everyone started panicking and pushing to put distance between them and the grasshopper.

"Hopper! Are you okay?" Flik stepped forward, but Gypsy kept him back.

The grasshopper flattened his antennae baring his teeth at Flik and stalking toward him. His pupils were dilated, wings flared out, and breathing manic. Flik swallowed and shakily called out again, "Hop?"

Like a blur, Hopper lunged forward with claws sheathed. The crowd dispersed in a panic. Gypsy moved Flik behind her protectively, "Dim! Rosie! A little help over here!"

She closed her eyes shut as Hopper snarled and came inches from her face. A heavy thud directed her attention to the rhino beetle beside them. Rosie was perched on his back, working quickly to shoot her webbing around the grasshopper. Hopper tried cutting through the material but it wound tightly around his arms, immobilizing him.

"Man, what the heck happened?" Francis and the others dared walking up to Hopper, earning a hiss in response. "He...he's acting kinda like Thumper."

Flik stepped out from behind Gypsy, keeping his eyes focused on Hopper, "Hop? What's wrong buddy?" He yelped when the grasshopper snapped his jaws toward him. "Th-That's not Hopper..."

Gypsy put an arm around Flik's shoulders, "Let's take him back to the colony. Maybe Dr. Flora knows what's wrong."

_______________

"Goodness! I-I can't say I have anything of use," Flora frantically searched through her herbs. Hopper was on the floor still wrapped in the webbing, his back pressed against the rock-slab bed.

Molt walked in with some supplies in his arms, catching sight of the others, "Oh, you guys are back early!" His smile dropped when he saw his brother. "Hop!" the supplies were quickly forgotten about. Molt slid to the ground beside his brother, "Aw, Hoppy, I knew that party was a bad idea."

"You know what's wrong with him?" Francis tossed a seed at the grasshopper's head, making him snarl and push against his binds.

"It was probably 'cause o' the crowd," Molt cautiously brushed Hopper's antennae back, ignoring the growls. "The stress can make grasshopper's go savage."

Francis snorted, "Stress?"

"Well, yeah," Molt shrugged. "That and...say, were there a lot o' bugs swarmed together?"

Flik blinked, "Yeah, it was a party."

"Did he run into anyone? Or brush against anyone?"

Slim rolled his eyes, "The place was so crowded you couldn't take one step without touching someone."

Molt hummed, "Well that's why he went savage. We grasshoppers have a gland on our legs that's sensitive to touch. It's overstimulating and drives us crazy." Tentatively, he drew a claw over Hopper's leg, making the grasshopper squirm and growl from the sensation. "It's a survival tactic for when there's no food. We'll join a swarm of grasshopper's that will trigger those sensations and drive us to find food."

Flik felt a bit braver to sit down beside Hopper, "Is that why you guys were in a gang? For survival?"

"Yeah, a drought hit us bad at our old home and we were forced to find others to get food."

The ant looked back at Hopper, taking in his demeanor. Was Hopper savage back then? He certainly hadn't acted this wild. But he was definitely on edge. He was just...hungry. Starving, actually. Driven on fear for his own survival.

Gypsy kneeled down in front of Hopper, "Well, I can't do much for that gland. But I do know how to relieve stress." She forced her thumbs beneath his jaw to keep him from biting, pushing her other fingers against the back of his head. "There's a pressure point called 'the gates of consciousness' that helps relieve stress." She carefully pressed down on the back of his neck.

A deep shudder coursed his body before going limp. Gypsy felt his jaw relax and she slowly drew back, lifting his head up, "Alright, Dear, let me see." He blinked his eyes open groggily. They were back to normal from what she could see, "There we go. How are you feeling?"

Hopper groaned, "What...What happened?"

"You went a bit...feral, Dear," Gypsy sat back as Hopper took in his surroundings.

"Feral?" Everything began returning to him. He remembered the party, the lights, bugs, crowding, touching...

He shuddered at the memories, "My head hurts," he groaned.

Gypsy rubbed his temple and began cutting through the webbing, "I can imagine. We'll get you some poppy seeds to sleep it off." Dr. Flora was already getting the medicine together.

Flik wrung his hands together, "I'm sorry, Hopper. I shouldn't have pressured you into going. Why didn't you tell me this would happen?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Hopper gave a mirthless laugh, "I'd go savage if anyone touched me? Yeah, I don't think you would've believed me."

