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pleasantanathema · 4 years

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Taglist: @badtimechara @present-mel @sgoldberg1997 @donica95 @hi-itsbonny @linestrider @shoutosplaything @kyberhearts @dhyaena @heyybrittannia @thisisthehardestthing @presmiic @kittifer @lemonsqueexx @iwaizumi-chan @kitten-on-ecstasy @dekulover @thatpeachybandgirl @skincrepe @whats-her-quirk @littlewhitefairy7777 @unboundbnha @tinitimesims125 @disasteren @misfitgirlwrites @tsum-samu @pineappleinmyass

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #fantasy au #witcher universe #the witcher #ushijima headcanons #ushijima wakastoshi fanfic #the smut pile collab #server collab

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inventors-fair · 3 years

Text

‘Tis the Season

Hey hey, it’s judge @naban-dean-of-irritation here, in desperate need of a holiday.

For all of the real-world parallels and trope-y inspirations that Magic draws on, something that is rarely touched on are holidays and festivals.

That most recently changed with the story in Midnight Hunt and Crimson Vow. don’t worry, no spoilers to be found here! But right at the beginning of the story, we are introduced to the Harvesttide Festival, an ancient celebration of life and bounty that used to take place before winter set in. Sound familiar? It’s pretty closely based on American Thanksgiving, but with a heavy fantasy lean on it. However, apart from the recent Harvesttide, our very own Inventor’s Fair, and some much lesser-known celebrations like the Decamillenial festival on Ravnica, there really aren’t many depictions of holidays or celebrations in Magic. I guess when your plane is being torn about for the 455th time by an extradimensional tentacle horror, there’s not much stuff to celebrate. Which brings us to today.

This week’s contest: Design a card that depicts a fantasy Holiday/Festival/Celebration on an existing M:TG plane.

M.E.O.W.

Mandatory: The card must involve a depiction of a holiday (what that looks like is pretty open to interpretation, but any sort of traditional celebration is fine). It also has to take place on a canonical Magic plane. No fan planes, sorry!

Encouraged: If you’d like, you can create a card for an existing holiday. Another Harvesttide card is fine! But it probably won’t get me excited like a brand new, contributes-to-worldbuilding holiday would. Consider what the denizens of a given plane would want to celebrate! Maybe an anniversary of when Ravnica beat away the planar invasion? What would a Phyrexian Christmas look like?

Optional: While the card can depict the actual celebration itself, don’t be afraid to zoom in on a smaller portion! Harvesttide Sentry is a decent example of this, a snapshot of one tiny piece of the festival. It tells me the name (and with harvest in the name, that’s a whole lot of information about the festival itself), it tells me that the festival is huge, and that it requires security. The art also helps a lot! This brings us to:

Warning: You don’t have to outline every single tradition and aspect of your holiday. In fact, doing so will only muddle your card and make it harder to judge. I also don’t want to see giant paragraphs accompanying the card explaining it all. I promise I have a good imagination, I’ll fill in the gaps. Your card’s flavor and mechanics should be what give me an understanding of the holiday you want to show.

An additional warning: You’re welcome to allude to real-world holidays and celebrations, but I don’t want to see any 1:1 representations. No All Hallow’s Eve, please!

For this week, design for a premier set, keeping in mind both Limited and Standard environments.

And that’s that for this week. I fully expect that there will be a lot of questions about what “counts” for this week’s prompt, considering I used the Inventor’s Fair (heh heh) as a fair-game example. The truth is, it’s a very loose prompt! If you are acting in good faith and think your card fits the prompt, then it probably does. If you’re really worried, feel free to ask a judge if they think it fits!

>> Give me a holiday present (of your submission) here!

>> Come sing and be merry in the Discord!

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom Magic card #contest #announcement #tis the season #Inventor's Fair #naban-dean-of-irritation

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antoine-roquentin · 3 years

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Harold Cruse, in his uneven but at turns insightful 1967 polemic, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, wrote that “no literary or cultural movement today can be truly and effectively radical unless it presents a definitive critique of the entire cultural apparatus of America.” This line comes to mind whenever I read any of the recent wave of declarations of a new Black Renaissance, which tend to be rooted in the visibility (fame), white institutional acknowledgment (award nominations), and compensation (book sales, TV and film deals) of a select few rather than in any collective progress or societal shift. This supposed renaissance seems manufactured, bought and paid for, distinctly establishment. It has co-opted the language of radicalism and revolution without any of the moral underpinnings.

Cruse’s observations reverberated during the culture wars of the 1980s and ’90s. Thirty years ago, both Cornel West and Henry Louis Gates Jr. reshaped notions of the Black public intellectual and the scholar as celebrity. They joined forces at Harvard University in the hope of reinvigorating the public significance of Black intellectual culture just as some of the more gnostic ideas of race, identity, and culture (signifying, anti-essentialism, intersectionality) gained pop-cultural significance. The “Black Renaissance” of the ’80s and ’90s went by a variety of names, but was best captured by Trey Ellis’s “new black aesthetic,” an attempt to capture the rise of Black writers, artists, and musicians emerging in the wake of left-leaning, nationalistic Black cultural politics.

Gates and West were as much a part of this movement as more recognizable figures like Spike Lee and and musical acts like Public Enemy. Indeed, the professors parlayed their unprecedented visibility into conventional academic metrics of success, like programs and centers. But they also appeared frequently on talk shows, signed commercial book deals, made rap albums and movie appearances, and eventually produced television shows. Was their use of the celebrity spotlight an abandonment of Cruse’s “radical critique,” or was it an important front in an ongoing culture war? Or something in between?

Looked at from the vantage of 2021, academic celebrity — hypervisibility and mainstream popularity — has shifted the metric by which we measure intellectual success. Over the years, our Black celebrity intellectuals have tended to measure success by what white people value.

White people can afford the titillating delusion of Black radicalism and renaissance — they traffic in Black celebrity intellectuals and mascots, whom they promote to validate their own moral innocence as well as their bona fides as allies. It’s almost literally the least they can do. They can also use these mascots to antagonize and browbeat their “bad” white counterparts. It’s a tired act, but it makes for profitable theater.

But Black mascots excite Black people only so much, which explains the vastly different reactions I get from friends and colleagues by race. Many of the white ones are eager and beaming when they discuss the Amanda Gormans (and non-Black minorities like Lin-Manuel Mirandas) of the world. My Black friends and colleagues are far more cynical and frustrated. Their prevailing sentiment is that we have too much to lose to continue to indulge silliness and empty symbolism. They want collective improvement for Black Americans, not an invitation to root for a metaphorical hero in the latest media-generated movie. They want tangible change, not abstract renaissance.

The new Black Renaissance specializes in shallow personal investigations of identity, television shows and movies marked by clunky dialogue and heavy-handed storylines that seem lifted straight from social media. The Black public intellectuals and establishment radicals specialize in nebulous catchphrases: T-shirt fodder like “Black Excellence” and “Black Girl Magic” (which is also a bottle of wine now), and mumbo jumbo like “Black Abundance.” These slogans and hashtags, which can’t withstand the slightest scrutiny, seem tailored for use in dull online culture wars.

Add to that stockpile “go where you are valued, not where you are tolerated.” It’s a damned good quip. Never mind that it’s tone-deaf advice when most Black people lack the option of mobility — and rarely find any evidence of being valued. The quip and the clapback are what’s most prized online. Nuance isn’t just an inconvenience — it’s unwelcome.

It’s no mystery that the discourse, around race, Blackness, progress, politics, policy, is stultified. In step with the right, the left has leaned hard into the politics of identitarian grievance and resentment. Sloganeering plays better than serious intellectual interrogation, as do controversies that give the audience the vicarious thrill of victory over perceived enemies. Traditionally reputable media outlets increasingly default to puff pieces and Access Hollywood-style profiles of individual Black “creatives.” This neoliberal take on conservative exceptionalism highlights the accomplishments of a handful, sans context. Declarations of a renaissance are preferable to investigating the plight of the collective. In this way, the sensibilities of the white gatekeepers and white audience mold and constrict the field of Black thought. When they’re handing out Pulitzers for Black meditations on mustaches, you get down or lay down.

This has created a bottleneck effect among Black public intellectuals, who are competing to make the same obvious points about the most accessible issues, and to argue passionately against the most extreme foils. It incentivizes shamelessness, self-promotion, and shallow discourse. Self-critique has fallen by the wayside. For example, when Patrisse Cullors, a co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement, offered her dubious rationalizations about buying up millions of dollars of personal real estate despite being a Marxist, the Black-public-intellectual class was nowhere to be found. I saw a couple of softball interviews, including one in which an apologist dismissed the very legitimate criticism and questions about integrity and misallocation of resources as right-wing attacks that surfaced because “we’re winning.” Never mind that some of the criticism came from the families of victims of police murder. If this is what winning looks like, how do I quit the team?

As traditional institutions and political processes fail us, we turn with greater frequency to reality-show-styled celebrity figures to seek vicarious victories in place of the policy changes that result in legitimate collective uplift. The slogans and hashtags entrench us in the politics of resentment. They offer little more than schadenfreude. Those who use intersectionality as a cudgel conveniently forget that many things can be true at once. Instead, they lean into a selective, opportunistic, Manichean morality: If you are against ___, you must agree with the bad person on the other side. And so the foil sets the agenda.

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lightskinrry · 3 years

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spill about the nymph fantasy pls!!! also take care & i hope things get better really soon for u and ur family <3

Omfjsjsj thank you for indulging me and being sweet ily❤️

This became incredibly long and poorly written im sorry lmaofhfn but I’ve been composing this story in my head for weeks so there’s so many details😭😭😭 well I put it under the read more <333 also pls picture either harry answering fanmail or harry in the golden mv but in a prince Philip from the little mermaid outfit for this lmaofejfn

Soooo hear me out Harry is a prince in a far away land and outside of his prince duties he loves to play music he loves art and he doesn’t like the high society life so everyday once he’s done at the castle he travels to the forest near by and there’s this enchanted place hidden behind the bushes deep in the forest and there’s a pond and a small waterfall and a big tree with a huge branch and it’s so beautiful and he comes here everyday to play music and write and sing and every day the nature around him in this little hidden haven responds; the wind blows to the rhythm of what he’s playing, the water dances around when he sings and he just feels so at home and safe in this place he leaves little offerings and gifts

he doesn’t know exactly what it is about this place but there’s something there that he loves and then one day he’s talking to himself about a song he’s writing trying to find lyrics and he feels water dripping down on his forehead and he catches a glimpse of someone perched up on the branch watching him but they disappear before he actually can make a form out of them and he tries to shake it off but everyday he discovers a little bit more of whoever is hiding there; he hears a giggle when he’s playing out of tune, humming when he plays the strings of his guitar, a foot print in the wet grass and everyday he talks to them without ever seeing them reassuring whoever lives there that he won’t harm them and that he wants to know them but they never show up

until one day the land is attacked and Harry is wounded during battle he runs to the refuge hoping no one would find him he tries to heal his wound but he passes out sure he’s going to die and when he awakes someone is leaned over him their lips so close to his he thinks an angel wants to kiss him but the moment his eyes open fully the person runs away from him he tries to stand up and ask them to stay but the pain of his wound hold him down he looks down on it and realize it’s almost completely healed he looks around him and he sees little pots and other items and food used to heal him he crawls to the water pond to drink and he looks at himself the peach fuzz on his face indicating that’s he’s been out for almost a week and someone took care of him all this time he’s so baffled he rambles thank yous endlessly he asks the person if he can at least see who saved his life and he promises over and over again he won’t hurt them but there’s still not a peep ....

he lays down and fall asleep bc he’s still very weak and when he wakes up again he keeps his eyes closed and he feels water dripping down on his forehead again he speaks before moving or he doesn’t even open his eyes, he’s softly greeting the person who helped him thanking them and reassuring them again,,, he can hear their breathing and the droplets of water still hit his forehead in the most gentle way so he knows they’re still here.

He decides to open his eyes very slowly and he finally sees the person perched up on the branch, their naked body laying on it and gazing down on him, water dripping down their hair and twigs and flowers inside their hair,, he can’t quite believe his eyes for a second but once they make eye contact he just stares silently, the nymph stares back; eyes big with wonder... they stay there like that silently for a while he doesn’t dare to speak by fear they’ll run away again but in the silence the nymph gets down of the tree.

Harry stays down on the grass his head looking at the sky not wanting to make a move,,, he can feel them walk around him, looking at him and he feels safe.... the nymph kneels next to him and touch his face with their fingertips, softly tug on the curl that’s falling on his forehead, they check on his wound and grimace at the look of it, they get water and plants to put on it and Harry flinches at the pain but doesn’t make a sound. When they’re done they make eye contact again but they don’t speak and the nymph leaves and as they walk away Harry tries to stop them and ask them for at least a name and they just turn around and smile at him before disappearing again....

