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vera-king-hrfl · 2 months ago

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Heat of the Night part 8.

Apologies, but neither @crowwolf nor myself know anything about rugby. We just thought it was funny. Please don't come for me if I got stuff wrong, I tried to keep it kind of vague.

CW: poorly described sportsball

A few minutes before the game between the Rivington Roeths and the Lower City Lizards is scheduled to begin, Cal is standing near the sidelines of the brightly lit field, talking to Max and Dammon, when a familiar blaze of orange hair catches his attention. The handsome, muscular green elf is approaching with a big grin. "Hey Cal! Fancy meeting you here."

"Hykyath? I didn't know you played for the Roeths." He sticks out his hand and the wood elf shakes it enthusiastically, seeming excited about the match.

"Yeah, just transferred. How long have you been with the Lizards?"

"About two years now." Cal elbows the bigger man. "I didn’t know you fielded elves, Max."

Max looks from the tall elf to the taller tiefling, grinning. "Yeah, he's a little small for how we play, but he's fast as a fucking antelope so I decided to give him a chance. Don’t hurt him too much, eh, Cal?"

Cal chuckles, and Hykyath feigns offense. "I'll have you know I'm pretty big for an elf. Don't go easy on me; you might regret it."

"Certainly bigger than that one." Dammon is looking at the stands on the other side. "Hey Cal, is that him?"

Cal follows Dammon’s gaze and sees the slender drow, in his ripped jeans, a fitted pearl grey sweater, and little white sneakers. He's emerging from the drinks kiosk with a cup in his hand, and looks back over his shoulder as Cal watches.

He turns back to the guys and smirks. "Yeah, that's Ryldinn."

Max. "Holy shit, Cal, that guy is gorgeous. How did a bumbling little doofus like you manage to hook up with him?"

"Only little compared to you, Max. And, well, he kinda came on to me."

Hykyath looks impressed. "So you two are dating now? Good on you, Cal!"

Max looks a bit jealous, but his words are good natured. "Really. What you got that I don't, and how much you selling it for?" He grins, the caps on his tusks making the expression comical, and Cal snorts. "The guy with him isn't bad either."

Cal turns to see Astarion, in high-waisted charcoal grey slacks and a powder blue t-shirt, a matching jacket thrown over one shoulder. The pale elf had just emerged from the kiosk with a beverage of his own and is following the drow to their seats. Max whistles with appreciation. "Spiffy."

"I thought you weren't into that."

"I said I wasn’t into you, bud. I'd make an exception for that little angel."

Cal grins and slaps Max on the shoulder while Hykyath laughs at the big man's description of the bitchy pale elf. "I'll introduce you after the game and you can try your luck." He looks back, seeing that Ryldinn had noticed him. The drow waves, just a subtle little wiggle of his fingers in front of his chest, and sips from his cup. Cal grins at him and mimics the gesture.

The half-orc beside him chortles, and Dammon smacks him in the back of the head. "Hey Cal, time to start. Keep your mind off his ass and in the game, okay?"

Cal punches Dammon back, in the stomach, and the older tiefling grunts in an exaggerated show of pain. "Ooof, oh no, Max, I'm down! We'll have to forfeit."

The huge man just snorts and shakes his head, starting toward his team with Hykyath. "You’re both mental. Think I'm gonna win me some money tonight."

The game starts shortly after, a melee of big men running about, tackling each other, an energetic display of masculine mayhem, yelling and grunting. The two petite elves watch the scrum, trying to figure out what's happening.

"Hykyath seems to be doing well. I thought he was mad when he said he was going to be doing this." Astarion sips his drink, then smirks. "You know, if I'd known there would be so much thigh on show I might have done this sooner."

"Really?" Ryldinn looks at the incognito vampire with a raised eyebrow. Astarion’s eyes match his shirt today, a soft blue that bring his appearance closer to what the half-orc had seen.

"No. But it makes this barbaric display less intolerable."

"You wanted to come."

Astarion huffs. "There are a lot of very large men here Ryldinn. You tend to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Oh, I can handle that."

"Yes but this is a new suit. I never got the stains out of the last one. Besides. I want to be ready to call the medics when Hykyath gets mangled."

"Who wears a suit to a ball game anyway?"

"Well, I don’t know, do I? Im not exactly hip to what the beer swilling masses are doing."

They chat more while watching the players try to mow each other down, Ryldinn with interest, Astarion affecting boredom while sneaking peeks at the players' legs. They attract some looks, but nobody bothers them.

Ryldinn is more invested than his friend, fascinated by the heavy muscles of Cal's legs, the aggression, the speed and power of these men. And his tiefling seems to more than hold his own among them. He's barely paying attention to Astarion as the game progresses.

"Violent sport, really." The drow just nods a bit, the straw of his drink caught between his lips, absently gnawing at it when something exciting happens.

"What are you doing to that straw?"

Ryldinn pulls the straw from his mouth and looks at the sad, mangled thing, then shrugs and flips it over. "Wasn't paying attention."

Eventually, it's halftime, and the players retreat to their respective huddles to plan the second part. The Roeths are up by five, Dammon and Max loudly encouraging their teams to be more aggressive, faster. After ten minutes they organize themselves again and the confusing game resumes, Cal taking a position nearer to Dammon. The ball is passed to Hykyath, who proves to indeed be as quick as lightning. Cal is surprisingly fast for his size as well, however, and manages to take the slightly smaller elf to the dirt, there's a pile up, and after a few minutes of wrestling the teams reset further down the field.

Astarion leans toward Ryldinn as the men go on the attack again. "Do you know what's going on?"

Ryldinn shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"Hm. I suppose not. Oh, look, your boyfriend is going against that huge green fellow."

The half-orc has the ball now, dodging through the opposite team with startling agility. Cal takes an oblique angle toward him, there's a crash like two tankers colliding, and the pile covers them. Then they reset with Cal’s team controlling the ball.

Ryldinn is practically vibrating now, the sight of the strong young tiefling plowing through the other men making him feel a bit warm in his sweater, and he takes a long drink of his iced latte to cool himself.

"Ryldinn." Astarion’s voice intrudes on his ogling smally, like the vampire is ten seats away instead of practically in his lap. "Ryldinn!"

"Hm? Yeah what?"

Astarion huffs, noting the way Ryldinn’s thighs are pressed together, how he's squirming a bit in his seat. "What in the Hells is wrong with you? Were you even listening to me?"

Ryldinn chuckles. "No." He holds up his cup and frowns at his slightly shaky hand. "I think the vendor gave me caffeinated."

"Oh... well, shit." Astarion sighs and runs a hand down his face. "Wretched hells... you're going to fuck that big sweaty tiefling, aren't you?

"As soon as mortally possible."

The pale elf hmphs, glancing back at the game in time to see Cal’s team score. Ryldinn sets his cup between his knees to clap, and Astarion rolls his eyes. The game is now tied, and there’s a chance for an extra two points for the Lizards.

