#it legitimately took this long to for someone to submit her

[couldtransitionsaveher]

CHIHIRO FUJISAKI from DANGANRONPA: TRIGGER HAPPY HAVOC

JUSTIFICATION:

"I just looked thru your entire backlog and either my eyes played tricks on me or you have somehow managed to make a buncha posts on a buncha DG characters but skipped THE MOST IMPORTANT AND OBVIOUS OF THEM ALL. If this is me failing to find her or you intentionally sidestepping that can of worms apologies or fair enough respectively.

A shitton of digital ink has already been spilled over the Chihiro debacle, so I'll keep it brief and stick to the conclusion: if I were being bullied and harassed for being effeminate, I don't think that crossdressing would *improve* the situation. that is an excuse invented after seven layers of rationalization, not a valid explanation. anything u wanna tell urself sweetie" - @princessfelicie

"She’s introduced as a girl at the beginning of the game but- after DYING mind you- she’s referred to as a boy for the rest of the series because she was born as one so I’m counting her. I genuinely believe if she had access to estrogen and the narrative treated her struggles and upbringing with more sensitivity, she could have been genuine, undebatable trans representation and she would have changed lives. The lives that surround her, the lives of the people playing the game and her own life. She could have trained with Sakura and Aoi instead of Mondo and prevented (or at the *very* least delayed) her death. She could have found comfort and power in both femininity and strength. SHE WOULD HAVE CHANGED LIIIIIVES SOMEBODY TELL HER ITS OK IF SHES A GIRL" - @starryluminary

Reminder: Submissions are always open! Submit here!

[sareeen]

Unknown Touches for a Lady

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N never thought she would be married to the spymaster of the Night Court. However, they are undoubtedly married and nothing will save her from the night ahead of her.

Warnings: smut, loss of virginity, lovely azriel

Here –> Part 2 Masterlist

A/N: The idea that popped into my head today and I didn't get up until I wrote it. :)

English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistake.

Y/N felt the bed sink in beside her and someone, her husband, fold up the edge of the blanket and slip quietly under the duvet.

Y/N felt as if she would suffocate with fear.

Two hours ago, they had gone through the ceremony where she was forced to marry the spymaster of the Night Court in a luxurious setting.

For a purpose, her father said as he adjusted her veil.

It was nothing more than a means to make a deal for the benefit of the Court of Nightmares. More food, more power in exchange for soldiers and a girl.

In fact, her family had eagerly offered her to the High Lord as a prospective bride, and as she was educated and intelligent enough to be chosen over the other women in the Court of Nightmares.

For a long time Y/N did not know to whom she was to be married. She had been raised from a very young age to believe that she was destined to be a wife and mother, but she never thought that it would be him.

But now she was given a chance. A chance to leave that damn evil place and be away from her family.

Today, for the first time in her life, she could see the stars and feel the gentle touch of the breeze on her skin, bringing tears to her eyes. If she was lucky, perhaps her husband would never send her back there. If she obeyed him – though the very thought made her feel sick. All her existence had consisted of nothing but submitting to others. She would have liked to have ruled over herself, but it would always be a dream, now that she was married.

The shadowsinger moved beside her, causing every cell in Y/N to warn her to run.

Well, it's happening, she thought despondently to herself and closed her eyes.

She knew exactly what her duty was. What must happen.

For this marriage to be legitimate, Y/N must give in to her husband and willingly spread her legs.

“I know you don't want to,” he said softly behind her back before gently placing his hand on her hip. Y/N jumped at the sudden touch. “But we have a duty, Y/N.”

She shuddered as the spymaster spoke her name out of his mouth. His voice was soft, but still a warning tone mixed into the words. She had no doubt that he was not often contradicted and may the Great Mother have mercy on whoever tried.

Y/N licked her lips and let out a shaky sigh, then nodded. Trembling, she turned onto her back and it took her a few seconds to gather her courage and look at her husband.

Azriel watched her silently, his figure illuminated by the faint moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the drawn curtains. Y/N could see his broad shoulder, the swelling muscles in his arm, and even the dark outline of his tattoo in the dim light.

Y/N could feel the golden brown eyes watching her warily as they scrutinized her. She was surprised to find that the shadowsinger did not return her stare for a moment and kept his gaze on her face the whole time. Perhaps he was waiting for her to make a move.

Maybe he was waiting for her to initiate.

Y/N's mouth went dry at the thought that he might have wanted her to. However, she had been raised to do what others wanted, so with all her presence of mind she slowly touched her palm to Azriel's chest. She felt warm, silky skin and felt a steady heartbeat beneath her hand as she slid it a little further away. She heard the Illyrian take a deep breath and the scarred finger she had put the gold ring on a few hours ago gently stroked the cool back of her hand.

Y/N was so startled for a moment that she forgot to breathe. Never had she imagined that the dreaded shadowsinger could be so gentle as he was now.

Perhaps behind the scars and shadows there was not a monster, but a feeling being.

A tiny germ of hope began to blossom in Y/N and she continued to caress him a little more boldly. Her hand glided down Azriel's muscular arm and Y/N was startled to find herself enjoying it.

The way the steely muscles tighten under her touch, the heat radiating from his body as if beaming up at her, inviting her to slide closer and enjoy it.

Azriel, as if hearing her thoughts, took hold of her waist and gently pulled her towards him until their chests touched.

Y/N's nightgown was so thin that the spymaster could easily feel that her nipples were hard and straining against his chest.

Azriel groaned, barely audible, and something inside Y/N stirred at the sound.

Confused, she felt wetness between her legs and some primal longing that she had never experienced before took her. She almost longed for him to return her touch. To have him caress her heated skin. It was so unfamiliar to her, and yet it was as if her body knew how to press herself against him.

Unexpectedly, she felt the hardness against her belly that made her go rigid, but Azriel just squeezed the soft flesh of her hip and didn't let her move away.

“No,” he whispered and buried his face in her hair, his thumb tracing soothing circles around her waist. “Don't be frightened. This is what happens when –“

“I'm not so clueless that I don't know what it is,” Y/N said, blushing. She thanked the Gods for the darkness. “The women explained everything to me before the wedding anyway. That this is what it takes to conceive a marriage and it's the natural reaction of every man when he touches a woman in a loose fitting nightgown.”

Azriel remained silent, but eventually he involuntarily chuckled to himself. Y/N smiled vaguely, but the man's shaking chest and voice filled her with a certain joy. It reassured her.

“Not all men,” Azriel said, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger and tugging it gently. “But you're certainly beautiful and you're wearing very little nightgown.”

“I didn't choose it” Y/N muttered grumpily as she lowered her head to look at the said piece. It was a little translucent and she felt a twinge of anxiety when she first saw that she would have to wear it tonight.

“I thought so,” he muttered. “If it's any comfort I think it looks good on you and I like it very much.”

She had heard rumors of the shadowsinger that he hardly spoke, but they were now lying here and he was obviously talkative.

Y/N finally understood that this was Azriel's way of distracting her and calming the emotions that were raging inside her.

Her fear of the unknown and to make her comfortable with the situation. No one had ever done anything like that for her, not even her mother.

She swallowed hard and, not giving herself time to drift away from the thought, leaned into him and pressed her lips to his. She didn't know how to do this, since tonight she was getting the first kiss of her life from Azriel at the altar in front of hundreds of guests. It was more like a little peck than a kiss.

She understood this when Azriel recovered from his momentary shock and kissed her back. This was different.

The spymaster's hand slid into her hair, his fingers tangled in her ringlets as he gently tilted her head into position and everything just got better.

The angle of the kiss changed, deepened much more and something like an excited tremor began in Y/N's belly. The scent of Azriel filled her senses, the cool night mist and cedar balming her soul, her nails involuntarily digging into Azriel's biceps and it was as if he lost all restraint at that small movement.

He rolled Y/N onto her back, then towered over her and kissed her fiercely. His tongue stroked along her lower lip as if asking for admission and she hesitantly opened it and Azriel's tongue immediately made its way to hers. Y/N let her husband guide her and she was almost giddy with pleasure.

She enjoyed the way Azriel's tongue glided over hers, the weight of him pressing her almost uncomfortably into the mattress and the hot hardness between her legs.

The shadowsinger's lips moved to her chin, and Y/N gasped for air as he moved lower and lower, finding a spot in the hollow between her shoulder and neck that made her hip snap away from the bed and involuntarily rub against Azriel.

Heat flooded her face, but she was unable to pull away from him and with long, sensual strokes she wanted more, which he acknowledged with soft moans.

Strong hands now gripped her thighs and Azriel moved lower, then bucked his hips and pushed against her. His pants and Y/N's underwear blocked them, but Azriel touched a space between her legs and moved as she imagined he would when he will be inside her.

She never thought it would be like this. This overwhelming feeling of his body moving over her, which he'd then elicited from her. Sighs erupted from deep within her body and Azriel kissed her as if to absorb the sounds she was making.

“That's it” Azriel gasped as Y/N arched and their hips met. “Just like that, my beauty.”

She groaned at the endearment and watched the wings spread wide on Azriel's back with a glazed look.

The membrane made the room even darker as it blocked out what little light had crept into the room. She wanted to feel the feel of it under her fingers.

“You can touch them,” he whispered, his breathing labored by Y/N's ear. “But only if I can touch you.”

“But you already do” she gasped, a thin layer of sweat beading on her forehead.

Azriel then let go of her thighs and slid between them, then reached down to her panties and pressed the outer curve of his hand to the spot where Y/N's body throbbed and almost burned. Gasping for air, panting, she made sounds that she should have been ashamed of, but her mind was in a fog and she could not contain herself. She would be ashamed later, but for now she could only cling to Azriel's strong shoulder.

“Here, Y/N” Azriel chuckled. “This is where I want to touch you.”

Y/N bit her lip at her husband's lustfuled words and nodded.

“There –“ her throat was tight, she could hardly get the words out. “It's good there.”

“Is it?”

“Yes” she cried softly.

His hand had pulled her underwear aside and was now touching her bare skin, causing Y/N's head to bob to the side and she clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her voice.

However, Azriel stopped her hard and gave a disgruntled squeak.

“No, Y/N,” he muttered darkly. “I want to hear you.”

His wings fluttered, drawing her attention, and she stretched out her arm. When she touched the taut, silky membrane, Azriel shuddered and rubbed her harder between her legs.

Y/N loved what she was eliciting from her husband, so she repeated the motion and this time touched her fingernail to it a little, letting it gently scratch the inside of the wing.

“Cauldron” Azriel almost gritted his teeth in pleasure and buried his face in her neck. “You drive me crazy.”

Y/N felt the same way. His hand between her legs, his lip now brushing tiny kisses on her neck. It was killing her and she felt like a bowstring being stretched, ready to snap at any moment. Something was building inside her, the warmth in the pit of her belly seemed to be tightening and it was almost unbearable.

Then Azriel slipped a finger into the wetness between her legs and she gasped for air. It was a stinging sensation, but as he curled his finger he hit a good spot in her and she began to moan.

When Azriel gently pulled it out and then slipped back in, she heard that wet squeaking sound and it made her even more excited.

She wanted to touch him too. So much so that she had the courage to slip her hand into Azriel's pants and touch his hardness.

“Y/N” Azriel gasped as he pulled away from the delicate skin of her neck and peered down at her in the darkness.

“Teach me, please” she whispered with heavy lids. “How to touch you so that you feel as I feel now.”

Azriel closed his eyes and laughed softly.

“I already feel like that” he panted, but he helped Y/N and showed her how to take him in her grip. How tightly to squeeze and when he moved his hip to move into her hand, Y/N felt herself die instantly in admiration.

“Honey” Azriel sighed. “I need to be inside you.”

She knew what he meant.

She was a little afraid, because the women had said it would hurt terribly. However, what they had just done with Azriel had never been told that she would feel like this, so she hoped the sex would be different. Just as fantastic as this.

She opened her legs wider, giving him permission to make her his. Azriel immediately pulled her underwear off her and his own pants, then took her in his arms.

He adjusted himself between her legs but stopped and the golden brown eyes almost burned her face.

“This might hurt a little” he whispered to her and stroked her cheek affectionately. “But I'll try to do it as slowly and gently as possible.”

“It's fine, Azriel” she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and that's when she felt him shiver slightly too. Well, he was nervous too. “I'm used to the pain.”

Azriel froze, then sank down on top of her, so that their naked bodies were touching.

“From now on, no one will ever hurt you again,” he growled, his voice hard and purposeful.

Then he entered her, very slowly and Y/N gasped. She tensed in pain and whimpered and Azriel took her head in both hands and kissed her.

Finally when she thought she would pass out, she felt she couldn't take it. They lay there for a long time, but Azriel pushed forward and forward and then stopped.

Y/N sighed shakily and when her pain turned into a dull throbbing, he moved.

It was awfully strange the way Azriel moved inside her. It was unfamiliar, but after a while it got better and she gasped and clung to Azriel as if he would hold her and not let her fall over the precipice.

Emboldened, he thrust his hips faster and harder toward her and pulled her toward him with one hand, making them both gasp for air.

“Gods” Y/N broke from Azriel's lips and she groaned. Somehow the man moved in a different way and it drove her mad. “There!”

As if born to pleasure his wife, he repeated the motion again and his hand slid to her breast. He took one of her nipples between his fingers, then leaned in and licked it, whereupon Y/N clamped herself around her husband's member and moaned.

“Come for me, honey.”

His finger slid to her clit and rubbed it, which triggered something inside her.

Lights exploded behind her eyelids, her insides clenched and an animalistic moan tore from her. The heat was overwhelming her and she was sure it was over, she would die here and now, but Gods - if it is death she will be glad to go with it.

Azriel's hips slammed hard against her and she felt something warm flood over her and he shuddered. She wrapped her arms around him as if to protect him and their sweaty foreheads touched as they panted with the sensations that overwhelmed them.

Y/N opened her eyes and studied Azriel's face in the dim light. His handsome face was now relaxed and a small smile lurked at the corner of his mouth, his long black lashes casting shadows across his cheek. Her breath caught as she opened his eyes and his golden brown gaze locked on her.

There was an air of kindness and contentment that was evident in the way his hand stroked gently down her side.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly and pulled out of her, careful not to hurt her. The sheet was a little bloody, but neither of them cared.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered and turned to face him as he lay down next to her. Azriel covered them with the blanket and took her hand. “It didn't hurt that much.”

He smiled and kissed her hand.

“It won't after this.”

“Will it be after this?” asked Y/N shyly but hopefully.

“There will be a lot after this.”

Y/N almost burst with joy. Maybe this marriage won't be so bad after all.

[weaselbeaselpants]

Legit Bad-take/Bad-Faith Helluvaverse critics you should not trust if you see them

Interpersonal squabbles within the critical tag are irrelevant, sorry. This here is a genuine warning against users you should keep your distance from in regards to any VivziePop drama-discourse because their names may come up and you should know what it is that crossed the line.