Harry realizes his wound is finally healed and he knows he has to get back to the castle so he leaves promising to come back again the next morning he finally makes it back home and it’s a celebration that the prince has returned safely and the next morning he takes his guitar and some food to bring to the pond and he stays there offering the food to the nymph waiting for them to come out he stays there and wait all day but they don’t come out he’s starting to think that maybe he made the whole thing up in his head bc of the pain but just as he starts to leave he hears branches and twigs breaking behind him and the food he brought is not there anymore he takes a deep breath and looks up to the branch where he saw them for the first time and they’re there!! Laying on their tummy gazing at him and eating the food he brought.... before he can speak the nymph gets down of the tree and analyzes him, they walk around him in a circle looking to see if he’s maybe hurt, they check his wound and smile contently at the sight of it healed,,, Harry doesn’t move and doesn’t speak but the nymph touches his face before their name fall out of their lips....

They are finally talking and Harry couldn’t be happier he knew it was real!! He speaks ever so softly scared that if he speaks louder he might scare them away again,, he doesn’t dare to touch them not even their hands let alone their arms and he doesn’t look at their eyes too long he’s so intimidated by their beauty and grace he can barely make sense but he profusely thank them for saving his life and he rambles about knowing there was someone living here. The nymph interrupts him to ask him to sing bc they love to hear him and he’s so taken aback he can only say yes so they sit next to him and listen while he plays the guitar and sings songs about long forgotten love stories and heartbreak

He stays there for hours just playing and singing, the nymph doesn’t say a word they just listen... until it’s dark and Harry excuses himself because he has to go home,,, the nymph finally asks him if he would teach them how to play the guitar and he promises he’ll back tomorrow to teach them

And he comes back... every day for weeks, teaching them the guitar, writing songs, listening to them sing, bringing them food and flowers and other trinkets he finds that he thinks they would enjoy and everyday the nymph speaks more and more and they tell him how much they love the sun and their favorite flower and color

One day Harry comes back and the nymph greets him gleefully jumping on their feet so happy to see him and he stays there all day they play and sing and write and eat as they do and by the end of the day as the sun sets and the pond is washed over in golden tones he pulls out a gold necklace with a sun pendant,, he explains to the nymph that it’s a gift for them that he saw the sun pendant and it reminded him of them,, he asks if he can put it on them and the nymph agrees so filled with tenderness from his gesture,,, they tell him they love it and that they’ll keep it forever and once he’s done placing it on their neck as they turn around to face him their eyes meet and it’s like time is frozen, they kisses his cheek to thank him and wishing him a good night... Harry is slightly disappointed but he kisses their cheek back for the first time and the nymph gets so flustered and so Harry starts to leave but right before he could get out of the bushes the nymph appears in front of him and thank him again they caress his cheek right where they kissed it a few moments ago and in a deep breath Harry cups their face to bring it closer to his and as their lips are barely inches away he whispers can I kiss you to which the nymph only answers by pressing their lips to his,, when their lips finally detach they’re both blissfully looking at each other,, the nymph says good night and watch Harry walk away promising again he’ll be back the next morning

When he comes back the next morning bringing the nymph his usual offerings; food and flowers and crystals and rocks just things he knows they enjoy they spend the day again talking playing and singing they don’t mention the kiss but when the day ends and Harry is about to leave the nymph offers him a necklace they made out of pearls specially for him they ask if they can put it on him and as they’re done placing the necklace on Harry and he turns around to face them; they lean over to his face, eyes closed and lips pouted ready for a kiss... Harry giggles looking at their silly face expecting a kiss and they get embarrassed they explain to Harry that they thought it was custom to kiss after giving a gift and Harry cups their face and kiss their nose,, telling them how cute they are for being a little clueless on social norms,, he kisses their forehead and their eyelids and finally their lips before whispering that he loves to kiss them

From now on they make it a little tradition to kiss everytime they give each other something, making their own little social rules in their own little world

One day Harry arrives at the pond and the nymph is nowhere to be found but two other beautiful nymphs are there, they analyse him with despise talking among themselves that they don’t understand why the nymph of the pond would find interest in a human like him, they do refer to him as pretty and magnetic but that he’s a man and he’s never to be trusted... Harry doesn’t necessarily understands what’s happening but he just asks if the nymph is here referring to them by name and the nymph comes out and cast the others away, apologizing if their siblings were rude to him... Harry tells them that there’s no need to apologize and they keep their little ritual and learn about each other more

It’s only when the sun starts to come down that they’re laying on the grass, the nymphs head on Harry’s chest that they contemplate the sky in silence and the nymph kisses Harry’s chin and jaw and as the breeze passes them by they start to kiss, their hands traveling all over their bodies and their heartbeats synchronising... the soft evening air starts to feel heavier and it’s like there’s a wave of heat in the pond,, the nymph straddles themselves on Harry never unlocking their lips and when he breaks the kiss to breathe he’s suddenly very aware of what the other nymphs said about him; he becomes hesitant and shy away from the nymph’s mouth,,, he asks them if they really want to go further than a kiss, further than touches, if they’re sure they want him; if they really trust him

and the nymph only grabs his face to kiss him deeper to let him know that they never had a doubt and so they make love right there on the grass; the nymph on top of him, their hips moving to the rhythm of the water and their face gleaming in the golden hour and Harry can only say how beautiful they are, how perfect they are, how they feel so good.... Hes sitting up while the nymph rides him so he can make eye contact and kiss their lips, his hands resting on their waist, sliding on their hips and sometimes grabbing their ass, always moaning on the nymph’s lips about how magical they are and its when he picks them up to fuck into them that he finally hears them talk between muffled breaths and moans; repeatedly calling his name... he thrusts harder every time the word harry leaves their mouth until they both come undone on each other, the nymph first : waves of water covering Harry and a last moan of his name against his lips and barely seconds later Harry releases himself inside the nymph,,, thanking them time and time again

and now they’re staying in this position, their lips trying to find each other in the dark now that the sun has set, giggling in each other’s mouth its only after a while that Harry finally gets up to leave and the nymph is somehow terrified by the idea that he might never come back but right as he leaves, same as every night, he kisses them and promises to come back tomorrow....

so yeah thats about where im at in the nymph fantasy lmaodvnh from then he keeps coming back and they keep fucking in every possible positions so its just horny ass shit and then I thought maybe he’s gonna ask them to come to the city to visit the castle and attend a ball and since theyre a bit clueless on social cues it will be fun and awkward and maybe there’ll be conflict like he’s already promised to someone else or maybe he’s actually the god Apollo trapped in his human form and he’s found a new muse but now that hes in love he doesnt know what to do who knows my brain is full of possibilities lmaohsdvbhv

#I just realised this is 2K words long lmaoferjhbguer #I AM SO SORRY

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appassaddle · 3 years

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In worldbuilding, one of the best touchstones you can give people is in arts. Music is especially great because it’s one of the longest lasting sense-memories people have, so giving that to your fictional characters makes them that much more real and relatable. ATLA, as a great fantasy world, makes great use of this (how many times have you sung a song from the show? be honest.) so this is a list of possible musical influences that could be part of the various nations outside of the music we’re given in-show. The musical possibilities with bending and having benders has just... so much cool potentital, because look at what we’ve got without even having powers!

Check it:

Earth kingdom – lithophones

The Earth Kingdom would have absolutely sick lithophones (instruments made from resonating stone).

Lithophones are also some of the oldest dated musical instruments, going back to prehistoric times, and can be found in locations/cultures around the globe (singing/ringing/sonic/resonant rocks of different types are everywhere) in both natural and man-made settings. (Musical caves/stalactite organs vs carved or shaped settings)

Some examples:

Bianqing: (also known as qing, biên khánh in Vietnam, and pyeongyeong in Korea) A stone gong originating from China, played in a set (or singular) hung on racks, with a characteristic angular shape. (Not to be confused with bianzhong, which are metal bells, often played together with bianqing.)

[example] [example] [example]

Ðàn đá: a stone mallet instrument from the western/central highlands of Viet Nam. They are a historic instrument and got a revival in the 1950s, so they are fairly common in the modern era as well.

[example] [example]

If you’re interested in checking out the work of Viet musicologists, check out their website: https://www.vienamnhac.vn/home-page

For a look into how stone based instruments can be made, check out this report from a small town in Japan that specializes in a specific type of musical stone (sanukite): https://www.kensanpin.org/en/report/no47/

Some examples of instruments made from sanukite: [example] [example]

(I can also totally see towns in the EK having stones specific to their region and their local musical tone.)

Post metalbending revolution they would probably partner up with…

The Fire Nation likely has a strong lean towards metallophones. In Western music the most well known of these would be vibraphones, glockenspiels, and bells. (In the ATLA soundtrack, a notable metallic sound is Azula’s signature sting.) But for the FN, more likely influences could be along the lines of:

Gamelan: this is a genre/type of ensemble from Indonesia, the main three styles being Javanese, Balinese, and Sudanese. (Styles depend on island of origin and cultural purposes.) It has a rich history and cultural importance that cannot be done justice in a few lines her, but it’s absolutely amazing music. Gamelan is used for religious/spiritual purposes, dance, puppeteering/storytelling, theater, general concerts, community gathers, and more. Ensembles range in size and instrumentation, but the main timbre is in the various metallophones (barred, gongs, cymbals, etc.), as well as drums, strings, woodwinds, and singers. [example] [example] [example]

[If you’re interested in learning more, the Wikipedia page https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamelan actually has whole video modules via youtube to learn about the various styles of gamelan and multiple sources both print and online to access!]

Steelpan/steel drums: Originating from Trinidad and Tobago, these instruments have a very universal popularity for their bright tone and accessibility. There are many variations on steelpan such as the hang drum, handpan, steel tongue drum, and others. [example] [example] [example]

For the polar Water Tribes, I’d imagine they’d have a much stronger oral/vocal tradition than instrumental, with the exception being portable/durable instruments like hands drums, bone flutes, etc. (So this section is a little less instrument based and more appropriate vibes.)

Vocal/oral tradition: It’s hard to find a culture that doesn’t have some form of oral or sung tradition, but with the cultural influences behind the Water Tribes, I’d guess that a strong tradition would be in throat singing. Throat singing is found in multiple indigenous cultures around the world with various styles of overtone singing (producing more than one tone at once). Some examples are:

Inuit - [one] [two]

Tuvan (Mongolian) - [one] [two] [obligatory plug for The Hu bc they are some of the coolest people on the planet]

Tibetan - [one] [two]

Italian - [one] [two]

Ainu - [one] [two]

Tan Dun, Water Music: Tan Dun is a composer who has done film scores and currently focuses on what he calls “organic music” where the main focus is using naturally occurring materials/sounds. [performance]

Water drumming: One of the coolest ensemble performances, just straight up using water as an instrument. These examples are from Vanuatu and the Baka people of Cameroon. [one] [two] [three] [four] [five]

Sea Organ: Located in Zader, Croatia, this experimental instrument is played by the tides and waves. [video]

Hand drums/frame drums: these styles of drums can be found around the world, throw a dart at a map and there’s probably a style of hand drum from there. They are among the simplest style of drum to make, needing a round frame and hide to stretch over it. Here are just a few examples: [one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six]

Air Nomads probably had a hug musical tradition between the temples, skybison herding, and traveling. Both singing and wind instruments were probably very popular (we see Aang being able to play multiple instruments). Simple flutes make good travel instruments and being able to share news and information via song when stopping at towns would be a valued skill (in communities before reading was a common skill, it would usually fall to either dedicated criers or bards to pass along information in an understandable and memorable way).

Singing/chants: Learning songs from around the nations would be fun for those who travel, it’s easy to imagine an informal song competition for the most variety or strangest or most locations or dirtiest ones learned during their travels. But given the strong influence of Tibetan Buddhism on the Air Nomads, some traditional Tibetan vocal music examples (a couple of other examples are under the Water Tribe section as well)- [one] [two] [three] [four] [five]

(Tibetan musical notation is also regarded as some of the most beautiful in the world, I’d strongly recommend taking a look.)

Sheng- This is a free-reed mouth organ from China and it has an incredibly long history. Traditional shengs are handheld with few keys, more modern versions vary in size, number of pipes, and keys. It’s a pretty delightful instrument imo. [one] [two] [three]

Panflute: There a lots of different kinds of panflutes found around the world, the most famous being the Greek and Peruvian styles. Some different kinds include paixiao (China), wot (Laos, northern Thailand), nai (Romania, Moldova), siku (Andean), and kuvytsi (Slavic). Variations include the cut of pipes to produce the sound, arrangement of the pipes, and materials used.[siku] [paixiao] [wot 1] [wot 2]

It would also be very cool to have carvings into the mountains that could be played by airbending oh man.

All of these are, of course, just barely dipping a toe into the vast amounts of beautiful musical cultures out there, but hopefully it helps inform and build on what is there. If something tickles your fancy, please feel free to go digging and find more about it! (If you aren’t sure where to start, I’m happy to help, just drop me a line and I can at least point you in the right direction. I make no claim to be any kind of expert here, but I can get you to them!)