Dr. Flora handed Gypsy a few poppy seeds. "Here, eat these," she placed them in his hand. Hopper took them and laid his head back against the bed. She patted his knee and stood, "You get some rest, Dear. That headache should be gone by morning."

Flik hesitated, "I hope you're not mad."

"Me?" Hopper peeked an eye open. Flik nodded, "Why would I be mad? You didn't know, kid. On the bright side, I got to leave early," he chuckled.

Flik laughed a bit too, "Yeah, and I won't force you to go to another party again. I promise."

Hopper squinted, pinching his fingers, "I'll go to small parties, how about that? And just with our friends."

The ant grinned, "Works for me."

#a bugs life #hopper #flik #request #ask #anon ask #prompt #fanfiction #gypsy #molt #francis #slim #dim #rosie #circus bugs #writing #zootopia vibes tho

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meadow-roses · 3 years

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aske time :) for the writing asks: A1, A2, A10, A12, A14, your choice of anything in B, C8 ( :^) ), C11, D6

A1: Introduce the characters from one of your current WIPs in one or two sentences each.

Okay let's gooo,,, I'll do The Keepers cause I haven't talked about that one as much. These aren't gonna be the best descriptions but whatever

Ketsler: Quirky, fun-loving, everyone's weird grandpa, but also the most powerful person to have ever lived. He's old- so very, very old- and he's seen so much over all the centuries he has been protecting the worlds from Chaos, but he still makes an effort to slow down and appreciate the little things around him, because he knows better than most how fleeting life is.

Skylar: Skylar is from a world where faerie circles are real and witches turn people into frogs and trolls live in great, big castles and are slain by talking cats, a world where there's too much adventure to stay in one place, too many people to meet, and too many monsters to slay to stop running. He may be only a human (ooo mystery!!) but he is proficient in Wind magic and carries around a good bit of rune stones he and his pet dragon have found along his adventures.

Felix: Felix is just a normal human from a small town after the earth becomes united under one world power. He wasn't born with superpowers like most soldiers are, but he was still skilled enough to join a special force working behind enemy lines when the rebellion made its move to free the planet from the tyranny that built this dystopian reality.

Betty: A very sweet young lady, she's from a planet that was colonized by humans centuries ago. She may seem naive, but Betty can read anyone like a book and uses her gift to help those who are lost find themselves again.

There's more characters but I'll just stick with those main ones cause I really struggle with descriptions xD

A2: Who's your favorite character to write and why?

Probably Joden? I haven't written most of my characters, but I looove writing his dialogue. He also makes me think so I can keep him clever lol

A10: What’s your character development process like? (As in how you develop them, not necessarily their development in-story)

I roleplay them! The more developed they are, the more I've acted as them. It really gets me inside their head to try and think like how they think, and that results in me being more equipped to "discover" why they are like that.

A12: What kind of internal conflict does your character go through (want versus need, personality complexes or strong personality flaws/”fatal flaw” kinda thing)? How does this affect them?

It really varies depending on the character? For example Joden has this need to always have a plan, always be in control, and a breaking moment for him comes in when he finally just,,, doesn't know what to do. He's in over his head and the only thing he can do is trust Jacer to do what he can- knowing Jacer doesn't have things under control.

So that's an example of a flaw that the character gets to overcome, but there also characters whose flaws are part of who they are. Skylar wouldn't be Skylar if he weren't stubborn. Ketsler wouldn't be Ketsler if he weren't arrogant. They never grow out of these flaws, they just learn to control them. Or I guess not be controlled by the flaw.

This is actually something I think I struggle with for my characters, giving them those visable flaws. I see other people's characters that start out "bad" and grow into heroes, but it kinda seems like all my characters start out as heroes. 😅 I mean, they have flaws, but in comparison to other people's characters they feel really bland in that aspect. Idk

A14: Ramble about your characters. Anything special you like about them? Random little details you’ve added that you enjoy?

Uh,,, I don't even know where to start I just love all of them for so many various reasons. Joden is just a clever little genius but he still can be so naive. He just has simple pleasures and it's not hard to make him laugh or smile and practically impossible to discourage him. He starts off just,,, wanting his old life back and then he sees what the world is like outside his little bubble and the bubble pops. He sees the atrocities for what they are and to be able to settle down again, he has to fix it. He can't just smile and do as he's told, he can't let the bad guys win. It I just his mother and wife and son he's fighting for, it's the entire wood and the idea of being actually, truly, free.