Starlatte/Starvader/HonestHazbinCritiques/OhGodDude and Woomycritiques/RaySquid - Serial harasser(s). Long story incoming. Starlatte was/is a Vivcritical who got involved in the fandom back in 2019/2020 when she was a minor and didn't tell anyone. Her blog on tumblr was HonestHazbinCritiques where she made some good points but also managed to find/be a part of everyone else's takes in the critical community. Her relationship with several criticalblogs turned sour when she started lashing out, talking over people, being accused of faking her age, and doing stuff like arguing with irl sexworkers abt how they should feel about Angel Dust. Whatever her age actually was at the time, she was also sending her own rewrite scripts and fanwritten episodes to Spindlehorse in order to 'fix' Hazbin. In 2021 Star returned to Tumblr under the name "Oh-God-Dude" w/o disclosing to new people who she was while also starting shit. When said new ppl found out her past and got mad at her, she proceeded to block-backtalk every one of them.

Woomycritiques (twitter handle: Raysquid) is a critical blogger who stans Star and calls everyone else in the critical community an obsessed stalker while lashing out herself. She accused others of racism (unfounded), her friends of predation just for being proship (not the 'cest and underage is good'-kind, the "I like some problematic stuff in fic-context"-kind), and heckled Dirgentlemen over how much they should hate Helluva, and more.

Regardless of if you believe Woomy and Star are the same person, which ppl do, they are both -by now- adult persons who have been asked to stop and DIDN'T, which is why people don't trust them. Star and Woom were asked to tone it down, stop making accusations and even asked by many criticals to leave and stop talking about Helluvaverse as she/they seem to have nothing good to say about it. To put that into perspective, cuz I know some HH/HB fans are gonna be reading this: the people who've self-styled themselves antis and criticals begged this person to leave cuz she had nothing nice to say and was being a nuisance. I know the stans think that's all of us anyway, so let that sink in.

LincarRox aka ToyTaker - Creep. Nasty jealous stalker freak who got kicked out of Helluvaverse servers and Aminos for saying nasty shit like how he "wants to put a baby" in Viv. No really. He took his shit and grievances to BadWebComics wiki under the name TheToyTaker while also seemingly trying to get work at Spindlehorse in order to have access to Viv directly and to 'fix' her show. He did so by faking his animation portfolio. BWW did eventually catch on and kick him out but yeah....bad. May or may not still be going under his old pseudonyms, but regardless if you see someone talking weirdly sexually abt Viv while saying they were "let go" both by SH and BWW, get out now. That's probably him.

Animation Call-Out - Bigoted shitlord. Twitter user who rags on Vivz' controversies w other people but also hates gays and BIPOCs. Admitted to submitting one of the anonymous reviews against Spindlehorse "for fun" amidst legitimate ex-employees. All of the reviews, even the ones that seem the most validating/believable should be taken with a grain of salt I believe especially since they are coming to us anonymously, but when a racist person admits to def being one of those fake reviews for "Lolz" sake, that's def when shit's hit the fan.

DoodleToons - Also bigoted creeperlooser. Altright white kid who hates BIPOC existing in anything and admits to hating Viv's stuff for their LGBTisms and 'demons'. Yes, there legit are bad-faith critics who are homophobic. Just because Viv and her crew have a way of saying that's EVERY critic of her work doesn't mean there aren't shitty people out there.

[orphanedwolfandfriends]

So fellers, I can't promise that this'll be the last post I make about them. They don't fucking listen when they're the reason why nothing's going their way. I may be petty, but blocking, reporting, and IP banning them with the handy dandy statcounter is STRONGLY recommended (if you can afford to anyway, statcounter has a monthly payment thing).

I personally suspect that they have an alt account that none of us are aware of, and I'll say with full confidence that I could be wrong.

I started knowing they existed on account of their dry writing and their godmodding, and after, they'd start to ask a mutual some intrusive and condescending messages on why they're so kind to me. Not my character apparently, me. They don't bother to learn character names and just use URLs to shit talk. They'd ask why there's fanart of my woof child and their muse, which lmao, why's that a fucking problem? Mind your own beezwax. They would also bombard that mutual with asks about their shadowban issue, why can the mutual see other people's asks instead of theirs, and the most the mutual could do was tell them what it means and how they can fix it (which they never did). And as you might've seen earlier, they said me drawing fanart of fictional characters was "weird" and talked about it like it was self insert art I was doing. Self insert art's not even an issue to begin with but yet they took it personally lmao. Perish. Also I wouldn't make my self insert be a fucking child, and the art wasn't even shippy in the slightest.

It got to the point where my mutual blocked them, and they moved onto a Vegeta blog, and really milked that cow dry for how long they'd keep messaging them and whining about them not jivin' with the godmodding, along with complaining to that Vegeta and someone else about everyone making bad comments about their oc. If you look into their blog, you'll see that this person does not have a bio what so ever. Not even in a separate post. So quite clearly they're just expecting everyone to submit to her Mary Sue powers despite the fact we know nothing about them. They even info dumped the same Vegeta through an ask which, dude. Limited text. Look it up.

And then, they would bombard a Raditz rper and bitch about how he's not submitting to their random stranger shit while Raditz accepted a fucking BLT from one of my adult muses, bombard an oc blog like "you're flirting with Raditz, I can tell, your oc's not any better than MINE", AND, try to act like they're such a hotshot at writing, which as you might've guessed, they're not. And they're actively painting themselves in a bad light instead of listening to people and accepting boundaries. They also bugged the shit out of a Beerus mutual, and another mutual who writes ocs, just 'cause the other's muse was just vibin' and giving Beerus food. There's literally nothing wrong with that, yet they'd keep bugging the other mutual with shit like "oh beerus is only keeping you around 'cause you're giving him food, beerus isn't nice blahblahblah".

Do you see a pattern here? They'll get pissy when they don't get any attention from all four of those characters, and send jealous, petty bitch-sounding messages over two friggin children that are just being nice. Imagine being jealous of a fucking child. Actually suck in that shame like a juice box, 'cause that is PATHETIC. Jealousy is legitimately not a healthy thing to have, especially over something like roleplay, and when you actively guilt trip or shit talk them just 'cause of that, that's even more pathetic. And hella possessive. Good luck being possessive when the muns aren't interested in your oc to begin with lmao.

They also chased off somebody after stalking them for a full on year, as I've been told, which from people saying "that explains a lot" when I said who they were, that's...unsettling. Not surprising, but unsettling. And they're suspected to be another individual named Skye. I dunno if that's true but that's why I say "suspected."

TLDR; Please for your own sanity, block @phoenixissims and report them for their harassment. Do whatever you can to keep them far away from you as possible. The Dragon Ball side of the RPC is not the only RPC they've harassed over the years, so it isn't their first rodeo with being annoying and creepy. Do not waste your time with a message.

Now with all that out of the way, phoenixissims, go fuck yourself with a pitchfork, and everyone else? Have a nice rest of the month. I'm going back to my usual tomfoolery.

[ikesenhell]

A Sun Long Gone, Chapter Two

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire). NOTES: This work is 18+. ---

“Takama.”

It was morning. Takama blinked up at Dainsleif over a cafe table, pale sunlight spilling through the brilliant stained glass, a warm bowl of aloo puri cupped between her hands. He settled in across from her with a mug of chai. Today she wore a red head scarf, her golden ears poking up from slits in the fabric. An embroidered band with dangling beads rested on her forehead. Every time they twisted and turned, tiny blue flecks danced over her nose. 

“You’re wearing the churidar ,” she noted. 

“The what?”

“The pants we provided you. They’re called churidar .” 

He ignored the mixture of amusement and pride in her voice. Yes, yes, he’d been wrong, everyone in Sumeru had been right. They were preferable to his Khaenri’ahn issue gear. “I was going to ask about them, actually. Everyone else in the unit wants to know if we can get more than one set of the underthings for our stay. Obviously, we’ll pay–”

“I’m sure you could pay, but I’m equally sure that Her Lordship wouldn’t allow it. I’ll send someone around, see what we’ve got in stock around. Usually someone would make it to order, so if we don’t have enough on hand, I’ll get someone to measure and make on rush. How’d you enjoy the Sabzeruz Festival?”

Dainsleif took a long sip of his tea, spices filling his nose and throat. If he wasn’t careful, he thought, he might get spoiled on the food and drink here. “It was pleasant.”

“Pleasant? That’s a tame word to pick.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I enjoyed myself. Everything was delicious, the featured dance was very well done, the people seemed happy.”

“And I’m assuming spending time with Her Lordship was fun.”

Was it? He hesitated, rolling his thoughts over like a stone in his fingers. Sure, he’d enjoyed himself. She liked flowers (which felt obvious) and dancing (which felt less so). She’d let him examine the henna all over her arms, pointing out the symbols and their meanings. She’d treated all of his questions–even the stupid ones–as legitimate ones worthy of consideration. In short, yes , he had. 

But she was an archon. Khaenri’ah had always struggled where the nations that chose to submit to Celestia hadn’t. Their choice to remain without a god at the helm sent them underground. They’d struggled and scraped and built and emerged as the most technologically advanced nation the world knew. Khemia evolved where Adepti and Archons held no sway. They were a nation of humans manned by humanity–their successes and failures would always be their own. 

Lord Rukkhadevata had never done or said anything to make Dainsleif believe she saw the two nations differently, no. If anything, she respected them. That was why diplomatic ties existed between the two. She wanted the technological minds of Khaenri’ah to contribute to her Akademiya, and in exchange, the great minds of Sumeru contributed linguistics and medical research and new theories on botany. But Dainsleif couldn’t shake the insidious belief that every Archon under Celestia’s domain saw Khaenri’ah as lesser . 

And so he nodded carefully, too proud to admit outright that Lord Rukkhadevata flouted his expectations, too embarrassed to concede that he found her wordlessly beautiful, and too chastened to grind his heels in and claim she wasn’t everything he’d heard and more. “Spending time with her during the festival was pleasant.”

If Takama sensed his hesitation and conflict, she just snorted and rolled her eyes at him.

“What?”

“Men,” she replied shortly. 

“What does that mean?”

“Men,” Takama repeated, and took a swig of her juice. “Anyway, I’ll submit for the churidar . You should get a move on. Lord Alberich had a long itinerary today, and I’m betting you’re a big part of it.”

—

Sunlight filled the Akademiya’s halls. Scholars decked in emerald and gold darted this way and that, arms laden down with books and scrolls and crystal contraptions Dainsleif didn’t quite understand. Flowers bloomed everywhere. Even the architecture reflected the lush jungle outside. Iron vines and gold leaves wound up to beautiful, lotus-inspired domes. 

He grew very familiar with its details over the course of the day. Damned archons, if there weren’t a lot of meetings. Lord Alberich passed in and out of a dozen. Each oversaw some technical item (that Dainsleif didn’t understand) with a handful of Sages and other government officials. Sometimes Lord Rukkhadevata joined, too, a notebook clutched in her hands and coordinating with her white and gold sari. Truthfully, the ones where she took part were the worst. Not because she was an Archon (Or any of his complicated feelings on them). Not this time.

No. This time, Dainsleif wanted to melt into the ground because he felt like an idiot . 

He wasn’t a fool. He knew that about himself. He could talk about the finer details of the constructions of Field Tillers, direct troops, determine strategy and provide feedback to King Irmin himself. Dainsleif understood the better part of history in Mondstadt, Liyue, and Inazuma. Sure, there were gaps in his knowledge. There was no way he could describe the art of Khemia, for example. But nothing truly set him on his heels. 

Except for all this . 

Despite his being there purely for security, one of the scribes was kind enough to provide Dainsleif with a notebook and pen at the start of the day. By lunch, he had pages of questions and question marks. The margins were crammed with mis-remembered words to define. What was a Driyosh? Why did a ‘bad herb’ matter? ‘Rtawahist’ was misspelled four times, then underlined, and in the rush to figure out how to write the damn word, Dainsleif forgot entirely what he wanted to know. 

That was what brought him to the House of Daena after nightfall. 

All the others from the Khaenri’ahn delegation were back at their lodging. Only a few scholars were in sight, all with their noses buried in stacks of books. The faint whirring of the Grand Sage’s office overhead served as background noise, joined in tandem with the shuffle of papers and faint coughs. Table lamps cast small, golden circles on the study surfaces. The rest of the library was cast in shades of moonlight ivory and dark blue.

Dainsleif settled in at a table as far back as he could manage, propped open his notebook, and started with the first item in his long list of questions. Damned archons. Where did he even start? After a moment spent staring at the rows upon rows of books, he settled for finding the first that caught his eye (it mentioned the word ‘rtawahist’), flipping it open in his hand. 

“Good evening, Sir Dainsleif.”

Dainsleif silently thanked his training; he knew that voice, and it was all that overrode his well-worn instinct to draw a sword. There, in the soft night light and the lamp glow, stood Lord Rukkhadevata. 

“Good evening, Lord Rukkhadevata.” Dainsleif tried to hide the title of the book in his palm. What if it was some kind of ‘101’ or ‘How To Understand What In the Depths Everyone Has Been Talking About All Day, For Dummies’? He’d never survive the shame. “You’re up late.”

Her laugh was still so pretty, damnit. She walked closer, fingertips tiptoeing over book spines until she found the tome she wanted. It was in some ancient language he didn’t understand. “You’ll find that sleep is a rare and precious commodity at the Akademiya. Too many of the students here invest more in knowledge than their bodies.”

That would be your fault , Dainsleif wanted to say. If the culture didn’t prioritize its people, wasn’t that her doing? “Ah. That would be a problem.”

Strangely enough, Rukkhadevata nodded. All the jewels in her hair bobbed. “We’ve been trying to encourage more self-care. But it is difficult, reasoning with people so invested in discovering more about this world.”

This time he didn’t hold back. “I suspect the people of the Akademiya might be emulating their archon. After all, you’re up.”

Silence. The Archon before him hummed, pursing her full lips in thought. Fuck , Dainsleif thought. Now he’d gone and done it. What was he thinking? This was a diplomatic mission. It was hardly time for him to say all his blasphemous thoughts. But just as he was about to apologize, Rukkhadevata smiled. 

“I’ve considered that,” she said. “It isn’t an unreasonable hypothesis.”

“It isn’t?” He asked, incredulous. 

“No. Of course not. It may stand to reason that an Archon is the ultimate influence on their people. After all, much of our focus has dictated the country we created. For example, Liyue remains an economic powerhouse in part because of Morax’s influence. Of course the God of Contracts would steer a nation toward economic prosperity.”

Dainsleif couldn’t help but nod. She didn’t seem upset, so he tested the boundary. “So if a nation has undue influence from a God of Knowledge, and that God of Knowledge foregoes sleep, then maybe their people would do the same.”

Rukkhadevata settled in on the edge of the table. Meticulously–as if she’d done it a thousand times–she gathered the part of her sari thrown over her shoulder around her hip, making sure it didn’t bother the books. It was charming. “All true. But I feel this hypothesis ignores something very important.”

“What’s that?”

“People’s own drive and ambition.” She motioned at the dark, near-vacant library. “How many people do you suppose are in here?”

“Excluding us? About six.”

“Thousands attend the Akademiya.”

“Yes,” he pressed, “but just because they aren’t here doesn’t mean they aren’t studying at home.”

“That is also true. But what about Khaenri’ah?”

 Adrenaline sparked from his chest to his feet. What about Khaenri’ah? Who was this archon to put his nation’s name in her mouth? Dainsleif grappled desperately with his darker impulses, gripping the book in his hand so tight that it squeaked. “What about it?”

“Khaenri’ah has done perfectly well without an Archon.” If Rukkhadevata sensed something amiss, she didn’t say it. “They’ve emerged as a foremost technological mind among the eight nations. I daresay at least one academic mind in your country has missed a night of sleep or two.”