#atla #atla meta #worldbuilding #musical meta #headcanons #recovered the post from yesterday recovered lol

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goosedawn · 3 years

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i've never listened to Friends At The Table (though it's on my list now, dnd campaigns podcast wooo!) what would the storyline of the crossover entail? with the HermitCraft characters i'm guessing it's chaotic and interesting 😊

:0!!!! :DDD!!!!!!! if u end up giving it a shot i hope u enjoy it! they dont actually play dnd, they play a bunch of other tabletop games which are all really neat also! (also if u need a suggestion for where to start if/when u get to it, feel free to drop me an ask)

the story follows the typical structure of "group is sent off to do tasks for money, and eventually realise something bigger is going on" so i am largely following the plot in that way, where groups of adventurers are sent out to investigate a series of towers that appear to have some connection to the gods of the world. ajhsjjejhfhjef most of my thoughts about the au are more character based,, so instead of a proper plot summary i can give details and thoughts on where some of the hermits fit into everything so far (while. trying to avoid the big twists revealed in the podcast ig,,?) i also ended up including some sleepybees (sbi + beeduo) in the au but im still not 100% sure on where they fit in (as in i have too many ideas djhdkndnj)

ANYWAY uhhhh some spoilers for the universe im basing this off of, under the cut cos it got long :'D

context/setting:

the specific arc/universe that this au is set in is the one from Seasons in Hieron (SiH) which is their fantasy season! (its. its long,, this arc spans i think. 3 seasons? plus a short interlude season)

the setting was previously a traditional fantasy world that had some sort of great catastrophe (the Erasure) happen, and the current world is after people have rebuilt a new society! its described as "post-fantasy, post-post-apocalyptic" its very fun and subversive and afhdjfbj the worldbuilding is just. real good :>

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characters:

im still figuring out where different hermits fit into the au but i am basically taking aspects of various characters from the podcast and splitting roles and traits to hermits, so its all mixed up! also,, there are just. so many hermits,, i have not found places for all of them (not even most of them i dont think) but here is what i have so far:

impulse and zedaph work in the New Archives (a series of huge warehouse-like archives run by the orcs of this world!) impulse is an orc, zed is not! impulse works to retrieve artifacts for the archive, and zed,, hes just kinda there. learning and experimenting with pattern magic (a type of magic done by arranging and rearranging things in specific configurations, often they are obscure and weird things like "27 brown birds in a tree, 5 table legs, 500 buttons, 16 steps to the east" etc.) when the story finds them they are studying a fallen tower in the center of the Mark of the Erasure (a location still showing the effect of the great cataclysm that befell the world)

tango vaguely takes the role of Ephraim, prince of something or rather,,, idk man hes cool and has fire powers, very anime. his powers were a gift from the gods, and he goes on to hv close relations w them! he meets up with impulse and zed later on and become fast friends obviously

joe is an expert in pattern magic, and is on the run from the archives after having stolen a pretty nondescript notebook. its a nice notebook! hes just a human guy. he writes and recites poetry in order to do pattern magic using the notebook!

cleo hails from the city of *Nacre*, where people get multiple chances at life. people from there can get killed but will exist on as zombies, then if they are killed again, they exist as ghosts, and then they pass away fully. she is an undead pirate captain that joe somehow manages to sway over to their side ahjbhfbjf,, she is hunting down the lost prince/king of Nacre.

wels is a pala-din (pal-ah-deen, rather than paladin), a sort of living marble statue that serves one of the gods in the pantheon.

scar is ofc, a wizard! it. it should be noted that wizards dont really exist in this world, people who perform and study magic are mages, not wizards,, "wizard" is kind of a weird term to use sjbdbjhfjjhb scar takes place of The Great Fantasmo in the podcast, and similarly has an invisible assistant! he doesnt seem to remember much of his past...

cubfan works in Velas, a fishing town where the story "begins" he does not enjoy talking to scar, and seems to be sad whenever hes around. perhaps scar reminds him of someone, or perhaps of better times...

tfc hes a priest aagsuijdjhkdgjdkihwhjvd i swear theres a reason for this later,, the role of the npc alyosha is somewhat split between tfc and cub!

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others i have thoughts on but im not settled on yet:

im debating having xisuma as part of the pantheon, but if not, he would be a druid so he can shapeshift into animals sjbakjnsnfjb he would take the general role of Fero in the story, but would also be kind of split with evil x, who captures... a certain stubbornness and deepset frustration Fero has in later times.

etho could take the place of Samol, the first god to exist. he is the embodiment of this world, and is kind of isolated and strange wbhshjhbdbhjdjbdkjn,, strange /pos. hes also. kind of dissapearing though... i wonder why :)

while theoratically i could have xisuma as samol cos. yknow. admin. i think the vibes and role just fit etho better

and... if i had etho as samol i think it could be fun to have doc and bdubs as other members of the pantheon, if u go with their dynamic from the start of s7 they even fit the divorced couple vibe two of the gods have /lh /hj (nho pantheon pog..? maybe. theres a total of 5 deities in the pantheon tho...)

im leaning toward either false + stress or maybe gem + pearl pairs for two of the goddesses in the pantheon, but thatd probably depend on if i can find a better place for them ;P

techno and phil take the role of red jack, and techno is a Huge Oni Dude >:] in canon red jack has a cool horse!!! it fits!! hes also. heavily implied to be kinda immortal?? anyway. im torn on this because techno and phil ALSO fit the roles of some of the player characters, with relation to the missing prince/king of Nacre but im still working things out,,

no matter whats up with them, ranboo takes the role of bluejay, redjacks son, meeting up with tubbo and tommy who take the place of benjamin, the son of one of the player characters. tubbo and tommy kind of. get sent to another dimension to keep them safe,,? and live in a lie for many years before they are brought back.

when i first thought about this au, i also thought about the whole. sending child off into fake dimension to live life, and of course. i thought about. grumbot ofc and originally planned to have mumbo or grian take the place of that player character abhdfvnbrvbn but it also implies one or both of them would be paladins (not pala-din! just the normal religious knight) AND have connections to tubbo and tommy which is. funny but ehhhh idk.

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and that. maybe probably somewhat incoherent train of thought is what i have for the au so far! its. still very much a work in progress so thank you if you stuck through all that!! ive still got a lot to think abt in the au,,,, lots to figure out ;P hopefully i can iron it out a bit more in the future, but its fun to think about for the time being

#goosegoes #not g/t #i lost so many words from this draft #i kept forgetting to save it #anyway its like 2am ajbanjkjrjhfjdk i should sleep #anon #again thank u for asking aabjhskjnjkrhjbrjhjk #even if u dont read all of that it means a lot that u showed interest 💛#obscure crossover au

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lonelypond · 3 years

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BETWEEN US

NicoMaki, Love Live, 3.6K, 1/1

Summary: Nishikino Maki and Yazawa Nico have many challenges ahead, but they get through them together.

Between Us

Is this what love is? Not a fire that bites painfully but two people laying so close to feel every breath, hands nearly touching, eyes on the brilliant stars opening themselves up suddenly, sure enough to share truths they speak into the night, this solitary space, this private moment between them.

Nishikino Maki spoke first, always the more impatient, curious about Yazawa Nico’s state of mind. “What do you want to do, Nico-chan?”

“Nico wants to show everyone that little and cute can be strong, sexy smart, talented, funny, hard working, successful….I’m tired of how the world treats cute girls like Nico. Nico is a star.” Nico flung her arms out, to encompass the sky. “They should be in awe.”

I am, Maki said to herself, and then thought, why not say it out loud. This was all new, why not be bolder.

“I am.”

Nico squeezed Maki’s hand, a reward for honesty. “What do you want to do, Maki-chan?”

No one said Maki’s name like Nico. It had been Maki’s anchor through the continuing craziness of Muse, Eli’s taskmaster torture, qualifying, Honoka’s collapse, then starting over, right as they discovered these new feelings, a gift from all they’d been through.

“I want to use the Nishikino fortune for new things, good things, to stop propping up out dated ways and awful people. I want to find new ways to help…” Maki was a person of specifics and she had a list. “Girls, gays, empaths, people fighting bigotry, neurodivergents, water protectors,” Maki thought of Rin and giggled, “furries, us, our friends, the world.”

“Maki-chan will do great things.”

“Once I’m 30.”

Nico Yazawa considered. This was so new and 14 years from now, when Maki was a doctor and her trust vested, seemed as distant as the nearest star Nico could see. But Nico knew naming goals was the first step to achieving them, even if it seemed a wild fantasy.

“Nico will be there.” Not flashy, just quiet determination.

Nico heard Maki gulp. She was probably tearing up and couldn’t speak. Nico didn’t really expect her too. Sharing was such a new trust. But Maki’s hand carefully kept precise palm to palm contact with Nico’s. That said everything.

“Marry Nico.”

Maki sighed. “No one can know.”

“Okay.”

YAZAWA NICO FINISHES FIRST INTERNATIONAL TOUR WITH SPRING SPLASH IN HONOLULU

NISHIKINO MAKI BEGINS RONIN YEAR SOLO WORLD TOUR SURFING IN MAUI

Sunrise. Quiet beach. Her own choices. Is this what contentment felt like, Maki wondered. Finally, moments of quiet to listen for the important things. Leaning against her duffle and board, dressed in a striped rash guard, bright lavender board shorts, and a faded denim “You Are On Native Land” cap, Maki stretched, watching the horizon as a lone speck appeared in the distance, jogging toward her, not actually growing much as the distance closed, Maki thought with a private grin. Nico, running in an oversized hoodie and bikini bottom, gasped dramatically, reaching a hand for the water bottle Maki held out as a lure.

“Still running 5Ks every morning?”

“10K when I don’t have a concert or rehearsal. Nico is a boss.”

“Umi would be proud.”

Nico dropped and did ten fast pushups in the sand next to Maki, “Not if Nico told her it was only to make girls swoon.”

“Girls?” Maki arched an eyebrow, hand sweeping through her hair.

“Girl.”

“Fiancee.”

Nico laughed, rolling toward Maki, pulling her down into a playful, sandy kiss. “Ready to upgrade to trophy wife?”

“Yes.”

But there was no hurry that morning. Both had put their other lives on multiple 15 plus hour flights and fallen briefly off the grid to sit side by side on this hidden beach, the tide surging, a rare treasured morning to share.

“Went to the symphony last night. Monica Mancini sang, Henry Mancini’s daughter,” Nico hummed the Pink Panther theme, “Nice voice, more your thing than Nico’s though. She sang a lot of Johnny Mercer. And some new stuff. Nico was taking notes.”

“You’re great on stage Nico-chan, but I guess you can always learn from other performers.”

“Nico is learning songwriting.”

Maki pushed against Nico, “Going to try to get me to put Nico Nico Ni to music again.”

Nico’s mood turned serious, “I miss watching you play.”

“I miss playing.”

“When Nico gets her penthouse, there will be a baby grand.” Nico let her hand settle on Maki’s, “Working with a portable keyboard now. And Umi’s giving me advice, so many books...I’m so busy reading, there’s no time to party.”

“Good.”

“Hey, do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

Nico stared at Maki for a moment, but there was only earnestness in the amethyst staring back, “Not since you got here.”

“I’ve been talking with some of the elders, volunteering on Maui, learning about healing plants, and aloha ‘āina.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s really cool. I’m going to get Papa to invite some of the teachers and doctors I’ve met to give seminars for us. Aloha ‘āina means so many things, but it’s mostly being determined to take care of each other by taking care of the land. It’s very land based and tradition based, here in Hawai’i,” Maki picked up a handful of sand, “but it’s caring and not soft...exactly...when you meet Kai, he’ll explain it better. We’ve been invited for dinner, his uncle plays the ohe hano ihu.”

“What’s that?”

“ A nose flute, not for big concerts, more personal...Kai says his uncle has so many stories about it being used in courting rituals.”

“Is Maki-chan taking notes?”

“Maybe.” Ah, Maki’s sexy, best musician in the world grin. Nico missed that one a lot on the road. A killer cute band was no replacement for the brilliant, lovely pianist who’d so boldly wrapped Nico’s heart in music.

They were in the teasing phase now. “Do you have to keep courting a cute girl after marriage?”

Maki shoved into Nico again, “Well, duh…”

Joint laughter, rolling out to meet the tide.

“We’re getting married.” Maki said quietly.

“Just need to take our passports to pick up the license and go to the shrine. We filled out everything else online.” Nico glanced at her bare legs, “And Nico brought a kimono. Although Maki-chan looks sporty cute just like she is.”

Maki had a far off look, not paying much attention to Nico. Happy to wait ‘til Maki drifted back to the beach, Nico was going to enjoy memorizing her favorite scenery, Maki’s beautifully expressive face, now relaxed and open, thoughts waves and clouds in constant motion. Nico knew the solitude here allowed Maki to relax, there was no family pressure, their phones were off, nothing on either of their schedules for at least the rest of the week. A rare moment to sit with each other, sharing this beauty.

NISHIKINO REAL ESTATE GROUP BUYS LARGE LUXURY TOWER NEAR NISHIKINO MEDICAL CENTER

SUPERSTAR REFUSES TO GIVE UP PENTHOUSE APARTMENT TO NISHIKINO HEIR

Fast food. School girls lingering from Otonokizaka. Two people shoved into the booth furthest from the door and windows, sitting on the same bench, hip to hip, back to the rest of the room.

“So many memories in this place.” Nico unwrapped her burger.

“So many french fries.” Maki dipped a sample french fry in her chocolate milkshake.

“Another meal Nico paid for. You got rich not paying for food.”

“Hey! You were too proud to let me pay.”