"Fine, just... remember what we talked about. I don't think..."

"Shh shh..." Ryldinn stops the chatter with a hand on the pale elf’s mouth. "Just let me enjoy this. We'll worry about all of that later."

The game ends with a writhing pile of sweaty men heaving over the goal line, there's a whistle, and everyone detangles themselves from each other with difficulty, laughing, play-fighting, and hurling good humored insults. The Lizards have won by two points. Ryldinn stands, clapping and bouncing on his toes a little, and Astarion sighs and gets to his feet as well, trying to pick Hykyath out of the group of rowdy guys. The players eventually break apart, some heading toward the locker room, some chatting in groups and splitting off to approach friends or family in the stands. Hykyath and Cal are walking toward the two smaller elves, smiling and ribbing each other, when Cal decides to remove the soft caps on the sharp tips of his horns, and then his shirt.

Ryldinn watches, going a bit still as the fabric is slowly pulled up his ruddy torso, revealing a lovely pattern of bumps and ridges on the sweat-slick chest and ribs. The sides of his cup compress a little, threatening to spill the remains of his latte on the floor, and Astarion catches his hand. "Watch that, you'll get coffee on your shoes."

Ryldinn makes a little sound, almost a whimper as Cal turns around to wave at some others, holding his shirt by his side. "Heh... fuck the shoes. I have more shoes. What are we talking about?" The tiefling’s ass is round and firm, the little love handles only adding an extra frisson of excitement to the powerful torso. Imagining what it might feel like to grab Cal there is throwing the drow completely off, and then he turns back around, coming closer, and Ryldinn has to sit back down for a second.

"Your fucking... oh never mind." The pale elf turns back to the other men, trying for an air of aloof unconcern, but it slips a little as he sees what Ryldinn had, and his eyes widen marginally. "Oh my. Are you sure about this, darling? The man looks like he could satisfy an ogress."

Ryldinn shakes himself and stands again, moving to the edge of the stands, weaving through the departing crowd, trying not to stare at the substantial bulge in Cal’s brief shorts. "I may not be able to walk straight, but I'll be godsdamned if I'm not going to try."

The elf and tiefling reach them, and Cal hugs Ryldinn over the railing, briefly, while Hykyath and Astarion share an air kiss. Ryldinn smiles, lowering his eyes and trying to control himself as Cal addresses them. "Hi, sweetheart. Hi Astarion. So what do you want to do now?"

The pale elf starts to answer, but Ryldinn interrupts him. "I was thinking we could go back to my place for a while..."

Cal grins, looking adorably shy and cute. "Uh... yeah. I'd like that. I need to shower, but then I'll..."

"Please don't," Ryldinn interrupts. "I like you the way you are now."

Cal raises his brows in surprise. "You do? I mean... okay, if you're sure."

The drow leans closer and inhales deeply. "Oh yes, I'm sure." His eyelids flutter slightly. "Mmm I shouldn't have done that. Alright, go get your stuff and say farewell to your friends. I will be here." Cal nods and starts toward the locker room, Ryldinn’s final, sensual words drifting to him through the cool night air. "Don’t keep me waiting..."

Hykyath contains himself until the tiefling is out of sight, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. "That was interesting, Ryldinn. I guess you do have a type."

Astarion huffs and rolls his eyes. "A type? I thought you were going to start humping his leg, darling. Could you be just a touch more subtle? It's embarrassing. Maybe I should just..." He starts to reach for Ryldinn’s cup, but the drow snatches it away.

"Uh uh. I'm thirsty," he says, taking another sip from the straw.

"You don't say." He sighs. "Fine, fine. I'm going to leave now, though. This is painful to watch. Call me tomorrow, alright? Meet me outside, Hykyath. After you shower."

"Mhm." It’s obvious that the drow isn’t really paying attention, though, so the vampire just throws up his hands and leaves while Hykyath retreats, chuckling, toward the locker room.

The tiefling shudders a little at the suggestive tone and speeds up, pushing through the door into the room where the other men are changing and getting cleaned up. He goes to his own locker and starts throwing his stuff in his gym bag, leaving out a clean shirt. Max and Dammon are a few feet away, and stop their conversation to watch him pack.

"Hey Cal, what's the hurry? You getting laid or something?" Max is grinning at him, but his smile, and Dammon’s, fade into surprise when the young tiefling answers.

"Looks that way."

Dammon whistles. "Well, shit. Uh, don't let us keep you."

Cal grins, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he zips the bag and tugs on the shirt. "Oh, I'm not."

The two men look at each other, their grins returning. Max chuckles. "Aren't you going to shower first?"

"Nope!" Cal shoulders the bag strap and heads back toward the door. "He says he likes it. Later, guys."

A loud, adolescent sounding Woooooo follows him out of the room and he chuckles to himself, returning a high-five from an approaching Hykyath, before the guys are forgotten and replaced in his head by Ryldinn’s silky legs, Ryldinn’s tight ass, Ryldinn’s soft lips. The man himself is still standing where he was, leaning against a post, but the pale elf had vanished. "Alright, babe. You ready?"

Ryldinn smiles sweetly and vaults easily over the railing, falling into step beside Cal, heading for the trolley stop. "You have no idea."

#bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 au #cal bg3 #bg3 cal #cal x ryldinn #ryldinn bg3 oc #ryldinn #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #heat of the night #part 8 #80s

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holmsister · 6 months ago

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This is a subtle and clever read that I mostly agree with.

It's worth noting however that in the canon shapeshifter explanation It's said that her Laios is heavily influenced by how shocking he found his masculine appearance compared to Falin. Falin told her Laios looked a lot like her, because they do look very alike to us, but to an elf, the expectation would be that they would look *even more* alike because their appearance would be *even less* clearly gendered. So it seems like elven gender roles do play a part in her perception at least on an aesthetic level.

I would argue that her perception of elven gender roles matters but only in the version mediated *specifically* by the infamous Daltian Clan novels. We don't know when those were written or what the author's background is. We do know that when we see Marcille's "fantasy man" in the succubus chapter he comes straight from the Daltian Clan, and his version of masculinity is very camp - I've said it before that it reminds me of shoujo heroes and tarakazuka review butches like Oscar from BeruBara. A performative version of masculinity for the benefit of a young female audience. We can guess that's the genre DalClan is written into - romance novels for young elven girls, possibly a bit antiquated (I don't see, say, Fleki or Otta being into all of that). If we imagine those novels were the place where Marci first came into contact with elven culture, then we can see how she acquired the *aesthetics* of elf gender at least when it comes to masculinity, but the gender *roles* she inherited are more typical of a tallman.