“Maybe,” he hedged. 

“If your country’s people–entirely independent of an archon’s influence–manage to share that trait with Sumeru’s Akademiya, then I’d say that indicates more about the drive and vision of people when motivated, wouldn’t you?” Gently, as if coaxing a stray cat with its hackles up, she reached out and freed the book from Dainsleif’s clutches. “Please don’t hold them like that. It may hurt the binding.”

Just as rapidly as anger took hold, shame like an ice bath doused his nerves. Dainsleif flexed his fingers. “So you’re saying that people all over will sacrifice sleep for the things they’re passionate about, and that it has nothing to do with an Archon.”

“It’s just my theory. But I like to think people, writ-large, demonstrate drive and zeal independent of anything I could model. I think your nation is the perfect example of that. Don’t you?”

It was embarrassing, really. Why had he assumed the worst so readily? Lord Rukkhadevata was an Archon, yes, but she was a person, too. He’d despised gods for being set apart. How much of that separation was partially his doing?

At long last, Dainsleif exhaled. “You may have a point.”

She beamed. “It’s just a working theory, Sir Dainsleif, but I’m glad it has your preliminary assent.”

“It does. I apologize for possibly injuring the book, Lord Rukkhadevata.”

“Rukkhadevata.” The woman groped for the lamp, examining the book binding under its meager glow. Apparently it was fine. She nodded once, turned, and offered it to him again. “Just call me Rukkhadevata. I get enough of the ‘Lord’ treatment during the day.”

A perverse inclination to deprive her of the same courtesy sprung to life. He mentally stomped it back into the earth. “And you can just call me Dainsleif.”

She smiled. She smiled, and Dainsleif wanted to soak it into his being and bottle whatever light she emanated. Flowers bloomed for a smile like that. Her eyes crinkled, and her hooked nose wrinkled, and she glowed . “Wonderful to meet you fully, Dainsleif. It hardly seems appropriate for you to address me as an Archon when Khaenri’ah chose not to have one.”

“I agree.” He couldn’t help himself. “I don’t much respect the title, so I prefer just to talk to you like a normal person.”

“I’d like that,” Rukkhadevata hummed agreeably. “It feels better. The true Archon of Sumeru is Knowledge itself, anyway. I’m just its advocate.”

What could he say to that? Dainsleif paused, watching the way the lamplight pooled in her skirt folds and on her rings, how it reflected on her nose ring and her pretty green eyes. At long last, he picked up his notebook. “Do you have some time?”

“Yes. Can I help you find something?”

“I have a thousand questions.”

Her eyes gleamed with delight. Charming . When was the last time he’d seen someone so excited about teaching? “Ask them all.”

And so Dainsleif came to sit beside her on the table. Their hips and feet bumped together, fabric rustling whenever they moved. The smell of oud and jasmine floated around her hair. He wanted to drown in it. Rukkhadevata trailed a finger densely decorated with henna :down the margins of his notebook, settling on the note: ��� bad herb?????’

“‘Bad herb’?” She asked blankly.

“Yeah.” Dainsleif huffed. “I have no idea what I meant.”

“Bad herb,” Rukkhadevata repeated, tapping her lip. “Bad herb… bad herb–wait. Did you mean Herbad ?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a title for our top researchers.”

Dainsleif stared at his note. “Well… shit.”

Rukkhadevata giggled. Barely had the sound escaped her before she slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you–”

That did it. Between his garbled notes and how sincerely Rukkhadevata was trying not to laugh at him, the whole thing became unimaginably funny. Dainsleif wheezed. It echoed in the library; in some forgotten corner, the sound scared another researcher enough that they yelped, and then that was funny, and even Rukkhadevata cracked. Soon enough they were both rocking back and forth on the table–him with his face shoved in an elbow, she, bent double with both her hands over her mouth. It was a solid minute before he could breathe properly. 

“ Bad herb ,” he repeated. “Where did I get that .”

“It’s under–it’s understandable, you just flipped the sounds–” Rukkhadevata wiped away a tear. “Oh, I’m crying , this was too much–”

Chuckling, he patted her back. “I’m glad we could get a kick out of this. I was feeling pretty stupid earlier.”

“You shouldn’t feel stupid. The pursuit of fuller understanding is admirable.” Once again, her fucking smile . It knocked the breath from his lungs. “But I am happy to be here, Dainsleif. This is fun. What’s the next question?”

Abyss take him, it was fun. He didn’t return to his room until the small hours of the morning, several books in tow. This time, he drifted off while daydreaming about her smile.

[hopeminteruwriter]

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[opinated-user]

https://youtu.be/A5P6vJs1jmY The Knowing Better YouTube channel just dropped a history lesson about natives.

It's a long video, but provides lots of insight about the struggles of natives in Canadian and American history.

What I found interesting about it, is that it stated that Cherokee is the nation most people claim ancestors from because it's the easiest nation to "get into"

All of a sudden, LO's Cherokee claims make a TON of sense. And yet, according to the video, if you can trace your ancestors back to a specific name on a list, you can claim Cherokee. You'd think LO would at least go for it since hey, it's a DNA test away.

I just find it funny this video dropped shortly after she took that off her profile. You think she watched it and thought "Oh shit, people are going to call me out on this. I'd better take that down."?

this is another point i always remarked about LO: that's especially frustrating of her to just call herself Cherokee without being claimed because she'd have the easiest time possible, more than many other people who struggle to find out about their family's history. it'd probably cost her some phonecalls, maybe a trip to the territory of the Nation to speak with someone that could validate her ancestry, if not a zoom call she could do from her own home after sending the necesary paperwork, and done, she'd be a fully fledged member for the rest of her life without doing anything else. despite what she said some time ago as an excuse for why she doesn't do this, nobody would drag her out to live on a reservation afterward. that's an total lie she made up to justify her own laziness. she'd have an actual claim to call racism when someone puts into doubt her identity and a legitimate way to distance herself from the white people she loves to trash talk. but she doesn't do that because that'd take work, accept that her own whims aren't enough to give her everything she wants and that another culture could ever submit her like that must be a terrifying thought for someone so racist that can't even fathom respecting the Japanese language when English is enough (for her, so it should for everyone else). LO wants the "benefits" of being "native" (being "inherently interesting" in front of a white audience, distance herself from white people, have another identity as s shield from criticism, burning sage apparently), but she doesn't want the culture, the community, the protocol, the tradition nor the connection to other native people through any of those things. it’s all about what she wants for herself. she doesn’t care about the Nation at all.

[cannibal-witchh]

Reader(Fem) X Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 1)

Written by cannibal_witchh

⛓Trigger Warning⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes:

I am not the most confident writer so bare with me if theres some flaws floating around the story. I also have very minimal general knowledge to Alcina right now due just demos only being out. Please, be considerate that there's only so much information released on her so most of what I'm writing is not canon. Let's keep it positive and real, we all are thirsting after Lady D so here's a a fanfiction. Also couldn't condense it in one story so going to make this adleast a two or three parter.

It can get confusing with a lot of female characters so the reader is of course:

Y/N - your name

Her/she- i wanted to refer to the female reader in italics and bold

Y/L/N- your last name

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Thunder echoed along the well decorated corridor walls . Hints of lightning occasionally flashed between fluttering curtains. Beyond the curtains was an open window, below that was a critical drop into snow and shards of large rocks. That was definitely not worth risking. Y/N had been held in captivity for what felt like a legitimate eternity. Confinded to a small well kempt room, it seemed as though it had once been a guest room according to the furnishing. All the basic necessities of a bedroom were present here. The fabrics that dressed the bed were of a fine quality, and the boards that held all of it up were of incredible carpentry. Gentle embers flickered from the candlewicks that rose tall on the golden girandoles. Despite captivity the room was comfortable, it was illuminated with warm colors, although still dim and feint.

The door swung open, a black swarm of insects swirled infront of the door as it begun to quickly form a figure. It revealed a small vampiric woman, hooded with golden locks peaking from under it. She flashed her teeth with an enthusiastic smile, as she revealed blood stained teeth, lips, as well as her chin. " Oh, goody! You are awake. I always feel bad feeding when someone is asleep.", She shut the door as she advanced closer to Y/N. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins, hair on her body standing up, and her palms perspiring. She was covered in scabbed bite marks, and bruises - it didn't take long for her to recall the abrupt painful puncture of teeth break through her skin. The old bites began to twitch with pain at the idea a new addition would be welcomed. " I just prefer blood thats been in shock, y'know, awake? It gives it a nice acidic flavor, plus,", she towered over Y/N breathing in her aroma. " It smells wonderful.", she giggled in soft whispers. "Enough.", Y/N demanded as she attempted to cease her trembling. Her body was returning to anxiety because it was clear what was about to happen. A feeding. The vampire didn't seem to express offense, strangely her face bore amusement. "Oh ok, how about this!", she excitedly brought out her sickle and swung at her. With one swift swing the sickle hooked right under her knee cap. A shriek was released from Y/N's lips, agonizing pain radiating everywhere, and blood began to river out from the site. The vampire dragged her with the sickle through the corridor as everything seemed like a blurr from the shock. Hallways seemed like a stretched out haze, and noises seemed to be loud echoes one would hear in a juvenile cafeteria. "Whe-where are you taking me...?", she barely mustered as she felt the sickle dig through muscle and actually brush against the back of her knee cap. Fuck. The sickle was released quickly from her skin as she heard the sound of blood fly onto the ground. That abrupt removal felt worse for minutes compared to the weapon actually being present in Y/N's knee. The monstrous woman lifted the sickle to her crimson stained lips, inhaling the aroma deep, and then proceeding to lick the sickle of the blood it had collected. Sounds of ecstasy escaped her satin black lips, her eyes darted over at Y/N as she felt like she was on the verge of fainting from shock. " I love blood that has some acidicity to it. It gives it a nice kick. You know how that works? For example, your blood could still have more of that taste. One who is in a flight or fright scenario, where they are in absolute fear and adrenaline kicks in...thats when the meat and blood have a sour flavor. Mmm, thats why we are going to play a game." , she licked her lips as her eyes flickered with hunger and passion. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her body gasp from the fevered pain beating in her knee. " I propose we play hide and go seek! You already know who's hiding. I will give you to the count of 100." , her eyes shimmered from this fucked up idea, she quickly turned her back and covered her eyes. Slowly the sickle in her hand vanished within dark smoke, damn it, Y/N within fading in and out had thought perhaps of stealing that and killing her there. Not anymore. She rose up with wobbling knees, just like a new born dear barely capable of using its legs, she began to hobble as fast as she could away.

"Oh, and I can smell your blood. So hide well, Y/L/N."

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Y/N consistently looked back, watching if the vampire had cheated the game. She was indeed honoring the game, that was adleast something about this blonde one she liked. She seemed to honor things she said, " 89...70...", her voice echoed loudly through the halls. The numbers lowering as Y/N felt her adrenaline spike even higher.

Y/N managed to find a door unlocked in a different wing of the manor. She adleast went through 10 locked doors before fleeing to another location of the manor. With pure luck, she discovered this door, it was unlocked and she took her gamble and entered quietly. With trembling gore soiled hands, she locked the door, and sunk to the ground. Very little energy existed in her, she anticipated for dear life the blonde vampire wouldn't smell her here.

The sound of gentle humming danced along the walls of this room, very melodic, sad, and eerie. Lonely, perhaps. With Y/N's quick realization, this resembled a garden bath house. The windows stretched tall in this room, revealing bleeding light from the full moon, there were plants of vibrant emeralds surrounding the large mass of water that centered the room. The water was decorated with rose petals and red spider lilies. The room was architecturally structured with several stones of marble, and looked almost like a Greek bath house . Gentle sounds of rushing water followed between stones which flowed into the big pool of water. Little ripples scattered across the water causing the red flowers to bob up and down.

The humming persisted as Y/N felt her heart drop, she quickly scurried to the nearest marble pillar to conceal herself. The humming was growing louder and louder, could it be the hungry vampire? She wasn't certain if it was worse but it certainly felt like it, Lady Dimitrescu emerged from the shadows of the room, and strided to the water. She was only wrapped in the finest silk, a tight sheer white robe that hugged tightly against her hips. She definitely had a full figure, the robe delivered a silhouette of her motherly figure. It certainly complimented, the low cut of the robe teased her deep cleavage, the sheer silk revealed faint color and the shape of her puffy areolas. Even in the predicament Y/N was in, it was still hard not to appreciate Alcina's physical beauty.

Alcina continued her melodic hum for a few more moments as she admired the undulations of the floral water. " Y/N Y/L/N, you believe me to be foolish?", she broke from her tune as her eyes looked directly at Y/N. She gulped hard as she submitted to the acceptance Alcina would more than likely kill her. She continued to lay her back against the cold pillar, one hand applying pressure to her bleeding knee, the other containing the fear that was trying to escape her lips. " I could smell that delicious blood from here.", she chucked lightly, "Come here, now.", she demanded with her arms crossing. Y/N did not obey the command, she remained quiet behind the pillar. For minutes it consisted of painful sharp silence, only the sound of her terrified heart beats could be heard. Her ears burned and rung, it desperately needed the assurance Alcina was still idle. Did Y/N dare look beyond the pillar? She peeked over and Alcina was no where to be found. Consternation filled her as there wasn't even a trace of evidence to signify the direction Alcina went. Unexpectedly, Y/N felt a hard blow and collapsed on her side. Her hands releasing themselves, and a gasp of air evacuated her mouth. " Oh, I see. ", Alcina had kicked her, her foot pressed hard against her side. Her smooth leg exposed, tracing all the way to her innermost thigh. Her skin looked smooth like porcelain, but certainly felt the weight of heavy boulders as it rested on her. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her foot dig deep into her. "Bleeding out on my perfect floors. Oh, what a mess. Although, it does certainly smells of of tart berries, yes, what a wonderful aroma.", Alcina breathed in the cold air, inhaling hints of Y/N's blood. She moaned in intoxication to the alluring smell of fresh blood. Alcina removed her foot from Y/N, she gasped for air in relief, and tried to attempt to sit up. Alcina quickly lunged forward without even a blink, and her long hand wrapped around Y/N's throat. "No, I don't think so.", Alcina smirked as her hand squeezed around her throat. She fell onto her back, the large vampress towering over, her large hand pressing into her throat.She was capable of breathing but it was incredibly taxing especially with the critical condition she was in. Desperate wheezing filled the air, it burned and stung inside of Y/N's throat. Alcina stared into her eyes, a long red smile stretched upon her pale white face. "Hmm, this is quite boring already. I am quite famished too.", she released her grip, ascended and brought her arms to her bosom to cross them. Y/N began to violently cough and gag as proper air flow returned to her lungs. After several minutes of constant heaving, she finally managed to collect herself. "Come.", Alcina ordered as she turned on the balls of her feet and waltzed to the bath. Y/N submitted, too exhausted to resist any longer. She barely could stand but managed, she approached Alcina with her eyes fixed on her every move. " My little one lacks control. Just as I would suspect with her age. If she doesn't stop stabbing you, you'll die. And I really have grown addicted to your flavor as well. I really would hate for you to bleed out one day because of her reckless actions.", she expressed with a sigh of annoyance. Suddenly, a knock interrupted her rambling, " Lady Dimitrescu,", it was the blonde vampire. Alcina let out another sigh in annoyance. "Yes?", she responded with a disinterested tone, as she crossed her arms a little more snug. Revealing a distracting amount of cleavage being pressed together. " Is Y/N in there?", she sniffed loudly as she strived to rattle the door knob open. " Yes, but I require her. I will discuss with you later some important matters. For the mean time, please do not disturb me and I'll return to you soon.", Alcina said sternly as her fingers drummed the top of her arms impatiently. "Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. ", the blonde vampire responded with pure disappointment in her tone.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've decided you will become my little feeding pet. My daughters do not know how to handle food without killing it. So you are now only mine. Clear?", she lowered herself and grabbed Y/N by the face. Turning her face side to side to examine the condition she was in. Y/N nodded to the best of her abilities, and quickly, Alcina released her. "Good. I'm glad you are willing. I want you to undress now." Embarassment flooded Y/N's mind, her cheeks buzzing with warmth. Why would she even demand that? " I intend on drinking the blood thats already spilling out of you. But I won't drink it while its been dragged around by a rusty sickle and pressed against the dirty floor.", her refined side was definitely exposed. She was different from her daughters, she wanted her meals much more virtuous. " Oh, now, now. I will even join you. They say when two are bathing they are equals.", she added as she disrobed herself. Gently she slide the robe off her shoulders and down her large breasts, as the robe began to flutter down to the marble. Her naked body exposed, and remarkable. Her large breasts sitting perky, her puffy areolas a light grey, and her waist down was incredibly curvy. Absolutely, a full figured silhouette. She dipped her feet in and followed by submerging her body into the bathwater. She let out a sound of relaxation as she smirked and beckoned Y/N. "Come, now."