“Nico is still too proud.” Nico tapped her fingers on the table. This late afternoon, for this clandestine meeting, they’d allowed themselves the indulgence of wearing their braided gold and platinum wedding band, Maki added the simple diamond Nico had bought her for their engagement.

“Is this going to work? Us actually living this close together without rumors starting?” Maki had been worrying. So many comments in the press and on social media.

“Everyone already has us at war. Nico’s a selfish poser, Maki’s a spoiled brat. Enemies to lovers.”

“Not funny, Nico-chan.”

“Nico will throw a huge party before I leave on my next tour. My new landlord will threaten very publically to throw me out of the building. Everything will flare up, but Maki-chan will continue to do boring future doctor things and by the time Nico gets back, all anyone will be talking about is Nico’s new album.”

“They’re not boring future doctor things.”

“No, they’re smart, saving the world future doctor things and Nico is so proud.” A quick kiss on Maki’s palm.

“Meanwhile…”

“Meanwhile, Umi and Eli install a secret hatch above the decorative staircase centerpiece of your expensively designed main room.”

“I’m going to miss you, Nico-chan.” Sadness.

Time to change the mood. Nico dipped a french fry in her strawberry shake and fed it to Maki. “How’s studying going?”

Maki leaned, chin in hand, frowny. “I could be more motivated.”

“So B?”

“A minus.”

“Nerd.”

“ ‘s dull." Maki said, chewing slowly. "But have to stay on track with the family benchmarks.”

“Yeah.” Nico decided to talk about happier things, “ooohh, did I tell you Eli’s setting up a foundation for Nico as her graduation project. We’ve already donated tickets to queer youth groups in every city on the tour and Nozomi’s setting up mentor programs.”

“Expect a large anonymous donation.”

“Expect a large not so anonymous thank you.”

“I’m just proud that you’re doing things to actually help people. I want to do more.”

“You’re studying to be a doctor, Maki-chan. That’s hard. Nico’s got it easy. All Nico has to do is” Nico went into her signature gesture, “Nico Nico Ni and everything gets brighter.” Nico suddenly remembered she shouldn’t have let her catch phrase out full voice during what was supposed to be a secret meeting, but this was a low traffic period so no one seemed to notice.

“I couldn’t get that out of my head, the first time I saw you do it. It was annoying.”

“But you loved Nico.” Nico snuggled closer, enjoying a chance to feel Maki next to her.

“But I loved Nico, all of Nico, the bold, brash, terrible liar, the kind, caring sister, the determined ally and friend, the hard working and talented performer.”

“Nico wasn’t a liar, Nico was an optimist.”

“Private chef,” Maki cough giggled.

Nico grabbed the french fries as Maki reached for another one, “Confiscated for cheekiness.”

“Give me those.” Maki grabbed, Nico dodged, french fries flew loose and they giggled their way through the next few minutes until Nico leaned forward to whisper in Maki’s ear.

“So are your parents still in New York City?”

Gulping, suddenly completely flustered, Maki nodded.

Nico bounced up, offering a gallant hand, “Nico will walk you home.”

“Fancy.”

“Only the best for Mrs. Yazawa.”

“That would be Mrs. Nishikino.”

“We’ll wrestle. Nico will win.”

“Optimist.”

Nico’s hand on Maki’s waist was a gentle guide into the autumn night, two hats pulled down, two collars pulled up, Nico in a mask to protect her voice. “Wait and see.”

Maki leaned into Nico. This night, unlike too many others recently, felt just right.

HEAD OF THE NISHIKINO MEDICAL GROUP COLLAPSES, HOSPITALIZED

NICO NI NEW YEAR’S CHARITY CONCERT SELLS OUT IN MINUTES

Nico had never been so sick. She’d lost count of the medicines she was taking to sleep at night, and then the additional ones added to get her through tonight’s concert. Then she could rest. Go to her Mama’s house and get babied for a bit. Maki had been so sad at Christmas, with too many family obligations to fly to Los Angeles. Nico had gotten through their Christmas Eve quick chat and then collapsed, barely moving until yesterday’s rehearsal, which wiped her out.

Pounding on her hotel room door. What the hell? Phone pinged, the Maki-tone.

“Open your door, Nico--chan.” Maki sounded angry. Was she pounding? Nico felt even fuzzier, slumping to the door, opening it to fall against a tall, angry Maki, beanie over her hair, sunglasses, and a mask.

“Nico-chan?” Now Maki’s voice sounded tearful.

“Hi, Mrs. Yazawa.” Nico croaked out, hoping to make Maki at least giggle.

Strong arms swept her up, Maki striding across the room, putting Nico gently down on the bed, Maki immediately examining every bottle by Nico’s bedside, “What kind of quack put you on all this?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t know? You don’t know.”

“Trainer found ‘em…recommended.”

“You should be in a hospital.” Maki’s voice broke.

“Concert, charity, millions. Nico Nico Ni.” Nico had no idea if what she was saying made sense.

“Cancel. Refund. I’ll make a bigger donation.”

“Nico is a trooper.”

“Nico is a zombie. What the hell kind of irresponsible moron gave you all this?” Maki crashed all the bottles to the floor. “Did they inject you with anything?”

“It’s LA, Maki-chan, the beautiful people never stop.” Nico coughed. It hurt like 50 Umi arrows to the chest, “Nico is a beautiful people.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki was kneeling next to the bed, desperation and weariness lining her face. She’d never travelled well, Nico realized.

Nico managed to flip so she was on her side, managing to smile at Maki, “Hey pretty girl.”

“I am going to sue that quack into despair and destitution.”

Nico blinked, suddenly aware that Maki should be in Tokyo. “Why are you here, Maki-chan?.”

“Hanayo heard a rumor…”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t care.” Maki’s head dropped to the bed, “Papa collapsed...and you’re like this and hiding it from me…and letting some greedy idiot try to kill you...if anything happens to you, Nico-chan…” And the tears, Nico could feel them as she reached for Maki, hot, heavy, rolling off pale cheeks.

“Nico will be fine.”

Maki shook her head.

“Look at me, Maki-chan.”

Maki raised her head. Her eyes were bright. She was always so bright, so caring, her native prickliness a fortification against all the emotions Maki didn’t know how to process.

“I will be fine.”

Maki surged up, her arms drawing in Nico, whose heart was really not rested enough for tackled into bed by the redhead of her dreams. “Maki-chan, you’re going to hug Nico to death.”

“Don’t say that.” Maki’s arm twitched for a minute like she was going to shove Nico away, but then Nico found herself pressed as closely as she’d ever been against a clothed Maki, which would have been amazing if she could breathe. So Nico let a cough out and Maki loosened her hold.

“Let Nico sleep.”

“Okay. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Nico had closed her eyes, muttering, “...love you.”

“I love you too, Nico-chan.”

A-RISE STEPS IN AT LAST MINUTE FOR NICO NI

NISHIKINO MAKI CHECKING OUT STANFORD RESEARCH FACILITIES, POSSIBLE PARTNERSHIP

Nico is officially spoiled. Another morning waking up to Maki curled up by her side...She’d shipped everyone else back to Japan, tour over, a solid break until Nico’s doctor cleared her for rehearsal. Nico sat up, teasing tumbles of red hair, Maki had been very clear that Nico had to clear the steroids out of her system first. But at least Maki hadn’t banned other forms of exercise.

“I’m not asleep, Nico-chan.” Maki mumbled, sounding totally still asleep.

“Thanks for coming to rescue Nico.”

“Don’t make me do it again. I might have to go back to school.”

“I thought you were joining the Board Of Directors ahead of schedule?”

Maki opened her eyes, stretching, “Order pancakes. And bacon. And orange juice. And muffins.”

“Brunch in bed.”

“I’m not leaving until I have to.”

Nico reached down to kiss Maki’s forehead, “It’s been nice having you here.”

“Then come home.”

“Nico is working on it.”

Maki raised an eyebrow. Nico sounded excited. “Is there something I don’t know about?”

“It was supposed to be your Christmas surprise, but Nico’s agent was still negotiating.”

What could Nico’s agent be negotiating that would be a Christmas surprise for Maki?

“I’m going be the main character in a TV drama, based in Tokyo.”

“Really?”

“Really. I didn’t get to be there when your Dad ended up in the hospital and I’m so sorry…I knew you needed me, but...this is our life...” Maki nodded as Nico gestured at the hotel suite, continuing, “And I knew you were going to be super busy with family stuff so I pitched an idea and two production companies jumped on board. Nico is taking a paycut and ownership, but all you’ll have to do is come upstairs and Nico will be right there, at least for six months.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki sat up.

Nico put her arm and pulled Maki in, Maki dropping her head to Nico’s shoulder, “We get through the tough stuff together, Maki-chan. We always have. I love you.”

“Love you.” Maki was falling asleep again. Nico would add coffee to their brunch order. Maki had to be awake enough to sneak out and catch a plane.

YAZAWA NICO TO STAR IN DOCTOR SMILE

DOCTOR NISHIKINO MAKI TAKES OVER FAMILY MEDICAL PRACTICE

If she didn’t have Nico, Maki would probably just live with a grand piano, a huge bathtub, and a couch to eat take out on, Nico thought as she sank into lavender scented steaming water.

“It’s not funny, Rin. And I don’t need weekly updates about who Nico’s kissing on the show.” Maki sounded aggravated. Nico giggled. She’d come home early from a weekend meet the fans event and snuck into Maki’s luxury tub to recover. Candles were lit, Idol music popping.

“Wait a minute, Rin. I think…” Maki’s steps sounded hasty and she was suddenly in the door of the bathroom.

Nico winked. “Hi Maki!”

Maki made a grumbly noise and turned sideways, “No, I’m okay, Rin. There’s just a surprise in my bathtub…” Maki glanced at Nico, “Rin says hi. And you have to stop using my cases, Nico-chan.”

“Did Rin say that? And who says Nico does?”

Maki glared, “Where do you even get your information?”

Nico raised a finger to her lips and winked.

“And that red wig. It’s awful. People think you’re making fun of me.” Maki listened to her phone. “Shut up, Rin.” And the phone went in her coat pocket.

“What did Rin say?”

“Nvermind.” Maki muttered.

“Maki-chan…” Nico splashed at Maki.

“No one would ever call me Dr. Smile.”

Nico guffawed, slapping water everywhere. “I miss Rin.”

“If I had Umi’s bow, I wouldn’t.”

“You love her.” Nico leaned back, watching her wife, who had flopped on the nearby chaise. “So who thinks Nico is making fun of you?”

“Papa.”

“PFfffffff…who cares.”

Maki glared, ‘“We’re trying to keep his stress levels low.”

“Red headed doctors are the best.”

“But I like your hair; it looks like you.”

“But our daughter will look like Dr. Smile.”

That threw Maki’s train of thought completely askew. The closest she could get was imagining Cotaro when she first met him with bright red hair.

“I wonder if our children will look like you? All your siblings do.”

“And they’re cute. But our children will be NicoMaki cute. I’ve seen your baby pictures, you were adorable.” Nico leaned back, smiling up at Maki. “Nico can’t wait to have a family to come home to.”

“You have me.”

“And I love it.” Nico blew lavender scented bubbles at Maki, “But you, me, the cutest children ever in the universe, and Christmas morning.”

Maki couldn’t keep the huge grin back. “I can tell them all about Santa-san.”

“But we’re not spoiling them too much.”

Maki pouted at Nico.

Nico giggled, “That’s what our parents will do.”

Maki got up, taking off her coat, sliding out of her jacket, unbuttoning her shirt halfway and slipping out of her pants. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, feet in the water, toes teasing Nico’s legs. “You’re going to tour less, right.”

“Nico’s not touring now. You’re going to cut down your hours, right, Maki-chan.”

“Just started the search for an Executive Director. And put the LGBTQ+ Health Centers proposal on the fast track.”

Nico leaned over, her chin on Maki’s thigh, “We’ve worked really hard for this.”

“We have.”

“I think Mama knows.”

Maki laughed, “It was that morning she surprised us at breakfast, wasn’t it?”

For once, Nico was the one blushing. “Nico needs…” Nico’s arm slipped under Maki’s shirt, a casual touch on Maki’s back, “more elegant pajamas for entertaining company.”

“No you don’t.”

“You like it when Nico borrows your shirt.”

“No, I love it when Nico-chan borrows my shirt.”

“Nico loves your pajamas.” Nico’s fingers started tracing patterns.

“Ha!” Keeping her cool with Nico this close had always been impossible so Maki just lowered herself into the water, pausing for a messy, wet kiss, “Let’s skip dinner.”

NISHIKINO MAKI AND YAZAWA NICO: DETAILS OF THEIR WHIRLWIND COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE

The interviewer leaned forward as Maki ran a hand through her hair. She was relaxed in a light gray Tadashi Shoji corded lace sheath dress, and confidently answered her question, “It was a long day, my eyes were so tired everything was blurry and I got in the wrong elevator. Nico had just gotten pics of the Ayase twins and we started talking about high school.”

“Talking?” Nico snorted, standing behind Maki, hands in the pockets of bright pink Victoria Beckham trousers, the matching blazer falling open, “It was all Nico’s sex appeal. Nico is irresistible.”

Maki leaned her head back, a private smile for Nico, “Nico is irresistible.”