I think she's trying to make sense of what must be a very great mess in her mind. There's tallman-type and elven-type gender expectation she already knows she can't meet - she can't be a tallman housewife because she can't have children, she can't be a "good" elven woman, whatever that looks like, because elves hate half-elves on general principle. I think she's trying to navigate her own way towards her own gender understanding and expression - it makes sense, she's barely out of her teens in elven years, and she is obviously still deep in denial about her attraction to women.

I think she has fully accepted other elves Will never accept her. She doesn't seem interested in finding common ground with them at all. The only friendships she cultivates are with Falin, Laios, Chilchuck, Namari and Senshi - the latter two being notable because dwarves and elves are traditional enemies to the point that Marci's shapeshifter of Senshi is blandly coloured by this feud, and yet she NEVER ONCE brings up any kind of prejudice towards Senshi, not even at the very beginning when they are discussing his trustworthyness. The one time she loudly voices bigoted opinions towards other races is against orcs - and those are opinions tallmen share, too.

She might be influenced by elven aesthetics, but I think she is trying to be integrated into tallman society entirely, including tallman gender roles.

something has been bothering me ever since the discourse regarding marcille being conservative ir2 gender started rolling around. it doesn't bother me that it was said; it's obviously true based on the shapeshifters chapters. but people trace it back to her elvish background, and i think this is a sort of misunderstanding of elvish gender?

elves see themselves as androgynous and are interpreted as feminine by Everyone Else. there doesn't seem to be a very strict "feminine" or "masculine" presentation that elves must adhere to- mithrun is a manly ass elf. otta is a masc elf lady. lycion is a fem elf dude. the only thing i can imagine would possibly gender their presentation is their hair length (and boobs i guess? notably cithis and marcille are the only elves i can remember that really have a rack. anyways). this is a gender role in it of itself- androgyny without flexibility can and will be its own shackle. BUT this isn't the gender conformity that marcille reinforces!

marcille's childhood was incredibly lonely, and her closest friends for like 30 years were her parents. her parents, of whom were her tallman father and her elvish mother. her elvish mother who left elvish society to be a court mage for a tallman. her elvish mother who in ALL of her appearances is doing Housewife Things.

as an aside, don't you think it's interesting that falin considered accepting a proposal from someone she didn't even love because she feared it would be the only shot she had at getting married, implying that being married would make her more desirable? don't you think it's interesting how in laios' nightmare, his mother is pressuring him to have children? don't you think it's interesting how it's gender roles that are familiar to us are the gender roles that marcille seems to be trapped between?

marcille's problem is that she's applying that good ol' fashioned elvish superiority to tall-men gender roles.

#theres a lot of me projecting in this oh god #meowing to myself #meta #marcella #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #like... my idea of the gender roles proposed by the dalclan being akin to shoujo romance is all me #same for that being the first place were marci 'meets' elf culture proper #sorry added a cut because i realised how much i wrote

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silmaspens · 4 years ago

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Elven Fashion Week

Nandor elves- wear rich and vibrant earth tones, complimented with a silvers and turquoise. Nandor clothing is sturdy and easy to move in, but ornamentation is not sacrificed for functionality. Their hair is almost always a shade of brown and is worn either very long and braided or styled short and manageable.

Avari elves- don’t see the light all that much and both their collective complexion and clothing traditions reflect that. Like the Nandor they prefer long braided hair or short and sleek styles. They prefer the darkest clothing of all the branches of elves, which they accent with deep blues, rich purples and sometimes irredescent hues. They never wear anything shiny or flashy, but they are fond of embroidery as long as it’s subtle.

Teleri elves (Sindar & Falmari)- are almost the same people aesthetic wise. Clothing, adornment and hair styling are all practically the same save color schemes. Sindar adore darker blues and greens, while the Falmari are into pastel, or lighter colors, namely sea foam green and teal. Falmari elves absorb themselves in pearls, shells and corals, while their cousins the Sindar prefer silver and precious gems. All Teleri elves have varying shades of blue eyes. Silver hair is common in the Falmari while Black hair is more common in the Sindar.

Vanyar- long golden hair, amber eyes and sun kissed skin are the main features of this branch of elves. Each vanyar has a fondness/devotion to a specific Vala which they model their personal clothing after. Embroidered golden feathers or jeweled vines for Manwe or Yvanna, a radiating headdress for Varda or flowing robes that dance and shimmer like fire for Aule.

Noldor- unless they are busy crafting, their hair is worn free, very long and unstyled. Almost all of the Noldor have green eyes and black hair, with red hair being very rare (they are the only group that has redheads). Noldor will wear all the colors on the spectrum in a variety of styles. They have the most ornate clothing of all the elves, and are famous for their intricate embroidery and stunning jewelry which is always worn with tremendous pride.

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delldarling · 4 years ago

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the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time.

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try.

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled.

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here.

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away.

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those.

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners.

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar.

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips.

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard. ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!”

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer.

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks.

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales.

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?”

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier.

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting.

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist.

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting.

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-”

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs.

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand.

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?”

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand.

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away.

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand.

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed.

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips.

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

“Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever.

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed.

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction.

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed.

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils.

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about.

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

#exophilia #dragon boyfriend #dragon x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #d.darling writes

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stitchlesswitch · 4 years ago

Text

"Norse Mythology series" par Zorinblitzz.

I don’t follow Norse mythology but I came across this and I thought you guys might enjoy it. The quotes are from the post, and translated from French, so that’s why some of it might be off. The unquoted stuff is uneducated commentary by yours truly.

��- D ökkalfar, black elves live in the dirt and have a dark complexion.”

...this complexion isn’t dark but at least they didn’t use black face I guess. Whole thing kinda sus ngl

“- Freyja, Goddess of beauty and love, eroticism, daughter of Njord and a mother whose name is not known. She is the sister of Freyr with whom she forms a pair of parèdre. She is responsible for welcoming half of the fallen warriors into her personal hall, Folkvangr, the other half going to Odin's, Valhalla.”

Y’all never told me Freyja welcomes fallen warriors and has her own hall just like Odin?!? I’ve heard the word folkvangr maybe once. I knew there was more than one hall but not that Freyja had one, that’s bitchen. Surprised they didn’t do a picture for her sister

“- Hel, daughter of Loki, goddess of the dead without heroism.”

Nice, pretty bitchen ngl. That’s funny in the marvel movies they say “Hella” is the daughter of Odin not Loki. Hollywood lied to me 😔

“- Loki, God of fire, air of discord and sneaky, sons of giants Farbauti and Laufey. It's a trouble sower that could change shape. He plotted to kill Baldr and was mercilessly punished for this crime.”

I had no idea Loki was the god of fire. This depiction reminds me of Artemis

“- Mani, God of the moon, brother of S ól. He is being chased by the Hati wolf.”