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To be continued...

[obsidiangst]

Congrats on 100 followers! Could you do a thing for #47?

47: “How many more innocent people have to die?”

WARNINGS: Manipulation, vague nudity, non descriptive sex, body horror(?), stabbing, and open end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Zelda had to get out of this. The longer she stayed there, the more she realized she couldn’t just pretend that everything was so hopeless that there was no point in trying. She couldn’t abandon her people- Link didn’t die for her to do that. Though every plan she thought of to do something about her captivity was riskier than the last. If she was the last thing standing between Hyrule and mass destruction, she had to try to find something that wouldn’t kill her.

First thing: She needed to recover the Master Sword. Which would be difficult because the demon was keeping the sword in his quarters and despite being allowed to wander through the fortress, though she hardly did, she imagined she wouldn’t be allowed into his room for no reason. How would she manage to retrieve the sword then? What would come next when she did manage it?

While she sat in ‘her quarters’ deliberating internally about her plan, she looked over as the door opened, the demon entering as he did just about once every day. Whether he was checking on her or just coming to taunt, Zelda had no idea, but she kept her face flat. Link’s skin had long since turned a deep shade of charcoal grey and his hair was entirely silver. If his face hadn’t been the same and she hadn’t witnessed the slow transformation into this new appearance, she wouldn’t have known it was her Link at all.

“What do you want?” Zelda bit out, looking back down at her hands resting on the empty table before her.

“Well, that’s an awfully hostile way to greet someone who came to offer you a way to save the scraps of your kingdom.” He said dryly and Zelda looked back up at him sharply as he made his way to the chair opposite from her.

“You mean trick me into giving you something you want?” Zelda asked and the demon laughed.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” He said, pulling the chair back and taking a seat. “I have Castle Town under siege. At any moment I can say the word and have it razed to the ground.” He said, giving her a look like he’d just locked her into a checkmate in an invisible game of chess on the table before them. Zelda glared at him. “Or- I could call it off entirely.”

Her heart both sang and dropped into her stomach at this. So he was here to trick her. Wonderful. But- If it meant saving her kingdom, she would do whatever it took. Even if he wanted her head on a platter, she’d do that if he promised to end the attacks on villages and innocent people trying to live their lives.

“What do you want from me?” Zelda questioned, less harshly this time. Escape be damned, if she could at least do this one thing for her people-

“Marry me. None of your people will respect me as a ruler without a legitimate claim. If I marry you, then I will gain the right to rule.” Zelda stared at the demon dumbfoundedly. Was he serious? Just like that? When he had quite literally just admitted that he was doing so as a grab for power? As if she would-

She could trick him into allowing her into his quarters if she agreed. She would have easy access to the Master Sword then. She’d just have to lay with him- The thought almost made Zelda want to retch right there. If she gave herself to him under the guise of giving into his advances she could take the sword while he was asleep. It- Wasn’t the best situation, but- If she closed her eyes it could at the very least be Link in her head. And then she could kill him with minimal fuss. Zelda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, struggling with the idea of this plan. It seemed simple and yet-

“Think about it, Princess. I get what I want and you get to save your people. And you’ll get to be married to the person you love in a sense.” He edged her on, trying hard to convince her to accept his proposal. Oh- He really wanted this didn’t he? The demon who hadn’t even bothered to tell her his name since he had taken over Link’s body all those months ago-

“That’s-” Zelda stopped, unsure what to say still. She wanted the violence to end, but- She also didn’t want to use her own body in such a way. It was low and manipulative. But she had been being manipulated this entire time, so why should she care if it was or not?

“Come on, Princess. How many more innocent people have to die before you swallow your pride and submit?” He taunted her again. Oh, she wished she could slap him again right then- Her unease was cut through with anger. How dare he question her loyalty to her people- She’d show him.

“Fine.” She answered finally. “On the condition that you stop all violent activity against my people by this afternoon, I will agree to marry you.” He grinned wickedly.

“Consider it done.”

The demon was beyond pleased with himself and his guards had celebrated loudly for the rest of the day and well into the night at this ‘victory’. Oh, if only they knew the hell they would pay when Zelda got a hold of the Master Sword. Of Link’s sword. She’d make them wish that Link had killed the demon when he came to the fortress in the first place. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and she was a goddess and was fucking livid.

It was late the next evening when Zelda exited her chambers, padding her way barefoot down the hallway to where she knew the demon slept. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears as she approached the door between her and the demon. Was this really about to happen? Would he be rough with her? Would she bruise? Would he talk down to her like she was nothing but a whore or would the tiny remnants of Link that remained in his behavior towards her come through and he would be gentle with her during her first time? She steadied herself before opening the door to the demon's chambers.

His crimson eyes fixated on her from where he was laid out over his bed that was much like her own. Odd that it wasn’t more lavish, but she supposed that wasn’t important.

“Oh? And to what do I owe a visit from my wife-to-be?” He teased her, propping himself up on his elbow and draping his other arm across his midsection. Damn him- He knew that was something LInk would do when she got his attention. Zelda slipped in and shut the door behind her.

“I’m- Tired of resisting.” She said, making sure that her voice had a tiny whine at the end of it. Like she was close to tears. Lady Impa would have been proud of her acting skills right now as the demon was eating it up. He raised a brow at her and smirked, gesturing her closer with a curl of a single finger.

“Are you now? Well, it’s about time.” He said, sitting up and watching her as she made a show of hesitantly locking the door behind her and ever so timidly making her way to the bed. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite… Not that hard at least.” He teased, chuckling darkly and Zelda blushed.

Holy Hylia above, she was really about to do this. She didn’t have to fake the nerves as she crawled into his bed and let him touch her and disrobe her. The tremor in her hands as she started to touch him back was as real as the situation she was in. For all the demon’s aggression towards her in the past, he made sure to at least attempt to soothe her nerves, but every thought she had was plagued by the knowledge that this wasn’t Link like she was trying to pretend it was. This was a demon.

Thankfully, Link, or at least his physical body, was also inexperienced and wasn’t able to last too long. It had felt… Alright. Zelda would have been much more relaxed and emotionally fulfilled if she had been with Link instead of this spirit piloting his form.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” THe demon rumbled into her ear when they were finished. He laid against her back, holding her naked form against his own. “I even made you finish~” He had, in fact, not done so. She had faked it to stroke his ego a little bit more into relaxing. She had been trying to focus on anything other than the demon the whole time: her plan to escape, going home and celebrating the end of the war, mourning everyone they had lost, mourning Link- But it was done now at least, she could turn her attention to her next step.

Of course, he didn’t make it easy.

With his arms around her waist and his face pressed against the back of her shoulder, it would be very hard for Zelda to get up out of the bed without waking him up. Especially because the way he held her wasn’t just a loose hold, he was gripping her firmly. Fuck, this may have been a mistake.

Though- She did have time to look around the room now. She didn’t know where exactly the sword was located or hidden, so she glanced around the parts of the room that she could see. There were weapons and baubles everywhere, but finally, Zelda was able to make out the golden triforce on the scabbard of the Master Sword in the corner of the room, concealed partially by a few other weapons.

Zelda shifted once. Then twice. Then a third time to see if the demon was awake or not. When he didn’t respond to her shifting in any way, his grip even loosening unconsciously around her, she knew it likely was safe to try and get up. If he woke up she could say she needed to use the bathroom or to… clean up from their activities. Carefully, Zelda squirmed and twisted from the demon’s grasp, finding the dress that she came in, not liking the bite of the cold air on her bare skin before picking her way carefully over to the corner where the Master Sword was.

There was no way this was going to be this easy- Surely this demon wasn’t so oblivious to think that she would just- Sleep with him without an ulterior motive. She had resisted doing it for months now, that wasn’t just going to change overnight.

She gripped the hilt of the Master Sword and carefully tried to move it from behind the other blades trapping it against the wall. Finally, Zelda was able to pull the hilt from behind the other blades and then carefully extracted the scabbard and blade from the tangle of weaponry.

That’s when a movement caught Zelda’s eye and she looked at the stack of blades on the wall. One of the swords crossguards caught on the Master Sword’s own crossguard as she freed it and it tilted precariously to one side, then started falling, falling- And clattered loudly on the ground, hitting two more on the way down, adding them to the noise as they also clattered against the stone floors.

Zelda whipped around to face the bed- Sure enough the demon’s eyes were open and fixed on her in a dangerous way.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing Princess?” The demon questioned as he got up, not bothering to put clothes on as he put his feet on the ground and began making his way to her. This was bad! Very bad! But she had the sword! She had no idea how to use a sword, but! How hard could it be??

Panicking, Zelda yanked the blade out of its scabbard and sent a quick prayer to the Goddesses to help her as the demon paused in his advancements. Then he started to chuckle.

“Ohoho, is this really what you want to do, Princess?” He taunted, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Kill him?” He said, edging around her, trying to circle so that he was between her and the door. Zelda stepped closer to the door, keeping her back to the wall and the point of the Master Sword towards the demon’s chest.

“You think this is all a game. You want to use me and him like pawns. It’s going to end. Tonight.” Zelda said. The demon tilted his head to one side and scoffed.

“Perhaps it will.” He said, raising a hand as a myriad of shadows congealed into the form of a blade not unlike the Master Sword but pitch black. “I should have guessed that you weren’t going to concede that easily, but- You put on a convincing show. You were rather determined to do this, weren’t you.” He said, gripping the blade tightly. Oh shit- Oh shit, they were really about to fight weren’t they? Oh this was bad- This was a horrible plan, oh goddesses help her-

The demon swung and by some divine fluke, Zelda parried the strike. How? She wasn’t entirely sure. She’d never used a sword in anything other than formal ceremonies before, by all means he should have just stuck her like a pig- Another strike and she parried again, her feet taking her back half a step, but she wasn’t dying yet so that was fine.

“What-?” The demon furrowed his brow and eyed her, clearly seeing the surprise on her face. “Stop doing that!” He snarled as he struck again. Once again, Zelda blocked. The demon snarled at her now and began rapidly trying to strike her. And as if the Master Sword had a mind of its own and control over her feet, Zelda blocked, parried, and pivoted away from each strike, much to the annoyance of the demon.

When Zelda thought that there was going to be no end to this cycle of strikes and deflections, she saw an opening. The demon raised his sword up as if to bring it crashing down upon her head- and left his entire abdomen open. Zelda pointed the tip of the Master Sword directly at his stomach and stepped forwards, putting her weight and everything she had in her behind the thrust.

The sickening sound of the blade cutting through flesh and sinew was far louder than Zelda had been anticipating and she let go of the sword, staggering backwards as she processed what she had- somehow managed to do. Waves of nausea overcame her as she heard the noise on repeat in her mind. Goddess above, what did she just do? The demon stared at the hilt of the sword as it stuck out of his midsection. The sword was buried so deeply into him the tip was also sticking out of his back.

Then a barrage of disturbing noises and gargles exited Link’s mouth as the demon shuddered, dark black liquid beginning to drip freely from his mouth, nose and eyes and then evaporating quickly away into the air like black little puffs of smoke. He dropped the jet sword, which also faded into smoke before it hit the ground.

“Damn, you- No! I-” The demon gargled out and more and more of the shadowy smoke began to leave Link’s body. Zelda watched in horror as Link’s charcoal grey skin lightened and his ash colored hair grew golden brown again and as his body wretched the last of the shadows out, crimson eyes blinked shut and finally opened blue once more.

Zelda could have cried seeing that beautiful blue.

“Link!” She cried, overjoyed that he seemingly was back for a split moment before a pained grunt left him and he went down to one knee, clutching at the Master Sword lodged in his abdomen. Zelda blanched as she realized that she now had to save Link a second time from something a lot more dangerous than a demon piloting his body. Oh- Oh shit-

[gallickingunsteals]

Gallickingun/Lilhemmo is tracing art, reposting art and gifs, stealing ideas, and more

We’re going to start by introducing ourselves: we are a group of anonymous artists, writers, and editors that are either in @bnhabookclub​​​​ or have left it for various reasons related to the admin and creator, @gallickingun​​​​ / @lilhemmo​​​​ and the mod staff as a whole. This doesn’t mean all of her staff is bad, but they’ve strongly enabled, overlooked, and allowed Morgan to steal for too long. We’re not associated with @gallickingunexposed​​​​, but we would like to work with them if they have more they want to share. The reason we’re remaining anonymous for now is because some of us are still in Bookclub. As you’ll see below the cut, and if you go through gallickingunexposed, you’ll find that Morgan has ruthlessly degraded and talked shit about people within Bookclub as well as kicked people without saying why or telling her mod team. 

Next, we’ll explain why we’re doing this. Many people will respond with “Why not message Morgan? This isn’t right. You’re creating drama.” We’re not sorry to say this, but theft is not drama. It’s disrespectful and rude as well as illegal depending on the circumstances. Alongside this, Morgan has been contacted about these actions in the past multiple times by multiple people but continues to do it and/or insist she’s in the right. At that point, what else would you propose when handling it privately doesn’t work? 

Additionally, all creators deserve to know that someone is blatantly and consistently disrespecting their mutuals or people they follow by stealing their stuff. They all deserve to know that there is someone (Morgan) out there who might steal their work or break their posting rules as she’s done to others, as well as know if she’s already done it to them. Had this happened once or twice then we wouldn’t be posting this, but Morgan has a record of reposting art, gifs, stealing fics, ideas, and tracing art and she continues to insist that she doesn't do that.

This post is meant to give Morgan a wakeup call and inform everyone of things they are ignoring or unaware of. If you decide she is still in the right after reading this, then we hope you and her are blocked from other creators’ accounts so that you don’t get the chance to steal their work. This is not a discussion. This is a compilation of just some of the things she did.