“Is it irresponsible to take so much time off from your responsibilities to take a world tour honeymoon and then start a family?”

Nico chuckled, her hands on Maki’s shoulder, “We’ve planned carefully. And they’re our businesses. Nico never understood people working themselves to death, not taking time for family. We want to change corporate culture.”

“You’ve always been ambitious, Nico. What’s your next project?”

Nico winked, “That’s just between us.”

“No hints for our viewers, Maki?”

Nico leaned down, arms around Maki’s shoulders, whispering something in her ear. Maki’s full, flaring blush could have been a picture from high school. The interviewer laughed.

“Nice to see you two worked out the Penthouse Wars.”

“Nico is a reasonable person.”

Maki threw back her head, laughing, “Sure, that’s why.”

“Well, Nico is certainly a top…”

“Nico-chan!”

“I love you, Maki-chan.” Giggling, Nico kissed her wife’s cheek.

Nico might have been the only one to hear Maki’s muttered, “I love you, Nico-chan.” But it had always been true.

A/N: Another AU Yeah August request, it started out as Married Rivals, but I was reading a Dolly Parton songwriting book and in the songs about love chapter there were these lyrics from "Between Us":

In our love let's share a friendship between us Always close enough to talk things out Let's be honest with ourselves and each other And our love will never know mistrust or doubt

So I just started writing conversations.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #married #married life #fluff #minor illness and angst #au yeah august

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diphthongsfordays · 2 years

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Writing Bucket List Tag Game

Tagged by @writingonesdreams, @kari-writes-stuff, and @akindofmagictoo thanks so much!! This is a fun one!

Rules: list wips you would like to finish in your lifetime and optionally reasons what's holding you off them and how far you want to get them (publish/post etc)

Firetide Rising: I'd like to get the whole series finished. All four books, lol. Like, properly finished, with multiple drafts and editing and sensitivity readers and whatnot. I might self-publish it someday, not really sure. I probably wouldn't traditionally publish it though, I feel like it breaks a lot of rules and there's stuff I'd have to change with traditional publishing that I don't want to change lol.

The biggest issue I'm having with writing it is that I did NOT plan well when I started lol. It was the first thing I tried writing after close to four years off doing basically no writing, and it was not supposed to be so ambitious. It started out as just a fun little book about a girl befriending some dragons, and then proceeded to reeeeaaaally get away from me, lol. I need to go back and properly outline the whole thing, and deal with multi-book arcs and subplots and all sorts off nonsense. Someday... :-)

Deathdancer: My current wip. It's a standalone fantasy, and I would love to properly finish and perhaps publish it someday. Probably self-publishing, but who knows, lol.

Death by Dawnlight: This is one that I'm not even sure I can call a wip? It's based on this idea I have about demons that spawn out of sunbeams, and the ramifications that has had on the world. I have some basic world-building, and a cast of key characters, but no real story that I'm telling yet. There are so many moving pieces for this, and the world-building needed is so extensive, that I haven't really made this a primary wip ever. It just requires so many decisions lol. If I dm'd though I'd turn it into a campaign setting because honestly the worldbuilding slaps :-)

Chance Magic: I don't have a good title for this. The working title is "Dealer of Death" but I'm not sold on that lol. It's very light on actual plot events, and very heavy on character interactions and growth, so I've been struggling with parts of it. But I really love the characters, and the setting, and the tropes I've leaned into for the conflicts. Also the magic system is really fun to write. Again, I might self-publish it someday. First I have to actually write it though, lol. I took a break from it to work on Deathdancer.

Stormshaper: I almost didn't put this on here, because I've basically started and 100% scrapped this story like five times. The original one was about a young woman who didn't know she had storm magic, a big political mess, and self-worth and redemption. Which sounds lovely on paper, but just was not working for me lol. I think it's because the character I was trying to write wasn't who the character I had in my head was. Someday I want to reconcile that, and actually turn this into a proper story even if I never publish it.

I tag (no pressure!): @sleepyowlwrites, @afoolandathief, @thegreatobsesso, @ink-fireplace-coffee, and open tag for anyone who wants it!!

#tag games #writing bucket list tag game #writeblr

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shera-dnd · 4 years

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Lori’s New Troll Lore

So me and my friend took very different approaches to rewriting the lore of these fantasy races. While Sal had the approach of making all the canon lore be born from in universe racism and misunderstandings, while creating the real lore of what these people really are instead of how they’re perceived by external groups (which is a fucking amazing btw)

I decided to go with a simpler approach of taking the very basic of what is canon to the universe and then reworking it so that it becomes its own unique thing, free of the usual yikes.

So what do we know for sure about troll canon. Well they can regenerate like crazy and can only be killed by fire or acid. They have amazing dark vision, at the price of being sensitive to bright lights (apparently that’s not in their stat sheet, but it’s referenced in lore). They’re a matriarchal society (weird how only evil cultures are matriarchal in D&D. I wonder why that would be the case), lead by shamans. And they’re sorta kinda giants, because they were born of the demigod Vaprak, who was born from... well when The All Father pulled a Zeus with a sorceress (Yes, depicting a child born from this kind of shit as inherently monstrous and evil is profoundly fucked up)

As you can see this shit is just full of yikes, but there are still a lot that can be salvaged here and put to good use creating an interesting story, so let’s see what I managed to make with all this

(I added a keep reading link, because this shit got loooooooooong)

~~~

Fire is the greatest enemy of Troll kind. It blinds them, it burns their flesh and it reminds them all of their own mortality, to this terrifying force of nature they show equal parts fear and respect. For in the hands of the old and wise, fire can still be used to make grand things.

Of course most troll children aren’t born with this inherent knowledge, so little they’re exposed to anything that could ever do them real harm. Young trolls have this sense that they’re immortal, invincible. When two trolls fight they could suffer terrible wounds that would kill even the mightiest of human warriors a dozen times over, and still get up and laugh it off.

From this two things can be gathered about troll kind. First that their disdain for armor and fancy clothes, comes entirely from practical reasons. What point is there in wasting resources in equipment that will get completely destroyed in a quick scuffle.

Second, that when it comes to real conflict, who wins is not the strongest troll, but the smartest. In the absence of fire or acid, the only real way to best a troll is by outsmarting them or outrunning them. This is one of the many reasons why it is wisdom, and not strength, that makes for a great leader.

It is also wisdom that allows for some trolls to work terrifying force of fire. Those who can treat that force with respect and who have fully understood what it means to hold in their hands the only thing that can kill their own people.

Still fire is very rarely used. They do not need it as a light source, they do not need it to cook their food or to heat their bodies, and they have very little use for metal tools. Fire in troll culture serves only one use, as a funeral pyre.

In the rare occasion when a troll truly dies, their body is burned and their ashes returned to the world. To many young trolls this is the first time they’re shown the destructive force of fire and learn of their own mortality. But in a way this ritual is less about how a troll dies, but more about how a troll lives on.

From those pyres banquets are prepared, their ashes are spread and seeds are planted where they were scattered. In this way a troll’s death is simply a means for them to truly become immortal.

In recent years metal tools have also been forged from these pyres, as more and more other cultures push into troll land, the more they must protect themselves from those who so carelessly brandish flame and magic.

Of course there are always grand tales about these tools, both of the people who brandished them and the people who became them. There are legends of an old troll queen whose corpse refused to burn away, keeping her pyre burning from 7 days and from that fire many grand weapons are forged - some hich are said to still carry her will.

Or perhaps the tale of the old wise woman who used a shield and a hammer to create an avalanche, thwarting a conquering army and humbling their warlord. It’s said that the shield forged from her pyre could stop even the acid breath of a black dragon.

Those are the story of the great troll people, of their strength and their wisdom, carried on in the world around us and in the many stories of their children.

~~~

Okay so that was a lot. One last bit that I wanted to write down is how they relate to the 13 classes of D&D. Gonna keep these quick and simple, because jesus christ I’ve been writing this shit for over an hour

Artificer: One wouldn’t expect them to have many artificers, but you’d be surprised with how much they can achieve without the use of metal. Ingenuity and cleverness goes a long way for Artificers and trolls have plenty of that. Though they do tend to prefer Alchemy as their field of study.

Barbarian: Rarer than most people think. Unyielding rage will only ever get you so far when fighting other trolls and their rage can’t do much to protect them from magical fire. Those that do exist lean towards the Path of the Ancestral Guardian

Bard: The living memory of the troll people. They retell the grand tales of their ancestors and share their wisdom with new generations. Many who follow this tradition lean towards the College of Lore

Cleric: Trolls prefer to worship their ancestors more than they worship gods. The one exception being Vaprak themself, as they’re the oldest of troll ancestors. Clerics do not have a particular preference towards any domain, as there’s certainly at least one great troll out there with a tale relating to each of them.

Druid: The most common of spell casters and wise leaders in troll communities. Though they may join any circle, the Circle of the Moon seems to attract particularly few of them, as their bodies far outmatch those of most natural beasts.

Fighter: Where there’s a fight to be had, there are fighters to fight it, troll culture is no exception.

Monk: Troll martial arts tend to center around grappling and pinning their foe, a victory by submission is often the best one can hope to achieve when dueling another of their kind. Still there are some who learn the ways of the Monk and how to channel their Ki to make their bodies even deadlier

Paladin: There are no classic paladin orders to be found among trolls, but as rare as they might be, there are still individuals who would dedicate so much of themselves to a cause that something out there - ancestor or god - is compelled to land them their aid.

Ranger: No society would have ever gone that far without rangers, hunters and guides, to lead them through the natural world. Trolls are no different.

Rogue: It may seem silly to think of something as large as a troll sneaking around, but it’s this sort of thinking that makes such clever people the deadliest and fiercest among their kind.

Sorcerer: Sometimes magic simply manifests itself to a person. Elves, humans, orcs and trolls alike, magic flows through them all and can awaken just as easily in any of them.

Warlock: Most trolls who seek this path are too young to understand the consequences of they’re doing. Perhaps they have never seen a funeral pyre being lit and are confident of their own immortality, or perhaps they have and are doing everything within their power to avoid such fate

Wizard: Only the old and wizened are ever allowed to take such a path, for such terrifying power cannot be taught to one who would use it carelessly, and far too many tales were ended far too soon by a single stray spell.

AND WE ARE FINALLY DONE. Hope you enjoyed this absurdly long read and please feel free to offer me feed back and your own unique takes on other fantasy races. Please do keep your advice constructive. I know I probably fucked up some bits back there, but nothing here is set in stone and a lot can be rewriten and changed as necessary

#dnd #dnd 5e #homebrew #trolls #dnd trolls #dnd homebrew

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duelistkingdom · 3 years

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12 days of christmas: day 2

day two is dragonshipping! and if you’re thinking “hey, that’s the same concept as what you did yesterday”... you’re right <3 but it’s a different ship so it’s a different fic <3

you can read it on ao3 here!

the 12 days series will be here!

if you like my work, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Jonouchi had been nervous around Atem since Atem got to stay. He knew that he had interacted with Atem before without nerves but that was back when Atem and Yugi were sharing a body. It was much harder to ignore that Atem had this presence about him that made it easy to get a crush on him. In fact, Atem was attractive too. This presented a problem because Jonouchi had been trying so hard to convince himself that all his feelings were simply just really intense feelings of friendship. He’d been surprised to discover just how close Atem already considered them. He supposed that tracked since as far Atem was concerned, he and Jonouchi had known each for four years now.

The real problem this presented was that Atem... was a very touchy feely friend. Atem would constantly give hugs or even just hold hands simply because he could. And this made Jonouchi hyper aware of his feelings for Atem rather quickly. In fact, all Jonouchi could focus on most days is how badly he wanted to kiss his friend. This was bad, Jonouchi decided rather quickly and had gone out of his way to avoid Atem simply because he didn’t know how Atem would react to Jonouchi having... well, feelings for him. He needed some time alone to figure out how to deal with his feelings without making things complicated between them. This, of course, didn’t work out as planned since it seemed like Atem was going out of his way to hang out with Jonouchi. Not only that, Atem was always around Yugi and Yugi was the one that Jonouchi wanted to talk about his feelings towards Atem. Except because Atem and Yugi were rarely separate, he never got a chance to. There was only one person left that Jonouchi could turn to in moment’s like this: Mai.

“You must got it real bad if you’re comin to me for advice,” Mai said before taking a long sip of her coffee with a teasing grin. Of course, she was right about one thing: he did have it bad for Atem. The missing point, however, was that Jonouchi probably would’ve turned to Mai for dating advice at some point. If anything, he knew Mai wouldn’t go blabbing like Anzu might and he knew that Mai would try her best to help out. That made her the obvious choice to confide into. “So. Let me get the right. You thought the crush was on Yugi at first but now that Atem’s around as himself, you realized it was on him?”

Jonouchi nodded, well aware it was fairly hard to explain. That was another reason Mai was the obvious choice: because she was dating Isis, she was in the loop of what exactly was up with Atem and Yugi. Even Jonouchi was a little confused by it. “Yeah,” he said, slumping back in his chair before sitting back up when Mai raised an eyebrow at him. “Atem seems to think we’re best friends too. I guess that makes sense cause –“

“Cause he was helping you this whole time too,” Mai finished for him with a slight nod and a knowing grin on her face. “Seems that you two were also dueling with each other and growing together too, even if the finer details were a bit muddy.” She sighed as she set her coffee down, leaning forward across the table. “Have you considered that maybe he might like you back?”