Jacer is so savvy, he knows what to do and what to say to get into and out of any situation, but at the same time he's just clueless when it comes to genuine connection. He's a princeling who's really never had a friend and now he's saving the world with Joden who only knows how to make genuine connections. Why does he have to keep hugging me??

And Twylla who's ready to fight anything so she can get her clever idiot husband back?

Adric who's just doing his best to be a good leader but everything keeps going wrong. He wasn't born to be a king, he wasn't born to lead an army, he always had his big brother to help him do these things and he's gone- he's gone and he's not coming back he messed up again so bad and yet here he is with everyone looking to him for answers and he doesn't know what to tell them. But he's got his friends, and he's got a good heart, and he genuinely cares and they're going to figure it out.

Skylar just keeps running forward and he never looks back at the past he just jumps from one adventure to another stopping the monsters and saving the day. He's got Gigi what more does he need?

Felix is just,,, he's just such a nice guy. Over and over he stepped into the gap because someone's gotta fly that fighter, someone's got to fire that gun, someone's got to stabilize the bomb, someone's going to lose their life to ensure the victory, why shouldn't it be him? But he never actually dies, somehow he always survives and lives to fight the next day, and the next day and the next day, and then they win the war- the world is free. And even though he's been through so much he still hasn't lost that kindness, that love for all life that makes him himself. He still falls in love and starts a family and has his own beloved children… and even when he loses them he still doesn't become cynical. He still stands in the gap and is the one to fire the gun, to hold the hand of the one who's mourning, to scoop up the orphan child and carry them home. He fights, so others don't have to. Father to the fatherless and hero for all. Also he puts up with Skylar's time traveling craziness lol

And Ketsler? Unlike everyone else he never chose to be a hero. What are you supposed to do when you're a four year old boy and everyone tells you you're the hero they've been waiting for, praying for, you have to save them. It wasn't at all his choice to be born with the power of the universe running through his veins. To hold the Inness in his hands and bend reality to his will. But he didn't run away. He never hid from his destiny. He took the world onto his shoulders and never set it down. Only once- and he's never going to do it again. Never going to ask someone to fill in his role for him, it is his burden to bear… Except not anymore. Despite being multi-millenniums old, all that time didn't dull his appreciation for the little things. A baby's smile, sunshine through the leaves, the change of the seasons. The union of two souls in marriage, or the colors of the sunset streaking a foreign sky. He still sees these things, loves these things, fights for these things. Cause it's the little things he's fighting for, not just the big things. The precious moments and precious lives that make up the worlds. One of his apprentices asked him once, he'd been fighting for so long, when was it going to end? It's not his job to strike the final blow, to end the suffering and bloodshed, just to help. He saves the world, so that he can save it again.

I have… several more characters I'd love to ramble about but that answer's gotten pretty long so I'll cut it off there. XD

B3: Do you have any plot twists? No need to describe them, just think about what kind of reaction you want from your readers.

Oh I was just talking to August about this the other day. XD There is one plot twist in the Keeper's story I'm reeaaally looking forward to hehe I want to make people confused and then really mad when the whole thing is stretched out. >:)

C8: Does magic exist in your world? Who can use it? How does it work?

It really depends on which WIP, but in general I like to keep magic restricted with rules. Joden's story and the Keeper's story are in the same universe (along with ThRoG) and follows that magic system. It's too complicated to go in depth here, but "magic" exists in another plane of existence, and things in the material world have varying levels of connection with it. It's kinda the energy that holds all worlds together and sustains life. The magic realm- the Inness is not a place where physical matter should exist, only spirits can walk there.

Wizards are creatures that stand with one foot in the physical realm and the other in the Inness. Tevlar is destroying the world basically by turning it inside out- pulling the Inness out.

C11: Have you developed historical figures? How do you develop them? How in-depth do you go?

Oh yes. I am a complete history nerd so if any world EXISTS it has history, and history only happens because people.

Sometimes it's a thought through process of "somebody needs to go here" and sometimes it's an npc from a time travel rp that took on more importance than I originally intended.

It really varies how in depth it will go? Sometimes it's just a name to fill a spot and other times it's like, man I could write a whole book about this guy!