Please keep in mind that this isn’t just about creative laws, this is also about creative decency and integrity, and the respectful treatment of creators. All of those have been continuously ignored by Morgan and other Bookclub staff after it is brought up multiple times, which proves that they are unfit to be in any position that allows them access to others’ pieces or a position that lets them dictate what people post. It also shows how little they care about creators as a whole. 

A solution: remake the Bookclub, remove Morgan from Bookclub staff at least, and possibly get new support staff (unless the current staff truly does disagree with her ways). If the other support team and members excuse her for stealing, reposting, etc., then they are just as bad, and those in support staff team shouldn’t be in there any longer. Shame on them for promoting and enabling creative theft. That is not an environment anyone should be promoting or enabling. Fair warning to anyone interested in BNHA Bookclub right now — they currently do not care about your work being stolen and the head admin herself has and still does steal from and ridicule and disrespect others even in Bookclub. The Bookclub was completely stolen (details below) and shouldn’t get the benefits and praise that come with zero credit and claiming originality.

And for Morgan, when you see this, we know you’re going to delete your theft posts so that the original artists and editors won’t see it. You’ll say you deleted it because you “know it’s wrong” and you “shouldn’t have posted it” but if that were the case, you would’ve done so the first time people have brought up you stealing, not the 2nd or 3rd or 4th — this is a trend. Delete them after you own up to it with the original posters. Let them see that you’ve done this. You can’t cover up what you’ve done by saying you didn’t do it or garner pity with a long apology. We also know that’s something you tend to do right before you repeat the same “mistakes,” feed into hate messages, and throw a pity party with your followers to feel better about your wrongdoings. An apology is the bare minimum. You should actually stop posting things that aren’t yours, stop copying ideas that aren’t yours, and stop covering up your theft. You are not the victim here!

ART (reposting and tracing)

Recently, Morgan got an ask and said she doesn't repost fanart without permission. Right before that, she had done just that with screenshots of a bunch of Bakugou art in a Google search. We felt this was still a form of reposting, but we wanted to ask the artists themselves too since Morgan didn’t. They all agreed that it’s still reposting because it shares their content where they don't allow even if it's not the HD image. She didn’t have to post the art. She could have gotten her notes without reposting art (yes, she cares about that and you can see in the link shared in the stealing ideas section of this post).

She edited this post to crop out the art, so someone must have told her to do so. We would like to give her more credit, but the BNHA Bookclub rules are a strong indication of her beliefs: that no matter what the artists and others think, she doesn’t believe she reposted -- she doesn’t want to admit she’s wrong or facilitating reposts.

“9. Do not repost content without credit... But we realize sometimes you’re just doing a google search and can’t find the original poster.”

The rules of the Bookclub themselves, as pictured in @rivendell101​​​′s post about Morgan stealing the Bookclub entire set up, rules, theme and concept of Bookclub from her, do not mention anything about reposting content or plagiarism or anything else that would promote protecting creators. So what?

This means you’re safe (by Bookclub standards) to repost and steal on your blog! And with that, you’re safe to do it in the server too because Bookclub staff has deemed this okay. So all of support staff are guilty of enabling and practically promoting theft.

It unfortunately gets worse from here. 

Morgan has not only reposted art, but traced art too.

The original artist, @lem0uro​​​, doesn’t allow reposts or tracing of their work (read - one, two, three, four) (here’s the original art). They have also said that this counts as reposting because again, their work is being shared in a manner that is not on their blog or being reblogged. But Morgan wouldn’t count this as reposting. 

There is no permission like she says she would get if she reposts (but she doesn’t, remember?), neither is credit given. You have to zoom in to find the blurry watermark and hope that you got it right so you can find the original artist. 

Who, again, doesn’t allow tracing. Most, if not all, artists don’t. You can easily overlay those two images and see that it was traced, not referenced. 

GIFS (reposting)

Fandom editors typically don’t allow reposting of their work. If they do, you follow their rules for reposting (common rules are either get permission, credit them, or both). In Morgan’s case, she has reposted multiple gifs over the years, and also posted a submission of someone else’s gif — yes, that’s still reposting because she still chose to post it when she knew it wasn’t hers.

(x)

We couldn’t find the creator of the submitted gif but if someone does, please send them this or tell them about this happening so that they can know. It’s not the person who submitted it as there are multiple reposts dating back to before Morgan’s post.

The second gif is by @slaughterofinnocence​​​ found here and it’s unclear if they allow reposts (but that doesn’t make it free real estate, Moe).

(x)

This gif is by @sstarphase​​​ found here and they don’t allow reposts.

(x)

Again, not Morgan’s original gif because it’s been reposted multiple times before. If you know the creator, please let them know this is happening.

(x)

This gif is by @bellblake​​​​ found here and they don’t allow reposts.

(x)

This gif is by @billrskarsgard​​​​ found here and it’s unclear if they allow reposts.

(x)

We couldn’t find the original creator but if you know then please make them aware.

(x)

We couldn’t find the original creator but if you know then please make them aware.

(x)

We couldn’t find the original creator even with the watermark, but if you know then please make them aware.

We’re aware that some of these posts are old, but that doesn’t excuse her actions, especially since she insists that she doesn’t repost. That only shows that this isn’t a one time issue.

IDEAS (exact copy and pasting and mimicking without inspo credit)

We won’t be addressing Morgan stealing fic ideas because that has been brought up by multiple other people already including @gallickingunexposed​​​​ and @lady-bakuhoe​​​​. Keep in mind that this is a compilation of observations no matter how small.

You can read this post about Morgan stealing the entire idea of Bookclub. Are network and archive blogs and servers exclusive and original ideas? NO! But Morgan didn’t just copy the idea, she:

took credit for it

copy and pasted the rules from @southsidearchive​​​​

copied the same exact theme as ^

copied the set up of the server from ^

bonus: shit talked the admin of ^ and said she’d use them for notes and only add them to Bookclub at the very last minute

Again, you can’t take credit for a common concept like Morgan did, but you can easily give credit to where you got the idea or what you’re basing your actions off of, which Morgan didn’t do. That’s called saying who inspired you. Since Morgan and staff legitimately plagiarized the entire Bookclub setup, they didn’t just get inspiration in that case. 

Moving on, all of the people contributing this post except a few have been here since the beginning of Bookclub and have either left Bookclub or remain in it. We remember what it was like when it started up and we’ve seen the changes it has gone through. Interestingly enough, these changes were not original. 

NOTE: Because Morgan and Bookclub staff have stolen and taken credit for the entirety of southsidearchive’s set up, this is being brought up because it is no mere coincidence that they’re doing the same things again. The only difference is that they were caught sooner.

A couple of us noticed the current changes reflecting @haikyuucreations​​​‘ server only after Morgan had joined. This is a smaller instance compared to the previous, but that should mean there’s no issue with mentioning “I got this idea from them” just like @southsidearchive​​​ did with their rules and haikyuucreations did with their set up. 

There was no mention inspiration when Morgan took all of these from haikyuucreations:

QOTD (role and channel)

the same bots

a split administrative staff between the blog mods and server mods

As you can see here, Morgan didn’t join the haikyuucreations server until July 25th, and she only waited a couple days until she started copying the way they did QOTD. Previously there was no role or a separate channel, but Morgan shamelessly used that idea and didn’t say she got inspiration or anything. Instead, she passes it off as her wanting it to be more active. The nice thing to do would be at least promote or mention the people you got your ideas from even if they aren’t original ideas. We’re sure Morgan wouldn’t want someone writing a whole fic inspired by hers without saying, or creating an entire blog and server like hers without saying.

Below we’ll talk about the dates that Morgan and Bookclub staff copied the same bots as haikyuucreations. Public bots are not exclusive, but the idea of Bookclub is completely unoriginal since it is a carbon copy of southsidearchive and now it’s imitating haikyuucreations.

Once again, no one owns common concepts, but we believe the timing is all too convenient for Morgan to be adding in the same bots after joining the haikyuucreations server. When we first joined Bookclub, Writer-Bot and Carl Bot weren’t there, but Morgan went ahead and added both of them in like she “just came up with it,” to quote her directly in the post linked earlier from southsidearchive.

You can see the earliest messages from those two bots in the haikyuu server and compare it to when Writer-Bot joined Bookclub. There isn’t anything about when Carl Bot joined, but we and anyone else in the server can confirm that it wasn’t there until after Morgan joined the other server. 

Besides this, she got her character bot ideas with prompts and flirty lines from the southsidearchive server, but there was no inspo credit for that.

We will, though, reach out to the staff of haikyuucreations to see if Morgan at least asked about getting inspiration for how they run their server. If that is the case, we’ll delete everything regarding Morgan copying from them. But that’s really unlikely since she didn’t do that for southsidearchive.

Another instance of copying without inspiration credit is Morgan copying haikyuucreations split staff setup. Since at least June, their blog and server have been split between two different teams. This third screenshot is from August 22nd after a Bookclub member spoke with Candy from the Bookclub staff. This change of Bookclub being split is a recent one, once again only coming up after Morgan has seen it work in the haikyuu server. This information was sent via DM, and Bookclub staff is continuing to avoid acknowledging that they’ve stolen ideas from other archival blogs and servers.

MISC

This is unrelated to creative theft. We want to point out another inconsistency where staff has failed to uphold their rules and protect their members, specifically about incest.

They make it very clear that incest is not a topic allowed in the server or in fics submitted to the blog, yet they allowed this conversation about Todoroki family incest to occur. If it’s allowed in specific channels, then that should be clear in the rules but it isn’t. But that’s just what happens when you copy and paste someone else’s rules and don’t have any familiarity with them:

According to gallickingunexposed, there was also the instance of minors getting into NSFW channels by lying to staff and by staff opening the channel up temporarily for everyone to participate in. This isn’t legal. It’s unfair. It’s disgusting. Being lied to is out of your control, but Bookclub support staff willingly opened up a NSFW channel for minors to get in. Temporary or not, that’s unacceptable.

And to discuss rule 11: Lyssa/@burnedbyshoto​​ was kicked without notice to anyone, members and mods alike, just because Morgan didn’t like her (referencing gallickingunexposed). This doesn’t mean Lyssa was innocent, but since only Morgan knew about kicking her, no one could personally take it up with her. That’s an abuse of power and a fine way for Morgan to go around her own rules. With all of that, Bookclub members are literally forced by the rules to respect staff and their decisions, breeding an unhealthy environment where no one can speak up without facing backlash in the server or in DMs -- like Morgan shit talking her own members and other bloggers. 

CONCL.

We compiled as much as we could, but there is definitely more that Morgan has stolen and more that her staff has enabled. We believe the best solutions include

1. Bookclub to be remade since it was completely stolen and continues to steal from others.

If someone steals a gif, art, or writing, the proper response is to delete it. It’s unlikely Bookclub staff will do that with Bookclub, so the least they could do is stop benefitting from others’ ideas. Had the Bookclub been marginally influenced by the Riverdale and Haikyuu servers and blogs then it would be different, but this is too far. There is no telling how far they’re going to go and Morgan has no limits of what else she’ll steal and defend. This also needs to happen because the rules themselves are not followed by staff. If you don’t know your own rules or you’re not going to follow them then change them. They were never your rules in the first place and the power is being abused anyway.

2. Morgan needs to leave Bookclub staff. 

She may have started it, but it was never her idea or setup in the first place. Considering she doesn’t follow the rules she copy and pasted, abuses her power, and consistently disrespects other creators either personally or by stealing from them, she doesn’t deserve to get by with another fake apology. Multiple apologies over the same thing followed by the same “mistakes” are worthless. They’re emotionally manipulative and only serve to let her get by with doing it again and get pity when she’s caught. We considered suggesting a suspension, but since Morgan has already left the server once and came back with the issues persisting and more arising, we don’t feel like this is a proper solution. She will only come back and continue to be a risk to the members of Bookclub for talking poorly about them behind their backs and for stealing from them and others. We sincerely hope that Bookclub mods are capable enough to run Bookclub without her, especially if they remake it to fit them. It’s understood that Morgan did most of the admin duties on her own and wouldn’t let mods participate despite being told or asked of, so we hope that that’s even more reason she shouldn’t be in staff.

3. Apologize to the original posters and follow their instructions.

Don’t delete the posts before they see, that’s just running away. If they tell you to credit them, do it. If they tell you to delete it, do it. But don’t delete it and brush it under the rug. And once you do apologize, don’t go back to posting and pretending everything is normal. This is a serious topic and deserves serious reflection. Every time this comes up, Morgan goes in circles victimizing herself, giving an apology, and repeating. That doesn’t work 10 times in a row.

This post will remain up until all three of these suggestions are taken. We’ll continue to help find more content that Morgan and staff have stolen, even if it means getting no sleep because this matters. As writers, artists, and editors, Bookclub staff should understand that. Morgan may not and has proven that she doesn’t care enough to change her ways, but we won’t stop until we see what we want.

[j-pankratz]

The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T.  Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

xx

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

xx

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

x

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

x

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Lonely Man (Ghost of Tsushima one-shot, Part 2.)

The first one-shot which leaded to the other one: H E R E

One-shot description: Tsushima had found its peace again - Kotun Khan and his men had left the island, the Mongolian invasion had ended. Yet its remnants were sure to last in your home for a long time.

A/N: The warning from the first one-shot still stands. No matter how hard I will be trying, there will be some cultural mistakes, because I am still an European. But just like before, I will do my best to make it as accurate as it will be in my strenght to write the best continuation to the first part I’ve posted like two weeks ago. 

Word count: 5.5 K

Pairing: Jin Sakai x female reader (He HAS a strong chaotic-bi energy, but he's talking about girls in the hot springs, so... 👀)

Warnings: xx

It was a few weeks since the spring finally started and since the peace had finally stumbled into your homeland again. It was true - after a long winter, the sun rays finally felt like gentle tickling on your skin. The beaming sunlight was warming you up, making you feel relaxed anytime you had the time to sit in the garden. Just like you hoped previously, the garden next to the farmhouse has bloomed beautifully. The trees had bloomed to be colorful - there was a few Sakuras, which were planted as already grown trees, were pink, so it was putting a smile on your face when the smile leaves flought by.

Yet there also were small trees with red leaves that barely reached your waist. You didn't know what kind of trees it was, but it was making the gardens a wonderful place. And the flowers were making you even more wonderstruck as you inspected and sketched every one of them when you had a while to do so.

A lot of people expected that as soon as the Mongolian invasion comes to an end, which came true ever since it was rumored that Kotun Khan's head was exhibited in the Shikamura castle, the geisha households will come to an end with it as the women will move to bigger cities to have bigger money and better clientele. But it soon became apparent that this wasn't the case. It seemed that the geisha ladies decided to live in the household even if the invasion ended and there was no need to gather in one place.

Although it was a big, former farmhouse back in the day, the mistress was planning on expanding it. The girls could travel to meet their clients from the household, but they would finally take in other trainees and appreciates as well, which would surely be amazing. If this plan would work well the geishas on Tsushima island wouldn't have to worry that their craft would end. This way, they could pass their knowledge on. While you were still living at the household, during the ordinary mundane jobs. You were still going for rice and other kinds of food, but at least, now you had a smart cart and a horse. You were still cleaning up the floors, doing the laundry, and cleaning the dishes.

This was your work. This was what you were doing every day, so you weren't even complaining. Yet even if you sometimes didn't even stop during the day, even if you sometimes took a bath at the hot springs and sometimes, you joined the geisha classes to learn new things, the man sometimes still crept to the back of your head.