He’d considered it, of course. He never stopped thinking about how nice it might be if Atem liked in that way right back. But for every fantasy scenario Jonouchi drummed up where Atem liked him back, there was also the nightmare scenario that Atem didn’t. Some of them weren’t as bad as others but there was the chance it might make thing awkward between them. Or that it might mean he was overstepping some invisible boundary that he didn’t know existed. Either way, it was a risk and Jonouchi was never good at making calculations for risks. He was good at charging ahead blindly. He was good at making mistakes. “It’d be nice if he did,” Jonouchi said, staring at his untouched coffee. “But what if I take that risk and it ruins everything?”

“Jonouchi, do you think I would be dating Isis if I didn’t take a risk,” Mai said softly and Jonouchi looked away from her gentle gaze. “In fact, we’re friends because I decided to take a risk too. Everything that can make you happy requires taking that risk. You have to take that leap of faith if you want happiness. Ask him out.”

Easier said than done. The Kame Game Shop was the usual hang out spot for all their friends and Jonouchi was running out of excuses. At some point, Jonouchi just needed to take that risk. He couldn’t keep it in and at some point, he managed to corner Atem while Yugi wasn’t around. Just take that leap of faith, Jonouchi thought to himself as he reached for Atem’s hand. Atem turned and grinned. “Hey, Jonouchi,” he said rather brightly with the relaxed smile that pulled at Jonouchi’s heart strings. “What’s up?”

“Er, I was wondering if Yugi would mind if I stole you away for Christmas,” Jonouchi said, not really thinking about what he was saying anymore. If he thought, he’d overthink and he couldn’t have that. No, better to say whatever flew into his head. “Cause I thought you might like to see some Christmas traditions and well, I mean...”

Atem titled his head, a confused look on his face. “Christmas? What’s that?”

“It’s a holiday,” Jonouchi said, realizing that if Atem was sharing memories with Yugi then Atem wouldn’t have any memories of Christmas. “Uh, it’s a secular holiday with religious roots. Some people just celebrate for an excuse to exchange presents.”

“Oh,” Atem said, still looking rather mystified. “If it’s a holiday, then wouldn’t my partner and his parents want me to stick around? Isn’t that what people do on holidays?”

“Yuge and his family don’t celebrate Christmas,” Jonouchi said with a shrug. “They’re Jewish, ergo Christmas isn’t exactly their thing. Look, just... think about it, okay? As I said. Like to show you some Christmas traditions.”

“But why would being Jewish mean they don’t celebrate Christmas?”

Jonouchi didn’t know how to explain the long history in regards the Judaism and Christianity and the various reasons that a Jewish family might consider celebrating Christmas a pointless act. He was certain that Yugi could probably explain it better than he could ergo he shrugged. “You’d have to ask Yuge that,” he said simply. “I just figured it might be nice for us to hang out one on one, dude.”

“Oh,” Atem said and Jonouchi thought maybe it was starting to click together in his head. “Alright. That sounds nice.”

And for the first time in literal years, Jonouchi was actually looking forward to Christmas. He was counting down the days to Christmas again. He’d gone out of his way to secure tickets to Disneyland Tokyo and sure, it was a bit much for a first date. But he wanted to do this right and he didn’t care if it was a little bit expensive. Besides, from what he’d seen... Atem liked nice things. Surely he could appreciate a day trip. He stressed about if he should go casual or dress down. He stressed about making sure his car was clean if Atem was going to be in it. Everything had to be just right, after all. And then it arrived: Christmas day. He felt very awkward about picking up Atem up, especially when Grandpa Mutou was already at the counter. Especially when Grandpa Mutou seemed well aware of what was going on. Yui was insisting on putting another jacket on Atem while Atem was protesting he was fine. “Hey, Atem,” Jonouchi called, waving up the stairs. “Ready to go?”

Atem looked over at Jonouchi with a grin, waving a gloved hand at him. Jonouchi had to assume that Yui had made Atem wear the gloves. He was certain Atem would be grateful for being bundled up when they stepped outside but he always had to be a bit dramatic. “Yeah,” he said, bounding down the stairs two at a time as Yui protested that Atem was going to break his neck if he kept being that reckless. “Mo – Yui! I’m fine!”

Jonouchi laughed. “I dunno, man, aren’t you from Egypt,” Jonouchi said as he clapped Atem’s back, causing Atem to light lurch forward. “It’s a bit colder out there than you’re probably used to. You might want to listen to Mrs. Mutou on this one.”

“How many times do I have to tell you kids to call me Yui,” Yui said as she followed after, wrapping a scarf around Atem with a look of concern. “You two kids have fun, okay? Atem, make sure to call when you’re on your way home. And before you ask again, yes, Yugi will be fine.”

“Are you sure,” Atem asked, frowning. “He and I haven’t really been apart in four years...”

Jonouchi didn’t know how to address that. He didn’t want to overstep since Atem and Yugi’s relationship was special. They shared everything for the past four years and it was still an adjustment for the both of them. “As Yugi told you and as I keep saying, it’s okay for you to have your own life,” Yui assured, smoothing over his hair. “Go! Have your own life!”

Atem didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway as he turned to Jonouchi, reaching out to grab his hand. Jonouchi wasn’t really surprised that Atem did that but he was surprised at how willing he was to do so in front of others. “Alright, Atem,” Jonouchi said, rather awkwardly leading him out into the snowy day to his truck. “We’re taking a little bit of a trip. Won’t take long but it’ll be fun!”

Jonouchi had opened the door for Atem and Atem climbed in. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jonouchi said with a grin as he started up the truck. He had debated telling Atem up front but he figured Atem might not have the context. “So... uh, does it feel weird adjusting to the modern world?”

Atem had shucked off the scarf with an annoyed look on his face before pausing. He shrugged. “Somewhat,” he said. “For a while, all I remembered was nothing but what my partner remembered. All I knew was the modern world. Getting my memories means I remember two different versions of the world. Sometimes it feels like I don’t belong in either...”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Jonouchi said, slightly alarmed. “Course you belong here. With your friends. Isn’t that why those old Gods let you stick around? Surely they wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t belong here.”

Atem seemed to consider this before slightly perking up. “I suppose you’re right,” he said with a bright grin that made Jonouchi’s heart flutter. “I suppose I just feel weird not having a next threat to worry about.”

Of course. That big golden lady’s statement that there was no next threat. Jonouchi personally found it hard to believe himself. From spending every single moment worrying about the looming threat over their heads to just being able to just be. It seemed a little too good to be true at times. “You know, if it’s the future you’re worried about, the one thing you should is know is no one’s got anything figured out,” Jonouchi said, not entirely sure if he was hitting the mark. “Sure, Anzu knows what she’s going to do but she’s the exception to the rule.”

This actually seemed to hit the mark as Atem looked a little bit relieved. “I suppose that means it’s okay that I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next?”

“Nah,” Jonouchi said with a grin. “That’s normal. Most of us don’t know what we’re going to do next. I know I wanna try being a pro Duelist but that doesn’t mean it’s going to work out. Everyone’s a little bit lost. It’s okay if you don’t know what to do next immediately after savin the world.”

“Thanks,” Atem said and for once, he seemed genuinely relaxed. “It feels weird to not have the pressure of saving the world on my shoulders. Like I’m doing something wrong by not looking for the next threat.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong by simply being, dude,” Jonouchi said, more reflexive than anything. At this point, he knew what it was like to grow up a little bit too fast. He suppose some part of him always knew it wasn’t normal that if he didn’t cook dinner, he wouldn’t get to eat that night. It wasn’t normal that he felt the crushing weight to save his sister’s vision and it wasn’t okay that he felt the need to pay off his father’s gambling debts because he knew his father would never pay them off himself. And he knew that Yugi had been right that one night that Jonouchi had confessed his fears and Yugi had told him that he was nothing like his father. It still weighed in the back of his mind. “We’re both eighteen. We shouldn’t be carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders.”

The conversation lightened from that point and Jonouchi was enchanted by Atem’s smile. During the drive, Atem tried to teach Jonouchi how to say the big golden lady’s name but he just never could get it right. Eventually, Jonouchi gave up and joked he’ll never get it right. But the one thing he did seem to get right was the choice of location for a first date. Atem’s eyes were full of wonder as the Disneyland Tokyo castle came into view and he seemed excited by it. “Is it really a Christmas tradition to go here,” Atem asked as he looked out the window. “Seems a bit excessive.”

“Well, it’s not exactly an every year tradition,” Jonouchi said with a grin as he found a parking spot, “but I figured your first Christmas should be somethin special.”

There was something almost magical about seeing Atem’s wonder as they wandered the park, checking out rides and various games offered at the Penny Arcade and Jungle Carnival. Atem, as per usual, was absolutely unbeatable. Not only that, Atem seemed to win every prize he set his sights on. Atem shoved another prize into Jonouchi’s arms with a beaming grin. “I won this for you,” he said, rather proud of himself.

“Hey, thanks, man,” Jonouchi said, almost melting at the grin on Atem’s face. “I’ll consider it a Christmas gift. How about I get us lunch? Seems only fair.”

“But you paid for the tickets and drove us here,” Atem protested. “I feel like I should get lunch.”

“Nah, it’s tradition. You gotta give out Christmas gifts,” Jonouchi said, refusing to let Atem pay for lunch. Sure, it wasn’t going to be great on his wallet but at this point, every single yen spent was worth it to see Atem’s smile and relax. “Consider this a Christmas gift from me.”

Atem leaned in, his hand grasping Jonouchi’s and his fingers intertwining with his. Jonouchi tried to ignore how his heart skipped a beat. “You’re being way too nice,” Atem said teasingly. “Is that part of Christmas tradition?”

“Nah, I think that’s part of the tradition of being on a date,” Jonouchi said with a light shrug, trying to be rather casual about it. “You gotta be nice on a date.”

“A date,” Atem said, sounding rather mystified and questioning. “People come to Disneyland for dates?”

“Yeah,” Jonouchi said as they stopped in front of the nearest restaurant and came face to face. “That’s what we’re doing, right?”

“We are?”

It was then that Jonouchi realized he never actually asked Atem on a date. He asked Atem if he wanted to hang out and now Jonouchi feared that he might have ruined everything. “I,” Jonouchi said, his brain scrambling to come up with something to say. Unfortunately, Atem was just a little too pretty for his own good and it simply made it harder to think. “Er, yeah. I guess I never actually said the word until now, huh?” Atem shook his head. “Is it okay if it is a date?”

The moment felt like it lasted forever but maybe not. Maybe it was only a second. Maybe Jonouchi was overthinking yet again. Either way, it was agonizing as the question hung in the air and all Jonouchi wanted was for it to be over with. However, when Atem’s questioning look turned into a bright smile, Jonouchi knew the answer before Atem even said it. “Yeah,” Atem said with a light nod, “it’s okay with me if this is a date. But you know... I don’t know a lot about dating traditions.”

Mai was right, as it turned out. Happiness did require a risk and boy, did it feel great when it paid off. Jonouchi laughed as he pulled Atem towards the mistletoe. “Man, have I got so many other traditions to teach you about, then,” Jonouchi said, feeling just a little bit lighter. He pointed up towards the mistletoe and Atem’s eyes looked up at the plant. “You see that plant up there? It’s called mistletoe. Whenever you stand under it, you gotta kiss whoever you’re next to. And what do you know, there just happens to be a cool guy right next to you!”

Atem smirked as he stood up on his tip toes, his hands moving to Jonouchi’s hips. “That sounds like an excellent tradition,” Atem said, his lips rather close to Jonouchi’s. “Mind if I try it out?” And when Jonouchi nodded, Atem’s lips met his. Yeah, this was easily the best Christmas Jonouchi’s ever had.

#dragonshipping #dragonshipping fanfic #dragonshipping fanfiction #ygo fanfic #ygo fanfiction #yugioh fanfic #myfanfic

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boyd-speaks · 4 years

Photo

Just finished watching Onward.

I feel like it’s been awhile since I’ve watched an animated movie like this. The thought that I missed a lot of recent kids movies is what made me go out of the way to turn this on.

I’m actually not sure I’d even call this a kids movie since it skews so old in it’s protagonists. I think a lot of people don’t like the term Family Film, since it gets used for things that really have a narrow children’s audience, but a real family film has something for everyone, and it has a big heart. Onward really hit those notes for me.

Purely as a movie, Onward is charming and emotional, with strong pacing and visuals. It heavily utilizes a film making trick I adore, which is establishing concepts early as throw-away gags, which then get reincorporated as major plot points.

Sometimes you’ll see filmmakers force a shot that feels exclusively included for this purpose, but when that shot is instead played as a joke, it doesn’t feel contrived. Most jokes are just meant to be funny, so the ones that will be reincorporated later can hide among the rest.

Now as a world-building exercise Onward is fascinating. The idea of mixing fantasy with modern has been done a ton, but I’ve never seen it quite like this.