That’s so cool because most personifications of the moon are feminine. I do remember tumblr telling me about the sun and moon being chased by the wolf. The wolf belongs to Hel, right? And when it catches them that’s the start of ragnorök. I genuinely don’t know sorry

“- Sif, Goddess of grain, wife of Thor, mother of goddess Thr ùd and sometimes of gods Modi and Magni. Mother of Ull from previous union. She has a golden hair (that Loki will cut her off) and represents fertility. She has the ability to take the form of a swan and would have the gift of prophecy.��

Thor had a wife?!

“- Skadi, Wife of Ull and former Woman of Njord, the god of the sea. She never agreed to live with her spouse. She is a giant of J ötunheim, mother-in-law of Vanes Freyr and Freyja, but is still considered an Ase.”

I have no idea if Ase is a mistranslation or not but why does this person look like a pretty snow princess

“- Sol, Sun Goddess, M áni's sister. She is being chased permanently by the wolf Sköll.”

Again, cool because most interpretations of the sun are masculine

“- Sutr, Fire Giant, King of Muspellheim. A co-creator of the 9 worlds, he will destroy them using his sword of fire at the end of Ragnar ök.”

Neat, would have made hair bright red though ngl

“- Vidar, son of Odin and giant Grid, called for revenge for his father's death during the Ragnar ök.”

Wait, that makes him a brother to Thor and Loki right?

#norse mythology #photography #art #norse polytheism #religion #cosplay #makeup

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britcision · 4 months ago

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Eyyyy you’re just about to get into the Canary shit! (Literally book 7 they show up book 8 it all pops off you’re gonna have a lovely time with my dear lil fucked up criminals)

Honestly the possibilities of the dungeon and apiary, like would it be something else the demon cooked up? Is it made to mess with parties, or just a natural occurrence alongside some of the monsters that just gets replicated?

(MITHRUN’S DUNGEON GAVE GODDAMN EVERYONE APIARY HOLY SHIT HE WAS SO HUNGRY TO BELONG TO SOMETHING 😭

It’s an optional freaking setting the elves can make guesses about the dungeon lord based on the monsters being seen, the presence or absence of treasure, chimeras, and fucking apiary rates I am DYING)

It’s just… one of the risks of the dungeon. You might die, you might run into monsters, you might get a new gender! It’s the life of an adventurer! Aaand sometimes why people retire

And listen, I’m a biology nerd at heart, if apiary is a communicable disease there are definitely people working on vaccines and preventatives and probably some folks trying for “cures”

(Potential here for: the apiary condition actually causes a host of other flu-like symptoms - or severe ones if we want sick-fic - and then you “recover” but you’ve contracted the gender as like. Antibodies

Your body has worked out how to fight off the infection, but it acquired gender to do it so if you lose the gender you then are at risk of getting the sick part again

This is a problem for genderfluidity and getting Real Weird Real Fast)

I looooove the social dynamics side of it, like the elves are just kinda casually dispensing apiary to all their nobles so they all fit in and actively preventing the lower classes from contracting it

The utilitarianness of assigning people as worthy or not worthy of different genders except like They Can Actually Do It

The half-foots basically getting apiary as an epidemic for Reasons Of Dungeon Exposure you will be seeing soon in Chilchuck’s backstory 👀

It’s non-lethal it just means a lot of them leave the dungeons with apiary and thennnnn well joining the union means hanging out with a lot of already infected folks so they just kinda spread it all around

I feel like the dwarves as a whole Do Not Do apiary cuz it’s an elf thing, it’s looked down on and maybe why Senshi and his crew ended up isolated in the first place…

(Although the dwarf social dynamics are actually super compatible with apiary, they’re all for their local communities and being One Of The Family with a side of violent ostracism for the nonconforming)

The gnomes are just vibing if you’re apiary you’re apiary they couldn’t care less in any direction, especially the Flokes who spend all their time with other humans anyway

The tall-men are all fractious as hell on it, it is a social stigma where Shuro’s from in the East, was normal as hell in Utaya, Kahka Brud’s a dwarf city so it’s probably looked down on there and it’s all just part of the mess of long lived folks trying to tell short lived folks how they should feel about things

Kabru ABSOLUTELY fakes apiary any time he thinks someone else has it and he Will switch his “designation” based on what he thinks will help him the most, usually among the more passive “feminine” sets if he wants someone more experienced to do something for him, and the more “masculine” sets when he wants people to follow him into dangerous places

He has a homing instinct for Godivas (his landlord does his fucking laundry for him that man is a Godiva) because they’ll take care of him for minimal Cute Baby Bee action and it makes every single one of his interactions with Mithrun INFINITELY worse

Cuz Kabru plays up to the Godiva tells he can spot in Mithrun but gets confused when he gets literally nothing back, except that unbeknownst to both of them Mithrun’s needs have been ratcheted to 11 by this and he’s 1 second away from going full feral

(Kabru takes like an extra few hours to notice “wait shit does this mean you don’t feel your apiary needs????” After he has the bathroom revelation and Mithrun just stares at him blankly like “why the hell would it not include those”

And then Kabru has to try and work out how the fuck to soothe those Godiva needs himself the whole reason he hits those buttons in other people is so he never has to learn how to take care of himself this is Divine Punishment

(Rin is Unbelievably Smug about the whole thing this is exactly what she was expecting to blow up in Kabru’s face) )

Kabru spends the entire rest of their adventure accidentally slotting himself into different apiary roles based on what he wants Mithrun to do and just None Of It Works, it is the worst thing in the world but it does forcibly break his habit of trying to overmanipulate every situation

Because Mithrun just stares at him for 3 seconds and then says “Ivanhoe” or whichever Kabru’s trying to slot into and reads him for filth in one word and keeps doing whatever he was doing anyway

(Young Mithrun ABSOLUTELY also played apiary games for fun and profit he could fake any gender he wanted)

Cithis keeps almost sucking him back into it once she reaches them because she’s also onto his shit (it’s her shit they’re soulmates /derogatory) and thinks it’s funny cuz the one thing Kabru is less good at than he thinks he is is being the queen

He’s just never seen another one

He can tell she’s not apiary it’s not required for queening but she also Really Should Not Be In Charge???? But she is and it actively fucks Pattadol up just. Constantly.

Cuz Pattadol’s still coming into her apiary and she Knows Mithrun is the one in charge, and the queen of the elves is the Queen for all the goddamn elves, but Cithis is Right There expertly pushing every single button and Pattadol doesn’t even know her own gender yet and she is Suffering

Can I inflict a thought on you?

Apiary dynamics dungeon meshi party. It's an affliction that's technically non-human in origin. It makes all of their specific tendencies even worse. They can only separate so far. Everyone can only deal with some of the consequences.