It was a long time since you've seen him. It could be many weeks, it could be months. The timelapse from his departure was just running by. Ever since the morning Jin had left, you've heard a lot of stories talking about the legendary Ghost. His progress with repressing the Mongols was publically known and heard about.  Your personal favorites stories about the Ghost was the ones talking about him searching for the legendary gear of the old samurai masters, finding bows, and the rumored sets of armors scattered and hidden across the whole island. He still was talking to foxes, following them around to learn all the secrets of Inari.

Yet sometimes, worse news got to your ears. Jin was holding the Mongolian invasion back, almost singlehandedly, yes, but his methods were scary and almost brutal. From the intensity of said stories, it could be heard that Jin was probably falling deeper and deeper into this dark situation around him, which was quite saddening you. But how could you help him? You couldn't just travel through the whole island and tell him to stop.

But when you were thinking about him, you were wondering... Was he thinking about you? Or was it exactly how you thought it will be? Did Jin forget about you as soon as he left the farmhouse on the back of his horse? Yet those were the question you knew you will never have your answers for. Life was just the way it was.

You were a girl who was in the right age to find her a husband, to settle down, and to start a family on her own. Yet it was hard for you to like the boys of your social status ever since you've met Jin. There were nights when the warm breeze reminded you of Jin's touch, there were moments when water or sake reminded you of the man's kiss. Shadows creeping on the curtains and shoji reminded you of his moves. But over time, you knew that you'll forgive Jin. All it was to took was time.

As the spring progressed, there was a young fisherman walking around the house more and more often. First, everyone thought he's just walking around, dreaming about the girls he can never have - but soon enough, you realized that it's not the case. In fact, he was trying to gather the courage to speak a woman of his social status. One morning, he came over to you when you were doing the laundry by the river and introduced himself. It was a nice guy, you had to say. His goal was obvious.

The boy's name was Eiji and his intention with you was to court to you, making you fall in love with him. It was very noticeable he liked you a lot - he was nervous whenever he came around to talk to you. When you tried to joke around, Eiji got shy and he almost didn't know how to respond. Which made you think about Jin even more. When you joked around with Jin, he carefully joked back. And his carefulness wasn't originating from being into you with his whole being - it originated from your social statuses being too different to go at each other with open and offhand jokes just like that.

Yet Eiji was completely clueless at times. You thought it's sweet and slowly, your relationship started to deepen. It was just a natural conclusion that he wanted to get married to you after some time. But... Were you ready for such a big step? Marriage wasn't consisting of engagement of any sorts at the time - it wasn't even legally documented that man had married a woman. All it took was you to move into Eiji's household and to stay there to legitimize your marriage. But there was where the hitch with this whole relationship took the first hitch.

You weren't sure enough to take the next big step. Right at the time, you've been doing pretty well. There was this place you've been the happiest in possibly the longest time. The girls were taking good care of you and you were free to leave whenever you wanted. But... Submitting yourself to a man, bonding with him to create a family.

Or... Was it just your uncertainty about leaving your freedom behind? Couldn't it be something else? When you were refusing Jin's offer, you've told him the following: if you'd meet again sometimes in the future, you'd know that it was the destiny leading you on the same road once again.

Since your family was very keen on honoring the spirits, you've always believed that something like a destiny exists somewhere out there, provided by the almighty universe and spirits watching over you.

Maybe you were hoping that destiny will lead the man back to you, now everything was solved. Jin could be the samurai once again who would soon get married to someone of the same social status, continuing his life for all you could know.

There was no certain and reliable information to trust, regarding Jin Sakai. Some said that he killed lord Shimura. Some were saying Jin didn't kill his uncle, but walked away from the whole Bushido codex since he had violated it so many times. There were people who were saying that Jin Sakai felt so ashamed, that he left for Japan on a small boat, as he got killed by the sea.

His spirit was everywhere, everyone was talking about the man. Yes, he surely turned into the rumored Ghost. A Ghost which followed you on every step and the Ghost, who was ways lingering on the back of your head.

Yet after some time passing by, the marriage seemed like the best solution. The girls had their suspicion about what happened that one night when the samurai asked for your companion, but falling for a man after one night seemed to be dangerous.

Eiji was there for you for long months. The boy brought multiple flowers and small gifts, like new materials to make new clothes out of. He was extremely sweet and noticed the small things you liked, always focusing on them.

After long weeks of the girls talking you down to marry the guy, you agreed to his proposal. But to keep at least some kind of remnants of your freedom and pride, you wanted to have some ceremony. You wanted to have a ceremony in the geisha house, since the mistress was the closest person you had to a family member, just like the other girls.

And everyone seemed to be very excited about this event. It all could be easily explained - this was the first real, happy moment since the Mongolian invasion had ended. It was natural that everyone was going over the top with the preparations. The girls helped you with sewing the nicest shiromuku you could make yourself.

They also managed to get you some top tier fish meat to make food from, and the biggest present was sake brought from a man named Kenji. It was the best sake you had ever tasted.

Yet as all the preparations were coming to an end, another rumor started to go around the place where you lived. A strange man entered the valley where the farmhouse was located - and people were getting a strange feeling from the man.

He was, without a doubt, a ronin. But what was making him strange was his straw hat, the remnants of a group of soldiers, who joined the Khan. But... Why was the person even alive? It was rumored that every Strawhat was killed by Jin Sakai.

Naturally, out of fear and respect, people didn't stop the stranger on his way through the farms and villages. And for a reason, you were worried that somehow, the man will crash your happy day. Which, for a reason, seemed to be a real option.

It was even the biggest thing you were nervous on the morning of the ceremony. The man was on your mind the whole time - when you were dressing up, at the time when the Shinto ceremony was prepared, even throughout the time you were walking through the house, feeling the last remnants of your freedom slipping through your fingers. And that was surely a thing you didn't like. It was just moments from when the ceremony was about to start - soon, someone would come for you to lead you there, as you'd start to conceive Eiji as your rightful husband, living with him until the end of your days, doing everything with him.

Honoring the spirits, taking care of the home, take care of children, cook the food, and... There was so much thing you were about to do on a daily basis. Yet it was like a cycle that would be repeating itself every single day. It was the one thing over and over again which was making you freak out. Until you heard some excitement going around in front of the very house you were waiting in.

Someone was trying to stop someone from talking to you, but the other person seemed to be unstoppable. Soon, the shoji flew open and at the same moment, you sprang up on your feet. A feeling of uneasiness and fear struck you as you looked at the masked ronin standing in front of you while Kohaku was trying to make him leave the room so he wouldn't make you too nervous or distressed before the ceremony.

The man appeared exactly as the rumors described him to look like. Which, on one hand, was the first time you've seen a rumor coming true for the first time. He, indeed, was wearing a straw hat covering his whole face and a worn-out yukata along with airy, comfortable trousers. For a reason, his inner palm was resting on one of his swords as he turned his face at you. A thought flew over your head.

Was this person here to kill you? Could someone hear about your connection to Jin Sakai? Could he be looking for revenge? If that was so, which was highly doubtable, the person was surely seeking revenge at a bad place. Jin didn't care for you ever since he left your settlement. The man won't likely even know that you would be killed. Which, in fact, was very sad... But true. Yet instead of that, the man just fell down on his knee, showing you his humility and respect. With scared expression, you looked back at Kohaku standing outside, wanting to oust the man out.

"I just wish to speak to you, lady." - The man barely spoke out, having you nervously spinning your fingers around as you didn't know what to do. Well, if he'd like to kill you, you'd be already dead, right? He had quite some time, about a minute, to slice your throat or to murder you in any other way. So, there was a possibility that he maybe doesn't want you dead. After a minute, you nodded at Kohaku, closing shoji to have at least a hint of intimacy.

"If you wish to speak of Jin Sakai, I don't know where he is or what is he doing now. I don't know any other reason why would you visit me on the day of my wedding." - Was all you told him as you lounged around the room to take a sip of water to hide the nervousness that was hugging your whole brain. But the man was still on his knees, having his head lowered in front of you to prove to you, how vulnerable he was. And, in that moment, you heard the words which you were thinking so much about.

"You promised that if we'd ever meet again, you will admit that this was all destiny's doing." - The man spoke out a bit cleared than before. With these words, you turned back at him. Your heart almost jumped right into your neck when you realized what he was indicating with the statement. Hoping it's him under the hat, you walked in front of the man, unmasking him with shaky hands. As soon as you saw the black hair, your fingers wanted to do only one thing - to dip into it, to caress it, and to tug on it, just as you did before. - "I'm just staying true to my word, Y/N." - Jin whispered and put your palm on his cheek to feel the caress of your skin again. He was still beautiful as if he hadn't aged a day since the day you've seen him for the last time. The only change from the man you've seen such a long time ago was that this Jin had a scar on the left side of his face, yet in your eyes, he still was almost breathtaking.

With a happy sigh, you got on your knees as well, putting even your other palm on his cheek. A smile lightened up your face as you absorbed every small part of his face with your eyes and your fingers - just moments before he kissed you. On his journey, ever since he left your farmhouse, he was honoring every shrine he had met, hoping he'll meet you at the end of his journey. And there he was, after a long time of traveling the mainland in the shadows, hidden from the eyes of his own people. Yet nothing seemed to change in the way you embraced him or the feeling your kiss had woken inside of him.

"I was... I was worried that you had died, Jin. I was horrified." - A mumble left your mouth when the kiss had ended. Jin, until that moment, didn't notice you were crying the whole time he was stealing the kiss from your lips.

"It's very complicated, my dearest." - He answered, slowly leading his palms on the beautiful clothing you were dressed in. It was special to see normal people evoke a Shinto ceremony. Usually, the wife you moved in with the husband, starting a family. Yet the dress was suiting you - making you look innocent, even if the man had to smirk when he realized he already stole your innocence. At that moment, Kohaku stormed into the room again - yet when she realized who was the man leading his palms over your body, she bowed with the deepest meekness. - "Lord Sakai." - Was the only thing she got out. Jin didn't answer, yet he got on his feet and stopped the lady from bowing even lower.

"I am no lord now, lady Kohaku. You must've heard of it by now." - He smiled shyly, stepping away from Kohaku once again. With deep sadness, your mistress nodded, sighing. - "I did hear about what happened, yes. But apart from your uncle and the shogun, you were the only one who fought for the ordinary people, so in my eyes, you will forever be the lord I know you as." - Kohaku explained simply, backing to the door again. - "I will tell the others about your presence, my lord, to make them understand why the ceremony will be delayed." - Kohaku addressed and left you both in the empty house.

There was something else she was saying with her words. She won't only tell them that the ceremony will be late - she was about to tell Eiji, that no wedding will happen that day. Women were very sensitive to picking up the words and signals that weren't said out loud. And the day Jin left the house on his horse, she immediately picked up what happened the other night, although the never spoke of the issue out loud. Why should she? It was a private matter. You, without realizing, never were the same once lord Sakai left the farmhouse.

"If it's complicated, sit down with me and tell me what happened to you, please," - You asked and invited him to another room, which had opened shoji leading right to the garden, so you both had a nice view. Without asking, you poured the man some sake to make him more relaxed, even if your presence was already doing enough. You checked your privacy three times to know it was safe when you walked behind the man to massage his shoulder, bringing the yukata off his shoulders enough for you to plant a kiss on the nape of his neck.

Jin slowly started opening up, starting exactly on the day he had left you on the farmhouse. He spoke of his friends, Yuna and Taka, of the sensei Ishikawa and even told you rather intimate information about lady Masako, the only survivor of clan Adachi. He spoke of the fight against the Mongols... Until the first beats of his uncle being disappointed in him started to hint on how the story will end. At that moment, his back was leaned into your chest as you held your arms entwined on his chest.

"It was obvious that nothing will be as it was before, I could feel it. His gazes, words, and behavior started to shift heavily. It was breaking my heart apart, yet at that moment, I couldn't take anything back. It was all done, I've already stepped from the journey of honor to save what was remaining after the Mongols stormed through my homeland." - Jin sighed, putting his palm over your forearm to smooth it without paying attention to it. - "Shogun marked me as a traitor and sent my uncle... My own family and blood... He sent my father to kill me as a punishment for both of us."

"While you're sitting here with me now and he isn't, did you kill him, Jin?" - You whispered, gently pushing your fingers under the yukata on his chest, putting the center of your palm on his heart to feel it beating. Yet the man shook his head, watching the sakura in front of you. - "No. While I may have no honor, I wouldn't ever kill my own family. I left him there because I couldn't do it. Yet now I have no family, no honor, and no-one else left. I am a wayfaring ronin on his way to... Somewhere."

This wasn't true and he knew it. He still had Yuna to accompany him. - "You have me." - You whispered after a small while. - "I promised that if our paths ever cross again, I'll admit that this was all evoked by destiny. And here you are." - Your arms around his body tightened. Jin smiled at those words, holding your forearm tightly than before. - "You have a life here, Y/N. I have no right to take it away from you. I came late." - Jin squeezed your arm one more time before sitting up to look you in the eyes. His lips gave you a saddened smile as he rose his palm to smooth your jaw.

"What are you going to do now, Jin? Where are you going?" - You asked, catching his palm in yours as you pressed a peck into the small valley on his palm. - "Well, now I visited you, I will most likely hide somewhere in the mountains to wait for another chance to protect my country, leading a lonely life aside from everyone." - Jin described openly to which you stood up, taking the upper layer of the dress off, standing in front of him in a black yukata and pants similar to his. - "Stop, this is not what you want." - Jin tried to plead you, catching your palms in his.

"I always dreamed of a small house aside from everyone and a peaceful, quiet life. I wanted to marry this man because you weren't coming and I was horrified you might never come." - You answered before kissing Jin to shut him up for a moment. - "Go for your horse, I will wait at the other end of the garden." - Was the last thing you've told him before you left.

The man did exactly what you wanted him to do - he, again, put his straw hat on to cover hid identity, walking out of the house where Kohaku was already waiting for him. - "Lady Y/N is very distraught, please, let her take a moment before starting the ceremony." - Jin bowed to the lady and she repeated his actions, pushing some food she packed for both of you while she told everyone that you had some oppressing matter to attend to.

"Take good care of my girl, lord Sakai. Keep her safe and happy, may the spirits look after both of your souls." - She smiled before turning on heels, walking into the house you were at just minutes ago. And she found exactly what she thought she'll find - the upper part of your wedding dress was laying on the ground next to a half-drank sake. And in the distance, she heard a horse riding off, presumably with both of you on its back.

Presumably, it was Jin's choice to come back for you, yet he'd never meet you if there wasn't for destiny. Your choice of complying with it was one of the best you've made. Life in the mountains granted you both with a great deal of privacy, so you could bond deeper, getting to know each other more close. So close you had started a family after some time, which was the best thing that ever happened to Jin.

Clan Sakai had its successors. He had children of his own to which he could pass his knowledge, knowing that when he leaves the Earth one day, the destiny of the Sakai family will be secured.

Sometime later:

The coffee shop was literally brewing with life. You adored having a shift on days like these - the sun was shining, so people were in a good mood, they were snickering, giggling at laughing and most and foremost, they left you some good, generous tips. Every buck could help you pay off the college loan you were currently fighting with. Sure, having a degree sounded nice, but it was actually expansive to study it when you had no-one to help you with it. And no-one would tell you this beforehand.