There’s maybe three ways it usually goes. Either it’s the cyberpunk future and things are gritty, where we have modern technology in addition to magic. It’s modern day but there’s a secret world of magic and fantasy. Or it’s played as a traditional medieval fantasy, but there are inexplicably cars and phones and stuff.

Onward makes it modern by extrapolating a medieval fantasy setting, but stripping away the fantastical elements and making them a concept of history. When the magical elements start being incorporated it feel mostly like traditional fantasy, just with a pastiche of aesthetics. The modern cars and architecture are a backdrop, and the focus is on the remnants of this ancient culture that still feels medieval.

I wonder how well the movie would land without having a DnD background, because they lean heavily into it. Sure no rpg system has the same style of magic presented here, though I would like to see it happen, but a lot of fantasy tropes never got much further than tabletop games and as such they might be hard to grok.

I’ll have to watch it again with my Mom and find out.

On that note, I’ll leave you with this snippet from the credits that caught my eye.

#boyd reviews #onward #disney #pixar #onward movie #onward 2020 #movie review #film review

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neon-dynasty · 3 years

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Kamigawa was a failed endeavor. Released in the autumn of 2004, Champions of Kamigawa promised some new things for Magic the Gathering, and the return to some old things as well. Most importantly, in my opinion, it showed that Wizards was paying attention to what fans were interested in (outside of Magic) and wanted to provide a way of relating to the fans. However, just about everything they did with the setting and game either couldn’t live up to expectations or outright failed. Here’s why I think the original Kamigawa block failed, and why I think a return would be a resounding success.

This came out much longer than I’d expected, so hit the jump.

For its entire existence up until 2004, most of Magic’s settings were a hodgepodge of fantasy tropes, and the storyline had been following or tying into a single thread for years. Kamigawa was the first setting to truly be free of the ongoing Magic story. Nowadays, however, Magic is known for its settings based on real-world places and cultures. Just this past year, we’ve visited Eldraine (Arthurian Britain), Theros (ancient Greece), and Ikoria (less a real culture and more about giant monster tropes). Back in 2004, however, visiting a clearly defined theme world like this was something that hadn’t been done in a long time. In fact, it’s something the franchise traditionally shied away from. 1996’s Mirage block took place in Jamuura, a continent on Dominaria based on sub-Saharan Africa.1995’s Ice Age was set in a Viking-inspired Terisiare. (You could say that Arabian Nights and Portal Three Kingdoms also count, but those were more wholesale copies than homages.) Based on ancient Japan, Kamigawa was the first herald of a new worldbuilding philosophy for Magic, one that would see the creative team at Wizards of the Coast put their own spin on familiar cultures and mythologies, while still keeping them distinctly their own. Kind of like Disney movies.

The mechanics also promised to shake things up. While I don’t remember any of the card announcements, Kamigawa block introduced many new pieces for the game. Samurai and ninja had their own keyword abilities in bushido and ninjutsu, and most of the sorcery and instant cards dealt with arcane and spirits. Legendary had its own theme as well, with 138 unique creatures (139, if you count the other Yamazaki brother) and 39 other permanents, with a number of cards that cared about the supertype. Finally, there were flip cards, a mechanically and visually interesting way of getting more value out of those creatures and introducing a sort of sidequest to your game.

Kamigawa was gearing up to be something special in Magic. But as I said at the very beginning of this piece, it failed.

The mechanics were kind of a disaster. Splice onto arcane was parasitic and to get any value out of it, you’d need to go all-in on overcosted cards. Bushido, sweep, offering, and most of the rest of the keywords were similarly underwhelming, either providing minuscule value or actively getting in the way of what you wanted to do. Putting the legendary supertype on a card is a downside when Commander doesn’t exist and singleton formats are not a popular way of playing. It doesn’t help that having too many legendary creatures in a set thend to make them feel less special, as well. Flip cards, while cool in theory, wound up being a logistical mess that didn’t add much to the enjoyment of casual games, and barely saw tournament play. All of this meant the cards didn’t really impact Standard, and Limited was a clunky ordeal more often than anyone would have liked. Following Mirrodin block, the most powerful three sets since Urza’s block, was also a tall order, and one that almost no set was equipped to fulfill.

Admittedly, while I love the card game, I absolutely adore everything else about Magic. The storyline intrigued me when I started playing during Onslaught block, and knowing that there was this vast body of lore kept me hooked. Hearing that there was a Japanese-inspired setting coming up was pure hype for someone who’d also been into anime for years and video games for years before that. The early 00s were an interesting time for entertainment, as Japanese animation had finally infiltrated American mainstream media. Pokémon had been a successful card game for years (another story for another day), and Yu-Gi-Oh had just hit the scene in America after doing well in Japan for a few years. With all this and a burgeoning internet, fans of anime, video games, and Japanese culture had certain expectations. To say Kamigawa did not meet them would be an understatement.

The general setting was based on an older Japanese culture, one which didn’t see much representation in media. Samurai, ninja, youkai, along with other popular figures and tropes were either later inventions or had a more solidified image hundreds of years after the source material took place. While I remember many Magic the Gathering fans being worried that the game would take on an anime aesthetic to capitalize on what was popular with the wider geek audience, they actually took it in the opposite direction. Instead of bright colors and bold outlines, Kamigawa was a dark and gritty place, which was made even more evident by the increasing demand for realistic detail in the art department. The kami themselves, one half of the conflict, were alien and foreign to behold. These weren’t based on images that otaku would have been familiar with, Japanese or Western, but based on much older stories that had been phased out of the public consciousness.

In short, there is no “in short.” There are many reasons why it didn’t succeed, but ultimately, it came down to being something that no one really expected or wanted. Instead of taking the cheap, easy, and profitable route by leaning into anime culture, Wizards bucked the trend and used a setting that most Magic fans would not have been familiar with, forcing it to fit within the franchise. They also filled the block with parasitic mechanics that were clunky and actively detrimental to play. And yes, I’m leaving out dozens of other reasons why Kamigawa failed, but those are the main ones that I personally feel hurt the setting.

Sadly, as public-facing employees remind us constantly, Kamigawa is a very difficult sell to the higher-ups. It was one of the company’s biggest failures, and they can’t use tweets and Tumblr asks from enfranchised fans as justifications for its return. And yet, the requests still pour in. I believe that the reasons for this desire are the key to a new set based in Kamigawa.

Let’s start with the biggest one: Commander. In many ways, this format is kind of the anti-MtG. It’s a long, drawn-out process that uses decks built with your whole collection, rather than the newest releases. Cards that are awful in most other formats are amazing in Commander, and one of the biggest drawbacks a card can have - the Legendary supertype - is a major boon here. It’s also the current most popular format for old and new players alike. I think that more than anything else, Kamigawa’s legendary theme is what draws new players, as Commander enthusiasts will inevitably find some interesting cards that would never have worked well in the old days.

I also think that Wizards of the Coast has learned a lot since 2004 (and whenever they started work on the original block). Remember, Kamigawa was the first of its kind: a real-world inspired setting completely separate from what the entire franchise had been doing for years. There were bound to be mistakes, and they’ve clearly learned how to rectify them. The following setting, Ravnica, used an Eastern European city aesthetic to compliment its two-color guild theme, but was still constrained by the block structure. Upon our return there, they changed the block structure to better fit what the themes and story wanted. On the other hand, Zendikar, their D&D-inspired adventure world, was beloved for its fast and fun mechanics, as well as the feeling of exploration on the cards and in the media. The return, however, involved destroying all of that in favor of an extradimensional war setting. Guilds of Ravnica and Zendikar Rising each supplied what the fans wanted out of those settings, to varying degrees of success.

Wizards also keeps showing us glimpses into Kamigawa through Core Sets and supplemental products. Tamiyo showed up on Innistrad and Ravnica. They printed new shrines (compatible with the old Honden) in Core 2021. Yuriko, the Tiger’s Shadow, is one of my favorite commanders of all time, and she’s from the 2018 Commander set. They still value the setting, and don’t seem to be interested in ignoring it to the point of obscurity (like, for example, Mercadia).

And, obviously, there are the rumors. With a blog name like mine, you have to have known this was coming. The three planeswalker concepts from surveys could point to anything: Commander products, supplementary sets, etc. However, I think that the web domains for Kamigawa Neon Dynasty point to a full set of some kind.

Interestingly enough, the events of the original Kamigawa block take place in Magic’s very distant past, so it’s been a tantalizing prospect to see how the place might have changed in the past few thousand years. Skipping over medieval fantasy and bringing it past the present into a cyberpunk future might be an excellent way to go about it. Aesthetics from early 90’s anime could still be stylistically unique in Magic, while keeping elements from the old setting would root us to the original block. I could see the new story centering around a conflict between one faction clinging to ancient traditions and another pushing magical technology to its futuristic limits. After all, Tamiyo still dresses in old-fashioned robes and reads from scrolls, and the moonfolk were known to be almost completely isolated from everyone else. I wonder what the kami would look like, if we even saw them at all.

Ultimately, I think that Wizards is in the perfect spot to try Kamigawa again. Between their worldbuilding experience, the rise of the Commander format, and a willingness to push the aesthetics of their game in different directions, there’s a lot of reason to hope that we’ll be heading back sooner or later.

Please feel free to let me know if I missed something or got any details wrong. And please discuss what you’d like to see in a return to Kamigawa, either new stuff or old.

#mtg #kamigawa #kamigawa neon dynasty #tamiyo

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

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Turnabout and Start Again

Part 8

(aka, the soulmates role-reversal au)

Note: My knowledge of meridians, qi, acupuncture and traditional Chinese medicine is based on incomplete personal research and wuxia tropes, and I am very likely to have gotten some things wrong in my presentation of the concepts Wen Qing uses in this chapter. I’m working mostly on the idea that this is a fantasy world based on a fantasy genre with some real world connections, and so accuracy is not my primary concern, but if I got something completely wrong, or present ideas in a way that is unintentionally offensive, I am happy to learn and edit in corrections.

Thanks again to @morphia-writes and @miyuki4s for the continued beta help!

They find Wen Qing tending to simmering pots of medicine outside a large, airy building that Wei Ying describes as part infirmary, part training hall. Three disciples are fanning smoldering embers and sorting fresh herbs under her direction, and the sunny courtyard smells so strongly of bitter tonics and woodsmoke that Lan Wangji has to swallow back a cough.

Wei Ying pauses just outside the arc of tables and stoves and lowers his voice to a murmur.

“Wen Qing is trustworthy,” he says, “but if you don’t want to share your identity—”

“It’s fine.”

“—I know you didn’t tell Zewu-jun so I can probably—what?” Wei Ying blinks at him.

“You trust Wen Qing.” It’s barely a question—the strength of their relationship is evident in how Wei Ying speaks of her—but Wei Ying takes it seriously.

“With my life. With—with anyone’s life.” he promises, so readily Lan Wangji cannot doubt him.

“And you believe she can help with the curse.”

“I hope she can,” Wei Ying looks over his shoulder at her. “She’s very good. I told you she saved Zixuan-jiefu and Shijie—if you remember—”

Lan Wangji could not have forgotten. The image of the Jin heir, pallid and barely breathing with the glow of a soulbond spilling out of his open chest, is one that haunted his dreams in the days he spent searching for Wei Ying afterward. Thirteen years past by the calendar; only months ago in his memories.

“She knows more about spiritual energy than anyone else I’ve met,” Wei Ying is saying, moving his hands for emphasis.

“You trust her,” Lan Wangji repeats. “I will trust her.”

“You—okay.” Wei Ying blushes. He turns away and strides quickly across the courtyard and Lan Wangji can see the flush moving to his ears and down his neck. It’s distracting enough that Lan Wangji misses the start of their conversation, caught trailing a few steps behind and unable to look away.

“We have a schedule,” Wen Qing is saying. “We have appointments for people who aren’t actively bleeding. What’s so urgent that you’re ignoring all that?”

Wei Ying pouts, which clearly only makes Wen Qing more annoyed. “His spiritual power’s been damaged,” he says. “I thought you’d be interested.”

She manages to stare down her nose at him, despite the difference in their heights. She looks Lan Wangji up and down. He bows.

“I apologize for the imposition.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, shooting another glare at Wei Ying. Then she sighs. “I’ll meet you inside in a moment.”

Wei Ying grins, and bows, and drags Lan Wangji up the building’s steps. Wen Qing’s workspace is simply decorated and smells of incense, with only the faintest whiffs of the courtyard’s activities seeping through. The room is lined with bookshelves and divided cleanly into a study space, complete with three long desks, and an examination area, screened off from general view. Wei Ying guides him to the private side of a standing screen painted with willow trees and urges him to sit.

“Someone will bring tea soon,” he says, settling on a nearby cushion. “Not like your last visit. We can actually afford guests now. Wen Qing’s medicines are a much better source of income than radishes.”

Almost anything would be, Lan Wangji is certain. It had been—unpleasant, to realize the depths of Wei Ying’s poverty at that time. Sleeping in a cave that smelled of death without even the cheapest of teas to ward off the damp chill.

He wonders, again, what might have happened if he had stayed at Wei Ying’s side after that visit. If he had not let himself be convinced that his presence was only one more burden on people already carrying too much weight; if he had known his own mind well enough, then, to stand and lend open support before disaster fell on all their heads once more. How much difference might those months have made? Would his brother have understood? What would his clan have done then, if he had acted before all hope was lost?