One historical figure would be Ares of the Pegasus. He was a powerful warrior that won a bunch of wars and united the different pegasus clans under his leadership and became the first king. He's really famous and people like naming their kids after him in a kinda superstitious hope they'll grow into attributes of his character. Ares is the male form of the name, Aris is for girls. It's like, the most common Pegasian name. XD

D6: Are there any writing styles that inspire you?

Probably the first writing style I wanted to emulate was Tolkien's, but I also really liked Andrew Peterson's? Tolkien is so dramatic, and Peterson isn't heavy on location descriptions, so I'm kinda aiming for in between I guess.

#thanks for the ask!!#sorry that took so long to answer 😅#reblog #text #writing #keepers #deepwood #shifters #ask

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silverhandy · 3 years

Text

I saw the devil (in me)

The Devil was the first ending I got and it broke my heart, but the way I see it it broke Takemura too. Here’s what came after.

read on ao3

With Saburo Arasaka, he could get down on his knees, feel his forehead touch the ice-cold marble, and beg for forgiveness. For failing him. For not being fast, strong, vigilant enough. Eventually, the other man would nod, an unreadable expression on what used to be Yorinobu Arasaka’s face, and gesture for him to stand up. And so he did, eyes still fixed on the ground, not daring to look up. Then Arasaka would speak, informing Takemura of his immediate transfer. There would be no forgiveness this time, not really.

With V, he couldn’t even look her in the eye.

During their last conversation, she asked him if he was truly satisfied with the outcome. The lie came to him smoothly, rolling off his tongue like the sweetest wine, so sweet that it was nauseating. She looked at him with empty, washed-out eyes, the tiniest spark of emotion just barely visible on her dry, pale skin. Was it anger? Sadness? Resignation? Maybe all three? He couldn't quite tell. V used to be an open book in his eyes, a woman not afraid of facing the emotions she was feeling head-on, but that was no more. Takemura couldn't shake the impression that the V he knew was gone for good and he had no one to blame but himself.

What happened that night was not justice the way he saw it. Death for death, a punishment befitting the crime, that was an equal exchange, a fair one, surely enough to atone, but Hanako-sama made a different decision, one that he found appalling, though he would never openly admit it. It was one thing to take the life of a murderer, but entirely different to erase him while his body lived on to serve another.

It took him long enough to grasp why V wouldn’t take the offer, but the longer he spent at Saburo’s side, the more he understood. There was something terrifying about it and he knew that the older men must’ve seen the emotion in his eyes, that he was able to look straight into the deepest corners of his soul, even if Takemura never allowed his doubts to show on his face. Maybe that was the reason he was sent away, maybe Saburo doubted his loyalty. It felt like a punishment, a final testament to his failure, a grand, yet tragic finale to his quest for justice.

And so he threw himself into his new duties in Takamatsu, a port city so densely populated with companies even the grandeur of Arasaka seemed bland in comparison. Assignment after assignment, he was eventually stationed as the company’s chief security officer, but compared to being at Saburo’s side or even his last few weeks in Night City, it felt like an office job in comparison. It was an office job.

He wanted to reach out to V so many times, invite her to Kagawa and finally show her all the good food and the life he got back, but every time he pulled out his comms to write a message or call, he found himself questioning if that’s really the life he wanted her to see. Eventually, months went by and Takemura found himself counting the weeks and the days, the same way V undoubtedly did. Or maybe she didn’t, trying to enjoy the last moments of her life without the constant reminder of the fact that she was running out of time. He liked thinking that he was doing it for her, taking that burden from V’s arms and carrying it on his own, but it brought him little comfort. After all, it was just a lie he kept telling himself, with little grounding in reality.

As winter approached, Takemura found himself sleeping less and less, Tired of tossing and turning, he’d go to the very top of the skyscraper his apartment was in and stare at the outline of the city, so full of colorful lights that it almost made up for the darkness and thick clouds that covered the sky. And then he’d looked down at the street below him, and from where he was standing it looked like a black sea, the water still, just waiting to engulf him, to swallow him whole.

At times like this, Takemura would snap his eyelids shut and take a few steps back, not allowing his mind to wander in that direction any longer, refusing to let it close in on him like this. And yet, he soon found himself coming up to that rooftop every time he left work, so he started leaving it less and less, spending the nights in his office reviewing proposals for new security protocols, going through armory statements, anything to stop himself from thinking too much.