-Faer

👀

I mean I’m chewing my way slowly through the omegaverse version so it’s not out of my way

(The elves have weaponized their omegas’ “if the fight gets to us it’s to the death IMMEDIATELY” lack of chill to form the Canaries)

I gotta do a rerun through the levels but off the top of my head I am gonna start unconventional

Chilchuck’s the queen

It’s his dad energy. He doesn’t necessarily accept anyone he works with into the hive, but all the half-foots are his and hooboy does it make him cranky to be away from the guild HQ

But he couldn’t let any of his people go down to the dungeon as deep as Laios and Falin were planning, so he dusted off his gear and assumed it’d be quick

Except

Falin caught Apiary

And Chilchuck has not yet worked out how to get her into his hive-union cuz she’s definitely not a half-foot, but the adoption process already started

(Godiva’s tempting for Falin with her healing to have the nurse/caretaker role, but she’s just so bonk happy I’m going with Arcadia. She likes to go and collect things and gather up the bugs and bring people snacks, she basically did not notice any change

She’s just. Slightly more insistent that people eat the things she brings them. And more likely to run off after shiny things)

None of them know Chilchuck’s a queen, and at first it was only Falin so he was just Suffering but making do

But Falin died

And that’s his goddamn hivemate he’s not going anywhere like it or not - maybe being estranged from his bio kids (they did not agree to move and join the union and he’s. Not up to trying to persuade them.) makes him overly aggressive, or just overly protective and unusually likely to risk himself rather than his hivemates

(He’s still not goddamn fighting and you can’t make him this is what he has hivemates for!)

Senshi is sitting on the Arcadia/Godiva line too, because he is a hive of one but did not question why he fell so easily in with Laios (Chilchuck’s) group

(Chilchuck is not sure how he keeps acquiring all these other definitely-not-half-foots as hivemates (it’s because you keep leaving the hive and miss your kids sir you’re pack bonding with rocks) but dammit he’s got another one)

Marcille and Laios don’t catch apiary until they get hit with the dryad spores in the dungeon’s depths, but they’re both Ivanhoes so there are no immediate consequences if you don’t count them both suddenly getting way more protective of the others

Izutsumi is Izutsumi

Both Flokes are Godiva, Tansu’s the queen and yes this is why they acquire new grandbabies so readily

And because I’m Basic™️, the Canaries!

Cithis is not apiary but she can and will steal every single fucking hive she sees, immaculate queen vibes

Lycion’s a Godiva, natural caretaker who is the tank pretty much by default so he gets antsy when he has to do combat chores rather than tending to his hive

Fleki isn’t apiary but she’s godiva-sexual because godDAMN she needs someone competent to take care of her and she likes belonging

Otta has had shots to prevent catching apiary but they make her read like a Libertine (drone) to the other bees. She is very okay with this

Pattadol has only just got her anti-apiary shots but it might be too late for her tbh

Flamela’s a Quixote, she caught it from her twin after they got a visit from the capital (mmmmmm high rates of apiary among noble elves? Maybe?), her twin was being raised to be the next queen but Flamela’s just waaaaaaay too aggressive and wants to stab everything

This makes it significantly harder for her to work with Mithrun, who was a Quixote before he got broken by the demon and is now a deeply fucked up little Godiva

(because he really does try and save every single dungeon lord. All of them. He wants to help them, get them away and let them recover too. And if they won’t he’ll kill them)

This leads to them butting heads all the harder because Flamela’s instincts insist Mithrun should be the one sticking behind her and letting her go do the dangerous shit, but all of their orders INSIST Mithrun go running face first into danger and she has to hang back

And neither of them are gonna disobey the queen but Mithrun’s just not particularly connected to his gender for anything except the dungeon lords, so he doesn’t act like a Godiva except when he’s around a dungeon, and then he’s full Mama Bear and you stay the fuck outta his way until he determines if this dungeon lord is Baby (to be saved) or Toast

(He still doesn’t feel any of his apiary needs either, but the squad try and feed those for him by eating in front of him and taking care of him alongside their own care routines, so they can make sure he’s alright and he can see they are too

Most of that falls on Lycion as their other Godiva but it feeds his gender needs too so it all works out)

Milsiril’s actually secretly winning the record for Most Broken Godiva though (she hoards children, easy) because she constantly craves a caregiving role, but her own special brand of dungeon PTSD and asocial personality disorder make it extremely hard for her to actually form the interpersonal bonds that would make it satisfying for her

So her serial-parenting of shorter lived folks gets drastically worse, she’s the most helicopter of helicopter parents, and occasionally (regularly) leaves any trip to town with more kids than she started with

Milsiril is no longer allowed to go into town

She also absolutely did try and kidnap Mithrun into her hive rather than letting him go to fight the demon, it was 1000% a trap but because she can’t form bonds well and Mithrun can’t form bonds at all he basically wandered off one day while the kids were being noisy and they both forgot about the whole thing

Milsiril doesn’t remember it until Kabru mentions meeting Mithrun after everything’s over so she does make another vague ploy to kidnap him but Mithrun’s busy making noodles with Senshi and doesn’t notice

Kabru has had every apiary shot and takes his meds every day he is NOT catching what Milsiril got… but he’s real good at spotting it in others and playing it up

Edit: for anyone wondering about apiary:

@faeriekit I dunno if you expected this much but if not you should have by now 😅

#dungeon meshi #apiary genders #🐝🐝s #delicious in dungeon #apiary gender #apiary au

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arofili · 4 years ago

Note

HCs about Elemmírë?

Oh man, for a character we have next to no information about other than “Vanya” and “sang a really sad song about the Trees,” I have a lot of headcanons for Elemmírë!

First of all, Elemmírë is named after a heavenly body (possibly Arda’s version of Mercury?) and the name is not given in either a masculine or feminine form, so we don’t know Elemmírë’s canon gender. This of course means that Elemmírë is trans, you can’t change my mind! I’ve seen depictions of them as nonbinary, which I love, but personally my Elemmírë is a trans woman!

All the rest of my headcanons are pretty much made up whole cloth :)

I intended to make like, a bullet point list of headcanons, but I ended up referencing my recently created personal timeline of the Years of the Trees and the First Age, and...it kind of expanded into an essay on Elemmírë’s role in the larger story of that verse of mine. So, under the cut is a roughly 2,000 word essay on my take on this blank slate of a character!

Elemmírë is one of the Unbegotten elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. When she awoke, everyone assumed she was a male elf, which didn’t really sit right with her but she didn’t know how to express herself at the time. For the first part of her life she lived as a nér.

Elemmírë has a sister*, Calima (one of my OCs). Calima marries an Avar, who she manages to drag with her on the Great Journey despite his reluctance to go West. Right before Ulmo takes the Vanyar and the Noldor to Aman, Calima’s husband leaves her and disappears into Taur-im-Duinath...but not before Calima becomes pregnant. Elemmírë comforts her and supports her through the birth of her child, Elenwë - the first child to be born in Aman.

*(My headcanon around Unbegotten siblings is that some elves woke with soul bonds that connected them to other elves, which while they aren’t genetically related, they consider to be siblings of their fëa. This is the case for Elwë, Olwë, and Elmo; I also gave Nowë (Círdan) and Ingwë OC siblings. Finwë is a loner, which is part of why he’s so concerned about creating and keeping a marriage bond...)