Such speculation can only lead to further unhappiness. He is about to ask if Yiling-Wei also collects payment for nighthunts, as most Sects do, or sells talismans, when a young apprentice arrives with tea. Wen Qing is only a few steps behind her. Her attention lands on Wei Ying again.

“Don’t you have better things to do than bother my patients?”

“I want him here,” Lan Wangji says before Wei Ying can respond. Perhaps the interjection will be taken as rudeness, but Wei Ying can explain the curse much better than Lan Wangji himself would. No other reason for desiring Wei Ying’s presence must be stated.

Wen Qing sighs in the face of Wei Ying’s too-innocent smile, but does not comment further.

“I am Wen Qing,” she says after the tea has been served and the apprentice dismissed. “As Wei-zongzhu has likely already told you, since he can’t be bothered to make proper introductions.”

“I ...” Lan Wangji hesitates, pressing his lips tight together. “We have met before,” he clarifies. “I am Lan Wangji.”

Wen Qing hardly even blinks at him; her gaze shifts immediately to Wei Ying.

“It’s true.” Wei Ying looks earnest and sincere. He pulls the array drawing from a qiankun pouch. “He knows things only Lan Zhan would know. The original owner of that body was called Liang Feihong, but he gave it up.”

“You’re certain?” Wen Qing asks, her stare unwavering.

“Completely.” Wei Ying assures her. He does not mention the soul bond.

“Hm.” Wen Qing studies the array. “This is unfinished,” she observes, tapping the paper.

“But you can see the shape.” Wei Ying leans into her space, against her shoulder, tracing over the drawing, as if they do this often. Perhaps they do. There are probably many ways arrays and talismans can be used to promote healing. Lan Wangji makes himself drink more tea; it is fresh and green and light on his tongue.

“Exchange,” Wei Ying is saying. “One soul spent to make room for another, in return for service. In this case, revenge. It’s designed for a vengeful spirit, but Liang Feihong called Hanguang-jun instead.”

Wen Qing stares down at the paper. “You’ve never mentioned this ritual before,” she says after a long moment of silence.

Wei Ying shrugs. “It’s ancient. I found it when I was working on Wen Ning, but it usually fails. I haven't thought about it in—” his eyes flicker over Lan Wangji’s face, “—years.”

Wen Qing stares hard at him. “You said you were going night hunting.”

“I was, I did,” Wei Ying stares back, unblinking, and Lan Wangji is no longer sure he’s following the conversation. “It was only a night hunt,” Wei Ying insists. “Lan Zhan found us last night. He walked for three days.”

Still, Wen Qing watches him.

“Is there a problem?” Lan Wangji asks.

“No.” Wen Qing returns her attention to him. “Tell me how your spiritual power was damaged.” She holds out her left hand for his wrist. Her hand is cool on his skin.

He looks to Wei Ying as her fingers find his pulse, but Wei Ying just nods at him, apparently unworried by the tension that has filled the room, that can still be seen in the stern lines of Wen Qing’s posture. He does his best to answer the question despite the feeling that he’s missed something important.

“I believe it was a talisman. There is also a curse mark, from the ritual.”

Wei Ying produces the talisman and sets it beside the drawing of the array, But Wen Qing is frowning at Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Tell me about the curse’s effects.” She shakes her head to forestall Wei Ying’s words. “The effects you have experienced,” she clarifies, to Lan Wangji.

“It drains spiritual power.” That much he knows to be entirely true. “I believe my physical weakness is due to imprisonment and inconsistent training.” Liang Feihong left the Lan Sect nearly fifteen years ago, after all.

Wen Qing drops his wrist, her fingers moving to his middle dantian and then to his face. She turns his head gently, and then drops her hands to her lap and studies the talisman.

“It’s not only the curse,” she says after a moment. “Your core’s been damaged. Not by this,” she gestures at the talisman. “This can only produce temporary effects. Something else.”

Wei Ying leans forward, suddenly intent. “Damaged? Not—”

“Not destroyed,” Wen Qing shakes her head. “But it will take time and effort to restore it, and the curse will complicate the process. It will be difficult to re-establish the proper energy flow.”

“But it can be done,” Wei Ying presses, concern clear on his face. Wen Qing nods.

Lan Wangji says nothing. He has known, since his first investigations on the first day of this new life, that if this body had ever formed a golden core it wasn’t functioning properly. A damaged core is a better prospect than no core at all, but he again feels like there is some piece of information he’s missing, carried in the weight of Wei Ying’s concern and the careful calm of Wen Qing’s words.

“I will prepare medicines and teas to aid the process,” Wen Qing continues. “And I would like to conduct a more thorough examination, if you’re willing.”

Lan Wangji nods. He has no reason to refuse, and could gain much from her expertise.

The examination lasts over an hour, through to a light lunch and then after, and involves more needles, talismans and salves than Lan Wangji has ever before experienced in such close succession. Wen Qing inspects the wounds in his palm as well as the curse mark itself, and produces new ointments and bandages for each, and another of Wei Ying’s talismans for the curse mark, before moving on to other, more obscure avenues of investigation. Wei Ying stays for all of it, sometimes talking out theories and suggestions from the other side of the privacy screen, sometimes scribbling notes at Wen Qing’s desk.

“The curse’s caster is dead,” he says, waggling an ink-wet brush between his fingers, “but could the curse be transferred?”

“No.” Wen Qing doesn’t even open her eyes to answer. The spiritual power she feeds into Lan Wangji’s wrist, apparently meant to help her better map the damage to his core, never wavers.

Wei Ying frowns. “Most curses—”

Wen Qing frowns, too, a furrow appearing between her brows. “This links to soul as well as body and spirit. Even if it could be transferred, I wouldn’t help you do it.”

“Not even if it was transferred to the curse’s target?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Not even then,” Wen Qing says. She sighs and releases Lan Wangji’s wrist. “I need to see to my apprentices, and I have another patient soon.” She meets Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Come back in the morning. I should have more for you then.”

He nods.

“Don’t stress him in the meantime,” she adds, pinning Wei Ying in place with a look.

“Of course, of course,” Wei Ying assures her as he rises to his feet and stretches theatrically. “Only the best of hospitality for Lan Zhan,” he adds, a smile spreading over his face.

Wen Qing shakes her head, and waves them out the door. Wei Ying continues his tour of the Yiling-Wei grounds, leading Lan Wangji on a winding path past dormitories, and kitchens, and a less martial training hall—“for talisman work and spirit lure flags,” Wei Ying says, “It’s no Lan seminar but we do classes for outsiders sometimes.”

Yiling-Wei is a smaller sect than Gusu-Lan, both in land area and in population, but the grounds are still busy. Lan Wangji cannot help but notice the eyes on them at each new turn. It’s only reasonable; he is a stranger, walking with the Sect Leader, after a night hunt that lasted several days. Wei Ying has not so much as read a letter or spoken with anyone but himself and Wen Qing since they arrived. Lan Wangji has seen his brother’s work, and his uncle’s. This attention cannot last forever. Should not.

“I am keeping you from your duties,” he says as they stand at the edge of an archery range and watch Wen Sizhui and Liu Weixin loose arrow after arrow under Wen Qionglin’s expert tutelage.

“Hm?” Wei Ying seems distracted. Unfocused.

Lan Wangji curls his fingers in his sleeves. He has been selfish enough, taken enough of Wei Ying’s time—nearly a day of it. Wei Ying has more responsibilities now. He cannot spend so much effort on a single visitor.

“Do not let me take your attention away from important matters,” he says.

“What?” For a moment Wei Ying looks as if he will protest, but then he glances away, back to the archery field. His expression smooths to neutrality.

“Right,” he agrees. “I should—show you the library, at least. I know we have a few texts you might find useful.”

The library turns out to be a small pavilion lined with shelves and desks, much like Cloud Recesses’ in design but clearly smaller and holding a less extensive collection of books. The texts Wei Ying means are tucked on a high shelf behind a finely-carved screen, and their contents largely concern either curses or talismans.

“Wen Qing has more on core formation in her study,” Wei Ying says as he sets his half of the stack on a small, almost-secluded table near a window. The charmed covers of the remaining books tingle against Lan Wangji’s uninjured palm. “Not that you need much help there.”

If what Lan Wangji understood from Wen Qing’s examination is true, repairing his core will be a very different process from forming one new, but he does not correct Wei Ying.

“Is there anything else you need?” Wei Ying asks, as a good host should. “I’ll ask the kids in the practice yard to try and keep their voices down, I know it’s louder here than Cloud Recesses...”

“It will be fine,” Lan Wangji assures him.

“I’ll—see you at dinner then,” Wei Ying says, and bows, more formal than the situation demands. Lan Wangji returns the gesture, books still in-hand, and tells himself Wei Ying will not vanish to smoke and mist as soon as he leaves Lan Wangji’s sight. That he will be easy to find again, here in his home, among friends. That Lan Wangji has no right to demand even more of him.

Wei Ying hesitates another moment, then leaves. Lan Wangji watches him go and thinks again of that flush on the back of his neck. On his cheeks. Wei Ying hadn’t blushed when he hid pornography in Lan Wanji’s books at sixteen, or when he held Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon in his hand at seventeen, or when he threatened to take off his clothes in the Xuanwu’s cave.

It’s difficult to imagine that a simple statement, alone, could make him flush after so many years. But it did.

Lan Wangji sits at his appointed desk and opens the first text with careful fingers, and does his best to block out everything but the words on the page before him. The readings are, indeed, informative, and several of them document Wei Ying’s own studies into curse formation and removal; there is an entire treatise on the hundred-holes curse alone, though it is almost entirely theoretical. The curse is too rare, Wei Ying notes, and too costly for both victim and caster, for frequent or multiple experiments. Such is likely also true for the curse Lan Wangji himself bears, but the texts at least reassure him that following Wei Ying was the correct choice for more reasons than the pull of his heart.

It’s Zhou Xiuying who summons him to dinner, guiding him to a seat at Wen Qing’s table before joining her wife on the other side of a loud and crowded communal dining room. The dishes set before him are heavy with lotus root and mushrooms alongside roasted pork, and, he notes, heavily spiced. Wei Ying does not arrive at the evening meal until Wen Qionglin leaves to fetch him, and he settles down at the crowded table with a sigh, slipping onto the cushion next to Wen Sizhui and across from Lan Wangji.

“Why aren’t you all eating already,” he asks, as if it is not obvious they were waiting for him.

“You’re late,” Wen Qing informs him, adding fried lotus and mushrooms to his bowl even as he serves himself meat and soup stained red with chilies.

“Wei-zongzhu should eat on time,” Wen Qionglin asserts. There is no bowl before him, though he holds a pair of chopsticks. A fierce corpse does not need to eat. He adds lotus to Wen Sizhui’s bowl, and then Wen Qing adds stir-fried greens and then Wei Ying adds pork, proclaiming that the boy needs regular meals far more than he does, and a sudden pang strikes deep into Lan Wangji’s chest.

He serves himself from the milder-looking dishes. It’s pointless to be jealous of Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin’s places at Wei Ying’s side, and in his heart. Of the easy, well-trod patterns and open affection Wei Ying gives them. It’s pointless, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the sour swell of frustration and ill-feeling within him.

He pushes the feeling away. He is a guest. They are being much kinder than simple hospitality requires. He eats in silence—the food is not unpalatable, as he feared, and he cannot tell if it is due to the actual flavor or if Liang Feihong was more used to such things—and he listens in silence as Wei Ying talks and laughs, lit up the way he used to be, before the Sunshot War. Several times, that beaming smile is turned on him, paired with questions about the food, or his reading, and offers of new dishes tomorrow, despite his protests that he needs no such special treatment. But still, Wei Ying is guarded with him in a way he is not with the rest of the table. It is strange to hear ‘Liang-gongzi’ fall from his lips again, instead of Lan Wangji’s name.

Eventually, he retires to his guest quarters. It’s only then, as he prepares to sleep in an unfamiliar room decorated with red and black instead of white and blue, that he realizes the knot of feeling in his chest is not the same emotion he thought it was. Or not entirely.

It has been more than three months since he shared a meal with his brother, or a conversation with his uncle, and before that he was holding his blade against them. The thought that he doesn’t even know whether his uncle is alive—that he might never speak to him again—hits him like an arrow, a flash of remembered pain from wounds he no longer bears. In its wake, the knowledge: If he cannot find answers, or stabilize the curse, he may never speak with his brother again either.

For a timeless moment he is hollow and grasping white-knuckled at his robes, his ears ringing and his breath caught in this throat. But he has already made this choice. He chose Wei Ying. If this is the consequence he must bear, so be it.

Slowly, the faint sounds of the night outside his room penetrate his senses once more, and he calms.

Rest. Meditation. His body and spirit need both. In the morning he will resume his training, and meet with Wen Qing, and confront the problem of Jin Guangyao’s crimes with clear vision.

(on to part 9)

#wangxian #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fic #wangxian fic #turnabout verse #soulmates au #role reversal au #alex writes #the whole thing is also on ao3 #link for that soon #or in the older parts

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