When he got the news, it was one of these nights where he found himself out of his office, back at the barely occupied apartment. Takemura was standing on the rooftop, leaning on the barrier and taking a drag from a cigarette, a bad habit he picked up a few months back, his body shaking slightly from the cold. He left his coat at the apartment, figuring he wouldn’t need it, that the sharpness of the first days of winter would snap him out of those endless deliberations of what could have been but never was.

His comms buzzed slightly and he pulled up the message, knowing what it said before he even read the letters. He’s been expecting it for a few weeks now.

Viktor Vector

[1:32] >She passed away this morning.

That was it. To his surprise, he didn’t feel relief, the tension that has been building in his chest for the last few months simply refused to let go. Quite the opposite - he felt it spilling over and for a second Takemura forgot how to breathe, the cold air biting his lungs, freezing them to stone.

Maybe that is why he found himself on an elevator to the top floor of Araaka Tower, a short wakizashi sword behind his belt. Security questioned neither that nor the time of his appearance, they just let him through. He could swear he saw curiosity in their eyes, well hidden behind their usual stern expressions, but he ignored it, focusing on the path ahead through the minimalist, impersonal interior of the building.

They won’t have to wonder for much longer. Eventually, someone will notice he hasn’t come back, they’ll check his office first, call him, worried whispers exchanged quietly between coworkers. Maybe they’ll be smart enough to check the elevator footage, see him pull out a key and turn it, granting himself access to the rooftop the old fashioned way. Someone will eventually follow in his footsteps, maybe Fukuzawa, his direct subordinate, and find him up there, body covered by a thin layer of snow that didn’t have the chance to melt, his body rapidly dropping in temperature, blood sharply contrasting with the white snow.

He had to do it in one cut. Hesitating would mean failure, if he doesn’t cut deep enough, he might not be able to drive the blade into his abdomen again, and then all will be lost, a chance for an honorable death gone in a whim, yet another punishment for the chain of mistakes that lead him to where he was now. Nobody to assist him, there was no room for mistakes.

There never really was.

A soft ping of an elevator, accompanied by a robotic voice informed him that the elevator had stopped its course. The steel door opened and he stepped out into the night but didn’t rush it. Takemura was hoping that maybe he’d get to see the moon from here, a gloom reminder of all the reasons he found himself in this position, but the universe seemed to spare him the sight - as expected, the sky was densely covered with dark, gloomy clouds. Tiny snowflakes lazily falling over the city. He could barely feel tiny bites of cold as they landed on his face, instantly turning into tiny drops of water.

He stopped about halfway from the edge. Takemura unbuttoned his jacket before he took it off and neatly folded it before setting it on the ground. Then he kneeled, the thin material barely shielding him from the cold and the hardness of the ground beneath him.

Takemura unsheathed the blade and inspected it, gently running his thumb over the sharp metal. It will surely do the job, he took great care of his weapons, even if he wasn’t actively using them. Takemura never actually used this one in combat, too sentimental to let it turn blunt in some senseless act of violence. A gift from Saburo, nearly 30 years ago, It almost seemed poetic, in a sense.

Takemura took the blade into his right hand and let it rest on the left side of his stomach, already feeling the metal press onto his skin. After closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, feeling the cold air enter his lungs, and slowly exhaled. Just as he was ready to push the blade into his gut, he heard it. A soft sound that didn’t belong, certainly not on a skyscraper roof in the middle of winter. And yet he was sure it wasn’t a hallucination or a far cry of a distant memory and so he opened his eyes.

A cat was staring at him. It was sitting a few meters from him, right in the middle of a circle of light, as if basking in it. It meowed again, louder this time and Takemura froze.

He couldn't help it. The cold night disappeared, replaced by memory so vivid it felt surreal. Himself sitting on a different roof, in a different place, V right there beside him. They’ve been on that spot for hours at that point, tense silence melted into friendly chatter. He even got her that pizza, had a slice or two himself and it wasn’t as bad as all the things that posed as Japanese food over there. That’s when he saw it, a small, skinny thing, it’s greyish skin almost transparent in the yellow sunset.

When he snapped back to reality, he realized he was holding the wakizashi handle so tightly his knuckles turned white. He let go of it, as if burned and it fell to the ground, a loud clank of metal hitting stone echoing on the empty roof. Takemura looked up, searching for any sign of the creature's presence, but he found none. He was completely alone.