With a small smile, you leaned your elbows to the wooden desk behind you, as you started to play with your small notebook and pen, which you used to write down the orders of your customers. That day, you had quite a lot of people coming in to have your delicious sundae with hot raspberries and strawberries. Your workplace sure as hell wasn't the biggest in the town, but you liked it a lot. It had a nice, family-like atmosphere and most of the workers were nice people to work with, which was the reason why you didn't have even the smallest problem with coming to work.

On the other hand, a man was running late on his family lunch. But the craving for a cup of coffee was stronger than he was, so when he spotted the first coffee shop next to the road, he stopped there, leaving his sister in the car. - "Jin! Come on! Uncle is going to kill us" - She cried out of him and it almost seemed that Jin was really coming back to the vehicle - just to get his wallet from there.

This man was unbelievable - dressed up in his leather jacket and with a man bun, he was looking quite ridiculous in the eyes of his older sister. - "Wanna something too?" - Jin leaned his elbows to the opened window on his side of the car, having his sis rolling her eyes monumentally at it. - "Then watch the car and don't drive away with it, yea?" - The man patted the hood before running inside the coffee shop. As soon as he spotted a waitress standing by the countertop, he headed straight to her, not looking at her in the first moments.

"Hey, hey." - He got out with heavy breathing. - "Do you make take away coffee? Please, tell me you're making take away coffee." - A man spoke at you, barely looking at you, seemingly being in a time press. Your eyebrows arched at the question. You hadn't got someone like that every day if you had to be honest.

"Sure, I can make you a cup of our take away coffee, if you want to call it like that. Chill out, are you fine?" - You asked the man with worried, watching him being dressed up in a leather jacket on a day like this one was. It was too hot to have such clothes on. But in the between, you moved behind the cash register to have access to the coffee brewing machines. - "Yea, I was just without caffeine for too long and I'm... Really... Craving... One."

At this moment, the man noticed you for the first time. Yeah, he kinda knew that he's talking to someone the whole time, but at that moment, JIn looked directly to your face for the first time. And the first thing that struck him was that he knew you already. Your face was almost awkwardly familiar to him. But Jin was fully aware of never seeing you before. You were beautiful, eyecatching and something totally out-of-the-world for the man so much, that he forgot how to speak or listen to what you were saying.

"Excuse me?" - He asked you back, jumping in the middle of your monologue. Your eyes widened as the man interrupted you in the middle of naming your offer, having you completely forgetting what you were speaking about. - "I was asking you about what would you like to order." - You mumbled, looking at the man back.

Something was telling you that you've seen him somewhere. These lips were hard to forget about - and you've memorized them from somewhere. Almost as if you already had kissed them one day. The eyes and the entirety of his face... Where the hell did you meet this guy? - "It wasn't this sort of excuse me. I wanted to ask..." - "If we had already met somewhere?" - You finished with anticipation. This conversation could go two ways - either, he'd think you're a total creep or he would be thinking about the same thing as you were.

"Yea. Exactly. Do you have that feeling too or am I going nuts?" - The man's face lit up with a huge smile, which obviously had you smiling in a second too. Quickly, you shook your head and confirmed the weird feeling inside his head. - "Good. Now, for the coffee, I would like a latté with double milk, please." - He finally placed his order and you, since you got through the stranger phase pretty quick, pointed your fingers at him, wiggling your eyebrows. - "I'm on it, chief." - You winked, having the man's eyes watching every move you made.

You moved with such grace that it was hard to take his eyes off of you - it was so hard that Jin had to lean his arms next to the cash register since he wasn't able to turn around from you. There was this force that was simply making the man gravitate toward you, even if he hadn't ever felt like that before. Any girl he had previously dated or slept with never had him gravitating towards them. It didn't matter if they were somehow considered prettier, had better jobs, or whatever, any of them didn't for these reactions out of him. Again, he got lost while you were obviously talking to him.

"Excuse me?" - He woke up from his small trance again, still leaning his upper body the countertop. - "I was asking if you're alright. But now, I almost want to ask you if you're staring at my lovely bottom." - You repeated yourself, finally finishing his order. With a small smile, you took the cup to your palms, searching for a black marker.

"Isn't this against the company policy or something?" - "What is?" - "Flirting with a hot costumer." - The man smiled at you daringly, shoving a strand of his hair behind his ear. As you finally found the marker, your cheeks started to go on fire as you shook your head unbelievably.

"As long as the hot costumers don't mind it, it's not taken as a sexual assault. Come on, what's your name?" - You pushed the cap on the stranger's cup. The man straightened again, putting both his hands on the countertop. You watched as he childishly bit his lower lip, tapping some sort of a melody into the wood. - "Wouldn't you wanna know?" - His playful voice teased you, but just moments after that, you put the cup in front of him, naming the amount of money you wanted from him. Without any word, he paid and even gave you a pretty generous tip, But when you gave him the receipt, the man took the marker and wrote his name and his number on the back of it, giving it back to you.

"And what should I do with this... Jin?" - A victorious smile lighted your whole face up as Jin was already walking back to his car, where his pretty nervous sister was sitting. - "I think youre smart enough to figure it out. My offer is today at eight p.m., so give me the deeds as soon as you decide." - He winked before he turned at his heels, walking straight to the car.

The whole exchange was definitely that once-in-a-lifetime one because you rarely met someone who would make you feel like you knew them from the very first moment you laid your eyes on them. Who knew? Maybe it was destiny showing himself even centuries after the moment you've met someone for the first time. Well, that was pretty crazy to start with, but... Who could really know?

[pynkhues]

Hi Sophie! I’m an aspiring writer and I had a question for you!! How did you go on about finding an agent? Also how does one find job postings related to writing? (Tv, etc.) I’m very inspired by you and how talented you are!!!

Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words, and it’s so exciting that you’re an aspiring writer! I think knowing that you want to write really is the first step on a pretty incredible journey, and it’s one that it helps have to have tools on. Knowing how to ask questions, like you did, is a great way to start building that toolkit too.

Especially because your writing toolkit will be something you build, because there’s not really one answer to either of your questions. I really mean it when I say writing and publishing is a journey, and as a part of that, the pathways people choose to take (and the pathways available to them) often vary a lot, and are impacted by so many things, from where you live to the genre and medium you write in to the networks you have access to.

I’m going to try to answer that for you as well as I can here which I hope will be a useful starting point for you, but I will be contextualizing it a bit with the fact that a) I’m in Australia, which has a bit of a different industry to many parts of the world (in no small part because we have a very small population), and b) that I worked in the industry before I started having my work published, which did give me a jump start and a pretty good network of professional and personal support.

Okay!

So let’s jump in.

Behind a cut because this got a bit long.

How did I get an agent?

Well! I was rejected by four agents before I got one, haha, so that in itself was a bit of an adventure. It meant that I was effectively my own agent for quite a while (something that’s quite normal in Australia for reasons I’ll talk about later), which meant doing everything from pitching works to teaching myself enough legal vocabulary to negotiate contracts (not my strong suit honestly, haha).

The first two agents I ever spoke to were both agents that weren’t open for unsolicited submissions. This is an important term in the industry, because what that means is that they’re not reading any new writers who:

they didn’t invite to submit (usually this would be after you’d won a prize, or they’d read your short story or essay in a journal or magazine, loved it and got in touch)

didn’t come recommended by colleagues; or

didn’t come through their existing networks.

Does that mean you can’t get your work in front of them? It doesn’t actually. Usually when agents aren’t open for unsolicited submissions, they’ll still be interested in work. It just usually means they don’t have the time for a massive slush pile. What they frequently do in these instances instead is that they’ll attend conferences, festivals, workshops or events and do pitching sessions a couple of times a year. That usually looks like you booking a five, ten or fifteen minute window, generally for free (be cautious if they’re charging extra on top of your event ticket) and doing a verbal pitch of your project.

I’ve done a lot of these at various events in various contexts (it’s always hell, haha), but only twice to agents. Once was at the CYA Conference in Brisbane (which is a charged pitch but the money’s a donation towards the Children’s Book Council), where I pitched a YA manuscript I’ve since put in my bottom-drawer, and Emerging Writers Festival in Melbourne, where I pitched The Rabbits, which is my novel which came out in July with Penguin Australia.

Those pitching sessions went just okay. Both liked my pitches, but the agent at CYA had a full stable of YA authors and was more looking for middle-grade fiction, which meant my story skewed too old. She gave me her card if I ever wrote for a younger audience, but otherwise declined to invite me to submit. Again, this is frequently actually why an agent might be closed to submissions or they might reject your work even if they like it – they're just at capacity with what you're pitching.

The one at EWF went better and I was invited to submit my complete manuscript, but she told me that while she thought I was a good writer, she didn’t personally like my writing style and therefore didn’t think she could sell it. She did actually invite me to submit something else if I had something more commercial, but I really figured that if she didn’t like my writing style, she probably wasn’t going to like whatever else I sent her, so I ended up declining because I thought it would be a waste of both our time.

The other two agents I submit to were both open for unsolicited submissions so I didn’t have to go through events. In both cases, I did cold submissions, which just means we’d never spoken before, so when you do that you need to put together a query packet because - - well. They don’t know who you are, haha. All publishers and agents have different requirements for their query packet and these should be listed on their website (if they’re not, feel really empowered to email and ask – in all of my industry experience, they have always infinitely preferred you doing that to guessing. It shows you know the etiquette and want to get it right).

Generally speaking though, what you're looking at pulling together for a packet is usually:

A cover letter explaining who you are, why you’re interested in them being your agent (being familiar with who else they represent is a good thing to highlight), and what story you’re selling them on.

A one-page synopsis of your manuscript.

A writing CV if you have one, or another relevant CV (i.e. if you're pitching a non-fiction book on being a nurse in the pandemic, attaching your nursing CV so they can see you're legitimate is important).

And usually either the first 50 pages or the first three chapters of your novel.

You generally email that to them, it goes into a slush pile, and they’ll read through it when they get the chance. I got a personalized rejection from one, which is pretty lovely (getting a personal rejection instead of one that’s clearly an email template from agents, editors and publishers might sound silly, but they’re actually pretty significant. These are people who get thousands of manuscripts a year, and taking the time to write a reply usually means your work resonated enough that they want to give you that encouragement even if the answer’s still no), and the other, I never heard back from, and my follow up email was ignored. Less lovely, haha, but unfortunately not uncommon.

So yeah, I took a bit of a break from seeking out an agent then, which I could do in Australia. One of the benefits of having a small industry here is that there’s a very limited number of agents (we’re talking literally about 25), which means submissions outside of agents and agencies are pretty normal. My understanding in the US and the UK is that you’re not really going to get a look-in without an agent, but in Australia you can submit direct, having an agent just makes it a lot easier.

So I didn’t have an agent when I actually got offered my book deal. I’d submit The Rabbits to a few different publishers, it had been rejected already by a couple and was still in the slush pile at one when I submit it to the Penguin Literary Prize. It won (yay!), Penguin offered me a book deal, and when the news broke in industry news, I was approached by six different agents, including, hilariously, the agent who said she didn’t like my writing style, haha.

I ended up talking to a few of them, but I went with a fairly new agent who I’d known through industry work, and I went with her because she had a really strong legal background which is what I was personally interested in.

Because that’s an important thing to consider too.

Why do you want an agent?

I actually knew that I didn’t really need an agent to sell my work. I’d been doing that for ten years already, I have over twenty short stories and a novella published, I’d sold my book, and I’d sold the rights to a screenplay already on my own, so the ability for an agent to sell work wasn’t so important to me. What was important to me was having someone who had a background in publishing law (my agent actually worked in the rights team in-house at a top five publisher before she became an agent), and understood rights management particularly in digital rights and international rights, because it makes my head spin, haha.

So that’s why I went with her!

But how do you find agents?

You didn’t ask this question exactly, but I think this is a very relevant question. There are databases of agents and publishers out there – Duotrope is probably the best known and I know people rave about it. One of the things that’s useful about it is that it’ll do a bit of a breakdown listing what genres the agent reads, if they’re currently open to unsolicited submissions, and their requirements. Take a look at Ginger Clark’s page for example (she’s not my agent – she’s American for starters, haha – but I have worked with her before and she’s a gem. Her most famous client is probably Ursula K. Le Guin, but she reps tons of other people too).

So yeah! Duotrope’s really useful. It has free info but also a paywall for certain things, and I personally find it kinda difficult to navigate?

I'd actually instead just recommend you take a look at writers you like and admire, especially ones who write similar genres to you, and just Google who their agent is. They all have websites, so they’re a lot easier to find these days than they were. 😊

How do you find job postings related to writing?

This is a tricky one, anon, as it depends on what sort of jobs you’re looking at. If you’re looking for copywriting opportunities, outlets for articles, short stories, poetry or essays, publishers who are posting open calls for manuscripts, or even cultural production jobs, those are all pretty different things. SO! I’m going to answer this one a little more broadly.

Writers Centres are your friends. Full disclaimer, I worked at one for five and a half years, and have been a member of Writers Victoria since I moved to Melbourne. They’re incredible resources for not only opportunities, but workshops, pitching, professional and creative development, community, networking and advice. They literally exist to help you achieve your goals.

- Writers Victoria maintains a free calendar of Opportunities and Competitions, but publishes more in their quarterly magazine which is a member perk. They’ll also often share job opportunities through their social media channels. I also still get the free e-news for Queensland Writers Centre and Writing NSW too because sometimes they share different stuff.

- I’ve heard Gotham Writers in New York is good too if you’re in America, but really I’d just suggest googling where you live and writers centre and seeing what comes up!

- Similarly festivals. I’ve worked at Brisbane Writers Festival and National Young Writers Festival here in Australia (the latter’s on online right now if you want to check out their free program!) Sign up to your local festival’s e-news, follow them on social media, they’ll usually share stuff.

- Speaking of! Social media! Haha. Twitter is often good for sharing jobs, competitions and opportunities, but I find it can be a bit of a cesspool too where people bombard the hashtags with self-promotion, so approach with caution. I find Facebook groups are way better for it personally, especially as there are a lot of specialized groups that are focused in certain or on certain writers. I know there’s lots for BIPOC writers for instance, I’m personally in a few and recommend:

Binders Full of WRITING JOBS

Binger Full of Copywriters

Style Binders – Writers in Fashion, Lifestyle and Beauty

Binder Full of Editors Seeking their Freelance Writers and Vice Versa

If you’re in Australia though, I’d especially recommend:

Women in Arts Management Collective (particularly if you’re interested in cultural production work)

Film and TV Networking Australia

Melbourne Women in Film

Writers Victoria Members

Australian Binder Full of Women Writers

Australian Arts Amidst COVID-19

Young Australian Writers

I think most of these are searchable, so just have a look, but also google your city or state + writer and see what pops up.

Otherwise, as much as it sucks to say it, a lot of the industry is who you know, so try and find ways to connect and meet with people and forge your own little community. Go to events – festivals, book launches, book clubs, join Facebook groups and in particular, if there are journals or magazines that are made in your local area, go to their launches and the events they run, no matter how big or small, and just chat to people there. As you get more established, you can be more discerning about what you go to, but when you're starting out, these are powderkegs of community and connection, and they breed suppport and, if you find the right people, you'll grow and develop together too.