While Ingwë is busy building Tirion with Finwë, his sister-in-law Alcariniel (the mother of Indis; her spouse died on the Great Journey and has yet to be reborn) leads some of the Vanyar to the foot of Taniquetil and founds what will become Valmar. Calima, Elenwë, and Elemmírë go with Alcariniel.

At this time, Elemmírë enters into the service of Varda. She develops a close relationship with her Vala, and feels more comfortable in the beautiful starry robes and among the company of mostly priestesses than she ever did in the more gendered Vanyarin society. She sings and composes hymns to Varda and the heavens.

About a century later, Elemmírë is an established and well-renowned musician in Valmar. It is then that she meets Findis, daughter of Indis, when Findis is visiting Taniquetil with her grandmother Alcariniel. Findis greatly admires Elemmírë’s songs and engages her in a discussion about poetry; the two quickly become friends.

After another hundred years or so, Findis’ half-brother Fëanáro has his fourth child. Finwë invites his whole family to the celebration; Findis now lives in Valmar and does not always attend these begetting day parties, but she happens to be in Tirion for the occasion - with Elemmírë, who tags along to the party.

At the celebration, Makalaurë (a young teen in Elf Years) sings a piece he wrote for his new baby brother, and Elemmírë is greatly impressed by his talent and offers to teach him personally. He’s had music tutors before, but none so renowned, and he is absolutely star-struck. Fëanáro has an inherent distrust of the Vanyar, but he cannot deny his son anything, especially when it comes to furthering his craft, so he agrees to let Elemmírë teach Makalaurë, on the condition that she move to Tirion. Findis offers to move back as well, so her friend won’t be alone; they move in together.

A few years later, Elemmírë takes her star student Makalaurë to Valmar so he can perform at her niece’s 200th begetting day party. This is, of course, Elenwë; Makalaurë is immediately besotted with her, and does his best to impress her. Of course, Elenwë is well into adulthood and Makalaurë is still an awkward adolescent, so nothing ever comes of this, but they do eventually become friends.

All this time, everyone has assumed that Elemmírë is a nér, but with every passing year she becomes more and more certain that is not actually the case. At last she confesses to her dear friend Findis that she thinks she might be a nís, and while Findis isn’t quite sure what that means at first, she’s very supportive and encourages Elemmírë to go to Varda with this revelation.

I do operate in a verse where some homophobia and transphobia exist in Aman, kind of accidently put into place by a well-meaning but ultimately harmful decision by Manwë, but Varda is significantly more chill than her husband. She doesn’t really get what Elemmírë is saying, but she supports her servant’s change in expression. Elven gender roles are pretty loose, so it’s not really that much of a difference, and with Varda’s support Elemmírë feels more confident in herself and comes out to the public.

Most elves, especially the Vanyar, likewise don’t really get it, and privately they still see her as a nér, but there is a firm taboo against rudeness which means they will refer to Elemmírë with the correct pronouns and honorifics and such because it would be incredibly rude not to. The discomfort with someone else’s non-normative expression is easier to deal with than the social impropriety of deliberately refusing to respect someone’s wishes about their personal identity.

This, along with Varda’s kind-of-confused-but-she’s-still-got-the-spirit support of Elemmírë means it’s a pretty smooth transition process for her. Since her name isn’t gendered, she decides to keep it, and she is much happier now that she can express her true self. She also has a staunch ally in Findis, who she has recently begun courting.

Again, there is some homophobia in my verse, and two níssi in a relationship is generally frowned upon, but the half-acceptance of Elemmírë’s gender allows them to exploit a loophole in that particular Law/Custom. Manwë, at least, still sees Elemmírë as a nér, and so doesn’t see anything wrong with her dating Findis. It’s not the ideal situation, but Elemmírë and Findis aren’t really the “fight the system” type, so they’re content to live with the happiness they’ve been allowed.

Eventually, Makalaurë reaches his first coming of age** and Elemmírë takes her student on a tour of all Eldamar to show off how exceptional a musician he has become. He is declared a master singer, and leaves Elemmírë’s side to pursue mastery in instruments, beginning with the harp. His teacher couldn’t be more proud.

**(In my headcanon, elves have two coming-of-age ceremonies: one when they reach age 50, and are considered physically mature and old enough to be given more freedoms in their decisions, including now being of a socially acceptable age to start dating; and the other at age 100, where they are considered a Full Adult and able to marry. Sometimes elves marry younger than that, but it isn’t super common. Age pretty much stops mattering, especially when it comes to age gaps in relationships, when an elf is about 150.)

Not long after this, Elemmírë and Findis get married! Makalaurë performs his then-masterpiece at their wedding. Also at the wedding, Findekáno is caught up in all the glorious romance, and the possibilities of same-gender marriage now that two níssi (one a princess!) can be wed, and confesses the depth of his love for Maitimo. Maitimo...immediately panics and brings up all the reasons why their love is doomed, how their aunts are the exception and not the rule and besides there’s that loophole they’re taking advantage of that doesn’t really work for néri like us - but notably does not deny that he feels the same way. Findekáno is heartbroken by the rejection; Maitimo is terrified of his feelings and distances himself from his beloved cousin for a time.

But of course that doesn’t last long - and it’s at the celebration of the birth of Laurefindil, Findis and Elemmírë’s son, that Maitimo brings himself to reconcile with Findekáno...platonically. Of course. Until a few months later where he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down and confesses he can’t deny his feelings any longer, and they get together at long last.

Findis, Elemmírë, and Laurefindil return to Valmar and settle down there. Laurefindil is buds with both his Vanyarin cousin Elenwë and his oodles of Noldorin cousins. At his first coming of age celebration, he introduces his cousin Elenwë (on Elemmírë’s side) to his cousin Turukáno (on Findis’ side), and Turukáno immediately falls madly in love and begins some intense pining that will rival even his older brother’s romantic dramatics.

As strife grows among the Noldor, Findis and Elemmírë distance themselves from Tirion as much as they can; Makalaurë is pretty much the only Finwëan who is allowed to visit them. However, Laurefindil misses his Noldorin cousins and, after his second coming of age, chooses to move to Tirion and join his grandfather Finwë’s court. He becomes even closer to Turukáno (who has by now married Elenwë) and is very loyal to his older cousin.

At the Darkening, Elemmírë is deeply grieved at the destruction of the Two Trees, and it is then that she composes her most famous song, the Aldudénië, “Lament for the Trees.” Her grief is compounded when her son chooses to go into exile with his Noldorin kin - and, almost worse, when her niece Elenwë chooses to leave as well.