The man slowly got up to his feet, his legs a little stiff from kneeling in the cold. He leaned down to grab his jacket and the wakizashi and almost jumped when he heard a ping of another message, again coming from Viktor.

[3:56] We’ll be doing a little memorial service, for closure’s sake. Think she would've wanted you there.

[3:57] despite everything

Takemura stared at the letters, his hazed mind slowly putting together their meaning. The jacket he was holding tightly to his chest was soaked wet, so he just threw it over his shoulder and typed out a short reply. As he started walking towards the elevator, Takemura turned his head one more time and met a pair of yellowish eyes staring at him, as if making sure that he made it down in one piece.

#goro takemura #viktor vector #victor vector #cyberpunk 2077 #the devil ending #cp2077 spoilers #cyberpunk fic #takemura/viktor #goro takemura/viktor vector #writing #it'll turn into fluff eventually i promise #for now it's nothing but pain

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maddrmatt · 3 years

Text

A Beautiful Future: A Premonition or a Punishment? (SoKai Week 2021)

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Greetings, readers and fellow SoKai fans!

Let’s continue on with the show as our favorite MIA Keyblade wielder reflects on what was seen in the last chapter! Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Ponderings of the Lost Hero

Quadratum

After opening his eyes, Sora suddenly leapt to his feet. He summoned his Keyblade and surveyed his surroundings.

Fortunately for him, he wasn’t currently in any danger. But much to his dismay, he was not in a chapel in Radiant Garden about to kiss the love of his life. Instead, he was standing next to a large dumpster in an alleyway between two tall buildings.

‘I must’ve been so tired from running that I fell asleep when I stopped to rest,’ he thought as he dismissed his Keyblade.

Sora’s current location was hardly an ideal place to take a nap. But the Gigas and the various adversaries that inhabited this world had kept him on the run since his arrival. Also, even though he had yet to encounter him again, he feared that Yozora would find him and try to ‘save’ him again. So, he couldn’t be picky about where or when he could sleep.

It still mystified him that he was now in a world that he had originally thought only existed in a video game. When that girl in the Final World had mentioned she was waiting for a Yozora to find her, he had assumed that she had been talking about someone with the same name. But his encounter with Yozora and the very real existence of this world had certainly raised a few questions.

‘I may have been here for a long time now, but I still can’t believe it. How can this world be real and also be a video game in a world back in my Realm? And why is ending up here the penalty for misusing the Power of Waking?’

But the biggest question was the one that had bothered him the most. ‘And will I ever be able to leave?’

Sora’s thoughts now turned what he just had witnessed in his sleep. ‘That was some dream. The first dream I’ve been able to have since I got here. But I wonder if it wasn’t just a dream. What if it was a premonition? A vision of the future? Dreams can do that, right?’

Sora began to pace around the alley. ‘It certainly looked and felt like one. I mean, we all did look a little older. Not to mention I saw that Pinocchio wasn’t a puppet and the Beast wasn’t, well, the Beast anymore. And there were so many guests at the wedding that I didn’t know.’

He thought back to the part of the dream where he walked down the aisle toward the altar. Now that he was awake, he realized that there were indeed quite a lot of unrecognized faces among those he knew.

‘Let’s see. When I saw the group from Atlantica in the crowd, Ariel was human again even though the last time I saw her, she was a mermaid. Also, it seems that some magic was needed for Flounder and King Triton to attend since they were hovering in the air as if they were still underwater. And then there was that girl who resembled Ariel but with black hair. Did Ariel and Prince Eric get married and have a daughter?’

‘It also looked like there had been some big changes in Arendelle too. Anna had been wearing an outfit similar to what Elsa had been wearing when Donald, Goofy and I had first met her. And speaking of Elsa, she was not only wearing a different snow gown and had let her hair go, but she also looked more at peace with herself then I last remembered. Plus, she also had a small blue lizard on her shoulder. I wonder if she’s taken on Rapunzel’s taste in animal sidekicks.’

‘Woody, Buzz and the rest of the toys we met were there and they had all been enlarged to human size. And there were some other toys with them, probably their friends they’d been separated from when the Organization split their world. Like that redhaired cowgirl and that woman with the pink bow in her blonde hair and dressed in blue. Strangely, she looked like she was made of porcelain which is an unusual material for a toy. They both seemed to be pretty close to Buzz and Woody respectively. Also, there was that unusual toy that looked more like a child’s art project.’