Being a writer can often be pretty lonely, but being a part of supportive industry really makes all the difference, and as an old mentor of mine said – creative karma is real. You support the people coming up around you, and you’ll not only be creating a better, more inclusive and welcoming industry, but an industry that supports you right back. 😊

[johannstutt413]

(requested by mathmaticalknight)

‘Midnight, Midnight, Midnight, Midnight…’ The Doctor was looking through complaint submissions by their subject. ‘Midnight, W, Aak...W again? And Skadi submitted- wait, both of them? Now that is interesting.’ “Hey, Blue, could you call Skadi into the office and take a lunch while she’s here?”

“Yes, dear.” The Anura sent the Abyss Hunter a message and slipped her wallet off her desk and into her pocket. Confidentiality agreements meant she couldn’t be in the office while some HR stuff was happening, but hey, it meant she could get the two of them lunch while she was out, so it worked out.

A few minutes later, the door flew open to admit an orca, and a frog leapt past before she went straight into her concern. “The Reunion woman is stalking me, Doctor.”

“...Really?” Interesting. He leaned forward in his chair. “W is stalking you? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Most of the day, for two days.”

Well, it seemed to legitimately bother her, but the only solution he could think of was rather unreasonable, all things considered. “Have you tried confronting her?”

“I haven’t,” she replied disdainfully. “That’d only encourage her.”

“As would any sort of disciplinary action I could take against her without invoking the Martial Enforcement Declaration, and I don’t think Kal’tsit would be happy with me dealing with her like that.” Besides, if anyone was solving that Sarkaz’s life equation for 0, it’d be him.

Skadi glared at him. “Doctor-”

“Talk to her yourself first.” He propped his feet up on his desk. “If that doesn’t work, come back and we’ll talk again.”

“...Fine.” She turned to leave, knocking the desk into the far wall with a slap of her tail as she did.

As soon as the door was closed, W appeared a few feet in front of her. “Was that him or the desk hitting the wall?”

“What do you want?” The Abyss Hunter crossed her arms, sword slung on her back as usual. “Standing so close to me is asking for death.”

“I’ve always enjoyed banter while staring death in the face. Or, I suppose in this case, in the thighs.”

...Was this mad woman coming onto her? “It seems you’ve made your choice. What inspired your death wish, by chance?”

“The beauty of the inevitable disaster you bring with you.” The Sarkaz said it absolutely straight-faced, excepting her usual in-the-know smile. “You shake the earth with every step, cleave men with a single stroke, and salt the wounds of those you reject by insisting it’s for ‘their protection’ rather than yours. Noticing my pursuit visibly pained you, but that’s nothing compared to the look on Specter’s face when you denied her attention after she regained her memories of you.”

“You insolent devil, I push them away-” She stopped herself. Why should she give into her taunts?

Unfortunately, Skadi had already given herself away. “You’re a walking calamity, an eruption and a storm that’ll be the death of anyone and everyone you hold dear whether you’re out of the Abyss or not. I learned a bit about what it’s like down there while Kal’tsit was planning a trip there, so I know what you’re running from. You can’t outrun death, Skadi - yours or your friends’.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Temper, temper. “Hmmph. Even if you want to die so badly, I can’t be held responsible.”

“And you think that’ll stop me from admiring you from a distance? It hasn’t so far, you already know that much.” The Sarkaz absentmindedly played with an unconnected detonator in her off-hand.

The Abyss Hunter fumed for a moment, a sea vent clogged by debris, before sighing. “How do I get you to stop following me, then?”

“Let me admire you up close, obviously.” W took three steps forward. “You miss affection, and I miss caring whether someone lives or dies.”

“You want that weight on your shoulders?” 

She shrugged, the mask firmly in place. “It’s no fun being a rebel without a cause, and my cause is on hold while a certain hooded bastard remembers how bad he really is. Don’t you get cold in these pants?”

“Hey, I-I still haven’t agreed to anything yet!” Skadi slapped her hand away. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t change my answer.”

“Then how about a promise: you’ll die before I do, no matter what happens.”

That stunned her long enough to let her think it through as much as she was going to. “...If you can keep that promise? Fine.”

“That we are, that we are.” The Sarkaz pocketed the detonator and offered that hand to her. “Where’re we going now?”

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” The Abyss Hunter asked.

W laughed. “The only place I belong is covered in someone’s blood. Wherever you’re going, I’ll be there to watch the sparks spin out and the smoke clouds rise.”

“I was in the middle of watching some combat footage the Doctor gave me when he called me here.” The next few words were unimaginable, but she said them anyway. “You can watch them with me, if you’re so desperate for my company.”

“Blood sport and chill? I like the way you think~” With that, the Sarkaz glued herself to Skadi’s arm.

...and the Abyss Hunter had to admit, she did feel warmed right now.

[princepokemon]

I’m BACK. Again. 😨 Between my VERY long trip away from home and school, it’s been hectic but hopefully I can get back to posting semi normally again!

Figured I’d start out with a dump of DnD doodles from my last campaign featuring my favorite boy, Mani :)

Anyway, Mani! He’s a tiefling merchant who doubled as the group's pack mule. His travelling companions were Benny the gnome archeologist and Rahm the goliath Vagabond. 

I had a great time with my friends but unfortunately our DM dipped mid campaign and I haven’t played for some time.

Here’s the character background/motivation piece I had to submit for anyone who’s into that kind of stuff. It’s sloppy but it gets the job done lol

—-

Fear is a powerful motivator. Fear of failure and death, fear of beasts and blood or the fear of being known; Manok Rhodara has molded his entire life around fleeing it.

Born into a small family of laborers in a very large city, he spent his younger years watching his parents trapped in the endless cycle of poverty. They’d toil away with seemingly no end in sight yet he still longed for something greater. Nevermind the nobles that paraded around in their carriages adorned with jewels, the simple merchant walking the streets with a full belly and spare coin was something he could wrap his brain around. His elder sister Nefaria had mocked him for his ambitions, but he kept his head down and did his best to observe the shopworkers he admired, emulating them in his precious free time.

Dreaming and doing are two different things however. His mother, a talented painter, had never successfully sold a single painting. Manok would watch her weep in their room after a day of fruitless peddling; tears muddying the beautiful discarded landscape. No one wants to sully homes with the work of an impoverished devil kin. He held out hope that the world outside the city walls didn’t hold these grudges. A fateful afternoon with his father would quickly extinguish these thoughts though.

He had so often felt the stares of disdain from the other races that he rarely acknowledged them anymore but that day he remembered them feeling particularly sharp. As they strolled through the city making their usual stops to resupply, Manok pleaded with his father to visit the local jewelers. The shopkeep was a shrewd elf who had recently lost his apprentice and Manok was confident he could wrangle a position if he could just get his foot in the door. 

Relenting, his father agreed on the condition that they never step foot in the store again if the master rejected him. Though unimpressed, the shopkeeper miraculously agreed to start training him as an errand boy after some smooth talking and a bit of pitiful begging (until he could find a “suitable” replacement he’d said). In the owner’s words, “Put a hat on and you could pass for an elf. If you keep that tail hidden and your mouth shut you might have a chance at doing this right.”.

An unusual victory was quickly dashed by an unusual misfortune as an insidious bystander took advantage of the irregular pair, swiping a handful of gems and planting a few on his father. It wasn’t long before the situation quickly devolved into a heated shouting match with police in tow and that was all it took to throw his family’s life out of kilter.

The remaining Rhodaras were scrutinized by the law after his father was branded a thief and thrown in prison. Stall owners rejected their goods and they were banned from many parts of the city. The places they could walk freely, judgmental eyes followed their every move and attempted to imprison them over minor insurrections. His sister swore revenge while his mother fell into a deep depression. Confused and scared for his life, Manok did the only thing he felt he could do. Run. So he did.

He ran for weeks and weeks stowing away on boats and picking through trash. In the forests he drank rainwater and foraged familiar plants and bark he could recognize from the markets back home. He didn’t know the full extent of his travels until he was much older but he had trekked an entire continent away to the Forest Islet.

It was there deep in the woods untouched by man, that he stumbled upon a grand weeping cherry and the fae within it: Punella. It had been decades since a sentient soul had wandered their way into her mystical grotto and even longer since she had formed a pact. A glance at his sniveling face was all it took for her to pity the boy enough to reveal her form and administer her guardian test. Three simple trials to expose his true nature. He was reserved, studious, observant and very afraid but when the kind-hearted dryad offered her guidance, he recognized a great opportunity and never looked back.

He would maintain responsibility for her grotto and in exchange for his dedication she would grant him knowledge, magic and, most crucial of all, companionship. He spent the following years learning the arts of crafting and deception while honing his hunting skills. By the time he could truly call himself ‘self-reliant’ he was nearly 17 and his thirst for knowledge was full throttle. 

His favorite of all was illusory magic, creating baubles and trinkets to decorate his camp and make him smile. What started as a hobby grew into something marketable and it wasn’t long before he was imbuing attractive charms into delicate crafts he made from the surrounding forest. Even his patron was impressed.

The woods had their own charm, but camping in a shabby hut he pieced together haphazardly had gotten old long ago. To really make a change, he’d need materials he couldn’t find surrounded by the trees. For materials he’d need someone to supply them and….. money. After some gentle encouragement, he hatched a plan to try his hand at the market once. 

Once he mustered up the confidence to venture out, he traded pelts for books. Many, many books. He spent months pouring over encyclopedias and cultural commentaries. The main subject of his study was covering elves. He knew some of their mannerisms from his time in the city but his end goal would have him immersed in their lifestyle. His time in the city taught him that tieflings are easy victims and if he was finally getting the chance to delve into the world of commerce, he was going to do it right. He didn’t need to be perfect immediately but he had to appear legitimate enough to sell enough junk to build an adequate home.

With that, the life of Manok Rhodara was snuffed out and the adventure of Manolari Nym began. Despite spending his early teens isolated in the woods, he was able to appear warm and personable to the closest neighboring townsfolk. It wasn’t long until he developed a rapport with the local craftsman and was regularly completing projects with them during his trips out from the woods. He would never stay long and his mysterious nature prompted some rumors but somehow, impossibly, the world he’d dreamed of was within his grasp.

On cold nights he thought back on his time with his family and wondered what he could have done differently. He remembered the despair and panic; He remembered how he abandoned them to escape it. But he was happy now. His days with Punella were carefree and her gentle presence was a gift. The guilt could be aching, but Mani was willing to live that and far greater if it meant keeping what they had built together.

Life is a lottery with impossible odds. If you’re lucky enough, you might get to draw again. How far would you go to protect that second chance?

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch 3)

Chapter Three: Unusual Monday (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting! 

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga. 

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga 

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

You arrived to work Monday morning, coffee in hand, ready to start another usual week. Your boss had already unlocked the building and was sitting behind her desk, scanning over some paperwork. You mumble a “good morning” while heading to the break room to drop off your work bag. When you walk back out into the lobby though, your boss is eyeing you intently.

“So?” She asks, clearly holding back some excitement. “How was lunch yesterday?”

“It was fine,” you keep your face flat so as not to encourage whatever wild scenarios she might be concocting in her head. “He just had questions about quirk copying and transferring like most people do these days.”

“Sure,” your boss wasn’t giving up. “But he isn’t really like most people, is he?” You weren’t sure what aspect of him she was referring to, so you shrug. “Did you not watch the Hero Billboard Chart announcement last week?” She asks incredulously.

“No,” you admit. “I missed it because I had a video conference with that professor from America. I set it to record, but I haven’t gotten around to watching it yet. I saw the rankings printed in the newspaper though.”

“Did you pay attention to them? Hawks isn’t just any random hero,” your boss lectures. “He’s ranked number two in Japan.” The surprises just kept on coming.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” your boss shakes her head. “He’s actually the youngest person to ever make it into the top ten heroes.”

Apparently the bird man hadn’t been kidding about working fast. He was so young, yet he had already established his own agency and worked his way to the number two spot. It was very impressive, but it made you wonder even more about the case he was working on. It must be something serious, probably involving the League of Villains.

“Hey guys!” Simon the research assistant burst through the front doors suddenly, waving a tablet around. “This is incredible. I just got the results of the study! The findings were significant!”

“Let me see,” you take his tablet and did a quick scan of the data. “These numbers ARE outstanding,” you tell him, “but they’re wrong.”

“What?” his face falls as you reach over the desk and grab the stack of papers you’d left there the day before.

“I ran the numbers myself,” You tell him while handing back the tablet with the printouts. His eyes move back and forth between the papers and the tablet screen.

“I was so excited,” he says in defeat.

“The numbers aren’t bad,” you console him. “We can still publish, but we’ll need to do further testing if we want to make any real impact. We can talk about that later though. We should run the data through your program again together to see where you went wrong.” The kid seemed to perk up a bit as you headed to one of the labs. You worked with him for about an hour when your boss knocks on the door frame to get your attention.

“Your bird is here,” She was smirking. You’d never seen her smirk before. You tell Simon you’d be back in a bit while heading out into the lobby, wondering if this was a joke.

“You know,” you whisper to your boss, “one lunch meeting does not make him MY bird.”

“Some might say it was a lunch DATE,” she fires back.

“I think you’re the only one who would say that,” you tell her honestly.

She hadn’t been joking. Hawks was indeed waiting at the front desk, standing out with his bright red wings and devilishly handsome face. He smiles happily when he notices you and waves a gloved hand. “Long time no see!”

“Hello Mr. Number Two,” You wave back. Hawks lets out a short laugh.

“You looked me up, huh?” he asks in amusement.

“No,” you shake your head. “I was informed… against my will.” You tilt your head toward your boss who blushes a bit in embarrassment. Hawks took pity on her.

“Aw,” he smiles at her. “At least someone loves me.” Your boss looked like she might be experiencing extreme heart palpitations.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you two days in a row?” you ask Hawks. Teasing your boss was fun, but you really did want to know why he was back. Hawks reaches into his coat and pulls out a plastic folder with some papers inside.

“I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday,” He hands you the folder and you flip it open. “I talked to some people and got you access to the research center in Tokyo where they’re holding the captured nomus.” You could hardly believe what you were hearing.

“What? Are you serious?” you skimmed through the papers which contained confidentiality contracts and protocols for keeping the data private. It all looked legitimate.

“You’ll have to fill out all that paperwork,” Hawks grimaces. “Sorry about that. But once you submit the forms you’ll get a special badge that will grant you permission to enter the building.” You continued to flip through the pages for a moment, still in a state of shock.

“This is… unbelievable,” You look up at him. “Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it!” He grins, seemingly pleased with your reaction. “You’ll still have to take the trip out there too which is a pain. I’d offer to go with you, but I’m being sent back to Kyushu today. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Is there like, a catch to this?” You had to ask. “You just met me yesterday. Having direct access to those nomus is every scientists dream right now.”

“No catch,” Hawks puts his gloved hands together as a promise. “Well, except that I might come to you for help again in the future if that’s all right with you.” You had no idea why he would want to do that, but if it got you into the nomu research lab, you could accept it.

“Fine by me,” You put out your hand to seal the deal. Hawks grabs your hand and shakes it happily. His wings ruffle behind him and it reminds you of a dog wagging its tail.

“Awesome!” He nods his head. “Well, I’d better be off. I have a long flight back to my agency. It was nice working with you though.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you say honestly. “Travel safe.”

“Of course,” he smirks. “I’ll see you later then.”

Hawks was out the door a moment later, leaving you to wonder how all this was happening so suddenly.