Elenwë is the only Vanya who leaves (well, the only Vanya who is fully culturally Vanyarin without any Noldorin ancestry), mostly because she cannot bear to be separated from her husband and young daughter, but also because she knows the story of her Avarin father who stayed behind in Endórë and hopes that she will meet him on the hither shore. (Unfortunately, she perishes crossing the Ice. Idril will eventually meet her maternal grandfather, but not until just before she and Tuor sail West. Elenwë is reborn in Aman shortly after the founding of Gondolin; she reunites with her Vanyarin family and with her good friend Amárië.)

I don’t have a whole lot of headcanons for Elemmírë and Findis during the events of the First Age; they live mostly a quiet life. I think Elemmírë rededicates herself to the service of Varda, and pleads with her Vala to show mercy for the Noldor in their need. (Perhaps that helped to convince Varda’s husband to send an eagle to Thangorodrim?)

When they hear of Laurefindil’s death in the Fall of Gondolin (because of course Glorfindel followed his favorite cousin Turgon to his hidden city, and got a noble house out of it!), Elemmírë and Findis grieve his loss all over again. They don’t know how long it will be before his rebirth, and they soon decide to have another child together. This is their daughter, Faniel, who grows up on stories about her brother’s bravery.

Eventually Glorfindel is reborn, and he has a few good centuries in Aman with his family (and his husband Ecthelion, who he finally gets to marry; they had gotten betrothed the day before Gondolin fell, RIP) before the Valar send him back to Middle-earth to play the hero again. Elemmírë and Findis are once again heartbroken to lose him, but they are at the same time incredibly proud of their son for his bravery and dedication to all things good in the world. This time, he leaves with the blessing of Varda, his mother’s patron Vala, and a promise that he will return when his task is complete. He does, but not until the Fourth Age, when he sails back to Valinor with Elladan and Elrohir!

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y-rhywbeth2 · 6 months ago

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Naming Systems #2

Elves and Drow, part 1 (and people descended from them)

Given names | Surnames (Houses)

Given names may in fact be a big deal, as are clan and house names. Elven names are not the most pronounceable in the world.

Shockingly(!) the elves have a stupid amount of lore and then I got carried away examining sourcebook names and created a self-indulgent monstrosity. Once again, this is one part canon and one part educated guessing.

Long post:

Elves have their given names and their surname.

Child names are a long since antiquated practice amongst the elves of Toril, and the name given to a child at birth is normally their given name rather than one they had to 'earn.' Nobles are known to name their heirs after themselves; so you can get Garynnon I and his son Garynnon II. There's a trend of giving half-elven children gender neutral names.

Apparently discarding/changing your name is frowned upon: "An [elf] can of course have almost any birth name, and will rarely change it out of shame."

For surface elves the surname is the name of the commoner clan or noble House (or high House) they were born into. Although apparently: "they tend to dislike the term “clans” as being “too dwarvish”", so even if you're not a noble you're liable to refer to your family as "house [name]." The line between noble and commoner families is blurrier and more prone to fluctuation amongst elves anyway.

For Lolthite drow only the nobility and those who hold titles may use the House name as their surname. It is also forbidden for a House to have a name that begins with L, lest we tempt Lolth's wrath or amusement (depending on her mood). Both moods are to be avoided.

Houses all have family crests and house colours, the latter of which I believe members of the house (meaning relatives and servants who work for the family) are supposed to wear to show their affiliation.

Some moon elven houses, and a few wood elven, appear to have officially translated their house names into Common. "Moonflower," "Hawksong," "Silverspear." The gold elves have not, likely because the majority would sooner see their lineage go extinct before doing that. Even the progressive ones are raised in a culture that considers preservation of unchanged elven culture as a god-given duty.

Noble houses all have their histories and colours and etc, and they took up an insane amount of space so a brief overview of those is a part 2.

In the meantime here are some vague surface elven house names who don't have detail that I know of, so you can make up whatever:

Surface: Amalith, Braegen, Calaudra, Eveningfall, Laelithar, Moondown, Tarnruth, Arruar

And here are some commoner drow surnames:

Xiltyn, Ghaun, Luen, Illistyn,Jusztiirn, Dalael, Hune, Vrinn, Abaeir, Pharm, Quavein, Blaerabban, Blundyth, Argith, Omriwin, T'sarran, Veladorn, Dhuunyl, Mlezzir, Naerth, Olonrae, Zaphresz, Xarann, Wyndyl, Tlintarn, Seerear Yogh'il'rymmin

Performers and such may take "stage names", and elves who are going to be misbehaving will also take aliases "to avoid having their deeds reflect on their family (and perhaps mar ongoing house negotiations with others)."

An elf not using their house name usually goes for a sort of portmanteau in Common: "Fireblade," "Eveningfall," "Neverdeath."

"Many elves who live and work among humans (i.e. members of an adventuring band) adopt a “humans can call me this” surname that’s a portmanteau of a hue and a living thing/natural feature (like Blackrose, or Bluewater)"

Some word of god and some observations about pronunciation:

"Faerunian elves don't normally use D or F or hard-K to begin names"

Although there are exceptions, because I've definitely seen names beginning with D, F and K. -

Vowels may shift. Saevel and Saeval may be seen, -ian, might become -ien or -ion. -

Masculine endings tend to end in consonants, which can be feminised by adding an "a" or "e" onto the end. The "e" doesn't get pronounced, apparently, it stresses the final consonant. ("Kele" = "KeLL"). Sometimes elves and half-elves - particularly genderfluid and nonbinary elves - drop or add the vowel as per their current mood. An example given was a genderfluid half-elf who goes by either Phandarl or Phandarla. Names aren't necessarily exclusively male or female because of that; you can still find elven guys with vowels on the end of their names and ladies who don't. I observe that Drow women seem more likely than surface elven women to not bother with the feminisation of their names. Or possibly it's not part of the dialect. -

Pronunciation and rules shift a little by dialect (a moon elf from Evereska likely does not speak the same as a moon elf from Evermeet nor a green elf from Shilimista; drow in the north would pronounce Lolth 'LOW-th,' spelt like 'Lloth' while others further south might say 'LO-ul-thh,' etc) -

"all the elven names ending in "ael" can be used by any gender" "All of the "-une" elven names can be used by any gender."

"Many half-elves in the Realms seem to bear the "une" and the "ael" names as given names" -

Three syllable names seem to be the average. Two-syllable and four-syllable names are also possible. It seems like the longest, hardest to pronounce names are favoured by nobles. -

No dark elves, regardless of faith, will have names that sound like the name of a deity. It's viewed either blasphemy or inviting bad luck.

The drow dialect has harsher sounds: harder and more frequent consonants, more double consonant's ("mm", "nn", "rr") and buzzing/hissing ("zz" "sz" "ss"), and include a lot of ' , which I think means glottal stops? "Si'Nafey" or "Do'Urden".

Names beginning with "Ch" tend to be drow. -

" "Ph" is used for "F" ." Although it seems that the first f becomes ph, while if it's not in the start of the sentence it is written "f". So Phandarl, but if you add a third slyllable, Arlfandarl.