‘Little Chef was definitely in some unfamiliar company. He was with that redheaded man with that woman with brown hair as well as that older man with glasses. And there were also two other rats: one with gray fur and that pudgier one with brown fur. Maybe they were Little Chef’s relatives.’

‘I’m glad that Cloud finally made it home because he was among Leon, Yuffie and the rest of the committee and it seemed that he and Tifa had hooked up. And they weren’t the only ones. Leon had his arm around a woman with black hair and Aerith was with a man who looked a little like Cloud only with black hair. Even Cid apparently had a date: that woman with auburn hair and glasses. And then there were the new faces: that big, muscular guy whose hand appeared to be made of metal and the little girl in pink on his shoulder as well as that strange catlike creature with red fur.

‘It also looks like I ended up in meeting them in Shibuya after all since I also saw Neku and his friends there as well. But there were some missing from that group. Rhyme and that boy she called Beat was there. But Joshua wasn’t. And neither was Shiki. Instead, there was only that girl with brown hair and glasses. I hope nothing bad happened to them.’

‘There were even some unfamiliar faces among Queen Minnie, Daisy, and the rest I remember from Disney Castle. There was that unusual pair who looked like a rabbit and a cat with a whole bunch of little rabbits with them. And then there was that female duck who looked like she could be Donald’s twin sitting near his nephews. There was also someone who looked like a younger version of Goofy accompanied by a female dog with red hair and apparently, some who looked like a younger version of Pete.’

Then Sora realized it was not just the unfamiliar guests that stood out in the dream. His own thoughts during the dream contained information that he had not known before.

‘How could I have known why Xion looks the way she does? And though Master Yen Sid mentioned that Aqua saved Kairi long ago, my thoughts implied that she played a big role in our meeting. I’m sure I would’ve learned it all if I hadn’t disappeared. But is it possible for your dream self to know something that you don’t?’

Sora leaned against the wall of the building and gazed out into the empty street. There was still no sign of incoming trouble. He was glad that nothing had shown up during his pondering on account that he still had more to do.

‘All in all, it certainly was quite a show. But still, I can’t help but wonder why a dream like that would come to me now? And if it really was a vision of the future, does it mean that I’m going to make it back home? And Kairi and I really are destined to live happily ever after?’ Sora thought as a feeling of hope came to him.

Unfortunately, the hope faded as a troubling thought took over. ‘Or maybe it’s a future that isn’t going to happen. Maybe it’s nothing more than extra punishment for breaking rules I never knew existed.’

Sora thought back to when he returned to the Final World after Xehanort’s defeat. He recalled how Chirithy had told him about what he was risking using the Power of Waking to restore Kairi. As he remembered that conversation, a feeling of anger at the unfairness of it all came to him.

“I never meant to break any nature taboos. I didn’t even know they existed. I thought I was just rescuing my friends from that Lich Heartless. I didn’t know it would end up rewriting time and giving us another chance to fight. And I especially didn’t know that it was the wrong thing to do,” he said out loud not caring if anybody heard him.

That’s when Sora realized something. “If I’m being punished for doing that, does that mean that we were supposed to lose no matter what we did? Well, to whoever or whatever decided that, I’m sorry but if following your rules meant letting Xehanort win after everything he did, then I was happy to break them.”

His thoughts then turned to Kairi. “And I definitely was not going to leave the girl I love more than anything in the worlds as she was: shattered, split and scattered. If there was any chance to save her, I would have taken it no matter what the consequences. Because a world without Kairi is one I never want to live in.”

That’s when Sora realized the sad irony. ‘And yet, a world without her or any of my friends is exactly where I ended up anyway. I guess the punishment really did fit the crime in the end. And as if that wasn’t enough, it seems I’m now being tormented with visions of a future that may never be.’

Then a feeling of determination came over Sora. ‘No. I can’t think like that. I won’t ever think like that. If whatever forces sent me here sent that dream to punish me further, then I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.’

Sora gazed up at the dark sky and cried out, “It’s not going to work! You hear me? It won’t work! Instead, I’m going to use what I saw in that dream to further fuel my desire to get back to my home! Back to my friends! Back to her so we can have a future like that in the dream!”

The young hero then reached into the pocket of his jacket nearest his heart. He pulled out a folded piece of paper which he then unfolded revealing the lucky charm that Kairi had given to him before he and Riku left for the Mark of Mastery Exam.

Taking the charm into his hand, he clutched it to his heart. ‘We may be worlds apart, Kairi. But our hearts are still connected. I realized that when I was suddenly able to fight for you. Even though I didn’t know exactly what was going on, especially how somehow Xehanort was still around, I knew you needed me. And I know that connection will bring us back together someday.’

“They can take your world. They can take your heart. Cut you loose from all you know. But if it’s your fate, then every step forward will always be a step closer to home. And it will be my fate. And whatever that dream’s true purpose was, I will do all that I can to make it our fate, Kairi. That’s a promise and I always keep my promises to you. It’s my oath to return,” Sora said out loud.

After gazing once more around for any sign of trouble and seeing that there was none in spite of his earlier outbursts, he figured that he had time to do one more thing before moving on to a new location in the city. Leaning against the wall with the lucky charm in one hand, he then looked at the paper that it had been wrapped in.

He began to read the words written on the paper. Words that no matter how many times he read had always managed to touch his heart because they came from the one who his heart belonged to.

“Thinking of you, wherever you are.”

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On the edge of one of Quadratum’s tall buildings, a man in a black coat gazed downward into the alley. He watched the spiky-haired brunette boy read from his letter. Under his hood, he smirked and let out an amused chuckle.

“You might wish to keep it down, Sora. You never know who or what may be listening here in Quadratum. But it sounds like that was a pretty good dream you had with the way you were going on about making it a reality. Your determination to get back to your home and your devotion to your girl are pretty admirable. They will serve you well when the time comes for you to play your role,” said the Master of Masters.

The very first Keyblade master gazed up to the sky. As he had done before, he brought his hands together into a heart shape and held them up so he could view the full moon through them.

“Soon, all the pieces will fall into place, Sora. My apprentices. The Union leaders and Dandelions who still exist. The Darknesses. Yozora. Your friend Riku and the rest of your Guardians of Light over on the other side including your little girlfriend. All of them have their roles to play in my grand plan and once they are fulfilled, we will finally see the absolute end of the true Keyblade War,” he declared.

Then his voice took on an ominous tone. “But after all is said and done, will all your devotion pay off? Will the dreams of a ‘happily ever after’ with your beloved Kairi come true? Or will the fates conspire to pull you apart once again? And if that should happen, will it be the ultimate separation, one that is impossible to undo?”

The Master then parted his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? I may be the author of a very large compendium of future events. But the Book of Prophecies never accounted for everything. So, in the end, who can really say?”

The Master then returned his gaze back to the young Keyblade wielder in the alley. Sora had finished reading his letter and was now staring to leave. The Master’s gaze followed the boy as he headed out into the city.

“Things may have taken a… slight turn from my original plans. But the more I think about it, it actually makes things more interesting. After ages of watching events unfold the way I had foreseen; I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to actually be surprised. And I have a feeling, Sora, that you are going to be full of surprises.”

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Notes from the Mad Doctor:

Went rather heavy on the internal monologuing in this chapter, huh?

Sharp Disney and Square Enix fans will likely know the unfamiliar guests Sora was talking about. Feel free to let me know if you did recognize all of them or some of them.

I think we can understand the anger Sora’s expressing here. After everything he did to protect the worlds from Xehanort, this is his ultimate reward? I know he doesn’t regret doing what he did to save everyone especially Kairi. But I wouldn’t blame him for being upset.

Although I have mentioned him in my other stories, this is the first time the Master of Masters has actually shown up. I really hope I wrote his mysterious yet eccentric demeanor well. And I have a feeling, given the Master’s presence in Quadratum, that Sora’s arrival in this world was no coincidence. Then again, is anything a coincidence in Kingdom Hearts?

I give my thanks to whoever reads this chapter.

I also give my special thanks to @fandomchanger, @dreaming-in-seams, and @sakuranekogirl for their likes on the previous chapter as well as @sokaiweek, @phoenix-downer, and @the-secret-place for reblogging the previous chapter.

The next chapter still needs work so it should be posted on Thursday if all goes well.

Comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Stay tuned for we’ll be dropping in on the other half of our favorite couple next chapter!

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Onto the next chapter!

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2021 #sora #master of masters #maddrmatt

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