Judging by Angaradh, "dh" is pronounced like a soft "th" (sooth) and "an" at the start of a word/name is pronounced "awn", like "awww, how cute". SImilarly "am" -> "awm", "arav" -> "awrav," etc

We're entering pure hypothesis stages now, but as time goes on you begin to realise there's a lot of Celtic stuff here (like literal Welsh names like Rhys) so I'd imagine that "th" is a harder variant ("that")

"dd" is probably a dialectal variant of "dh", so soft th again.

and "ch" is a kind of back-of-the-throat growl/hiss noise. If you speak German or Arabic or something you probably get the idea, liebchen.

While there are differences between dark elven and surface elven (and they come in dialects, beside) there is still overlap, so you could still build a drow name out of the same syllable pool as surface elves.

"Nym" remains a common name for elves of all subraces.

Example drow names:

Feminine: Sabrae, Faeryl, Phaere, Olorae, Alauniira, Angaste, Briza, Chalithra, Elvanshalee, Quarra, Lualyrr, Si'Nafey, Li'Neerlay, Xune, Vierna, Talice - Masculine: Nym, Sorn, Belgos, Guldor, Solaufein, Bhintel, Hatch'net, Tluth, Welverin, Seldszar

Example surface elf names:

Neutral: Alael, Imizael, Lune, Lyrune, Belrael, Cathael, Tarune, Eluael, Rune, Gelthael - Masculine: Galan, Glaranal, Llombaerth, Elandorr, Eltargrim, Imbryl, Filaurel, Jharym, Maiele, Uthorim, Ardryll, Tehlmar, Iefyr, Delmuth, Dhoelath, Faerondarl, Luthais, Lhoris, Ornthalas, Naeryndam, Braern, Ajaar, Laosx, Edicûve, Uldrein - Feminine: Elandorr, Braerindra, Melarue, Alea, Shalantha, Saelihn, Tiatha, Meira, Ildilyntra, Halanaestra, Nuala, Yrlissa, Namyriitha, Itylra, Talanashta, Maaleshiira, Eallyr, Gylledha, Anaharae, Ysmyrl'da, Symrustar, Nlaea

----------------------------------------------------------

And now the part where I lost my mind while breaking up the names of elves in Cormanthyr: Empire of the Elves and Elves of Evermeet.

If you're not here to bash together vaguely "canon" sounding elf names there's no more canon to glean from here on.

This was entirely self indulgent.

As with the human name post, the idea is you take syllables from broken appart canon elven names and stick them together with the endings.

So pick a syllable (Bel) pick an ending (-uth) = Beluth. Then you can make it sound "more feminine" by sticking on a vowel. Beluthe, Belutha, Beluthae, whatever.

Some elven names are three syllables or more, so (A) Abeluth, (Orn) Belornuth. I feel like mixing syllables that begin with vowels and syllables starting with consonants works best.

A, Aer, Aul, Am, An, Ath, Arav, Al, Ala, Ana, Aun, Aur, Aush, Aja, Ahsk, Ahren, Ash, Axil, Ard, Arl, Aneir, Anth, Aath, And, Alaun, Alys, Ang, Angh, Ans, Arath, Ava Bel, Byr, Bra Car, Cel, Cor, Cath, Con, Cys, Clu, Cshar Cheyr Daun, Daunt, Delm, Dosh, Da, Dath, Das, Dyf, Dann, Dil, Dilyn, Din E, El, Eil, Enor, Elid, Ey, Eyr, Ed, Edyr, Eis, Eval, Er, Erev Phyr, Phae, Phan, Phand, Phra Fel, Fen Gal, Gar, Gelth, Glyn, Gyl, Gw, Goron, Garyn Ha, Han, Hen, Has, Hanal Hang, Har, Hara, Hael, Iliv, Ilyr, Imiz, Im, Is, Iliph, Ilph, Ilf, Isc, Ief, It, Il, Illit, Ili Jas, Jon, Jast, Jhaum, Jaon, Jhar Kend, Khal, Khys, Kuorn, Kaeth, Ker, Kiss, Kus, Kusk, Kat, Kiar La, Lath, Lav, Lyr, Lhor, Luth, Las, Lash, Leoj, Lysan, Lov, Lif, Les, Lym, Min, Mol, Mord, Mand, Mour, Mar, Myr, Maal, Moth, Mi, Myrdd, Mei, Myrl Naeth, Narth, Nym, Nam, Naer, Ny, Nu, Nel, Nyl, Nid O, Orl, Orn, On, Otaerh, Om, Par, Pyw, Pel Quam, Qaer, Que Rath, Res, Rui, Rhis, Raer, Raeth, Rath, Rathi, Rai, Raib, Ruv, Rhang, Rych, Rynnhm, Rhys, Rhal, Rel, Ril Se, Seh, Sol, Ser, Sel, Sash, Saev, Sym, Syn, Sa, Sand, Susp, Sab Shi, She, Shy, Shyr, Shiir, Sha, Shal, Shel, Shri Tra, Tel, Tar, Tath, Taen, Taegh, Tal, Talin, Talind, Thal, Tehl, Thiil, Tan, Tiath Thel Un Var, Vrae, Vaer, Vhaer, Vand, Ves, Vest, Vier, Vyr, Vor, Vorl, Ven, Vol, Vet Wyl, Wylch Yas, Yauv, Yal, Yr, Yn, Yrth, Ys Xan, Xand Zorth, Zan, Zand, Zaor, Zil

Sounds more common with Drow: Akor, Af, Ax, Agg Briz, Bur Clav Chal, Char, Chess Div, Driz, Duag Gin, Gauss, G'eld, Grey, Gul Hatch', Houn Jeg Kren, Kel, Krond, Kron, Kal, Lauf, Lau Omar Que, Quil Rizz, Ssap, Sab, Sol, Szor, Szord Ul, Url Vic Wu, Waer, Wen, Wel, Wod Yond, Yon, Yazs Xull Zak, Zeb, Zar

Sticking a "th", "v" or "r" in front of a vowel sometimes happens.

M: -ar, -as, -al, -all, -an, -ash, -am, -aud, -arl, -aln, -arm, -ais, -aern, -ael, -aor, -un, -el, -ell, -eth, -ew, -eith -edd, -enn, -edh -iah, -ian, -is, -il, -in, -im, -ik, -iith, -iis, -iir, -iil -oun, -os, -on, -uth, -unth, -yr, -ym, -yk, -yf, -yl, -yll, -ymn, -yrm, -hyn, -rik, -ryll, -rys, -ros

F: -adh, -ae, -ie, -aeris, -ea, -ue, -ain, -ra, -ta, -ya, -lissa, -icca, -ii, -nii, -eyr, -ali, -'da, -ria, -la, -aar

N: -uil, -ael, -une, -as, -rynn, -ynn -

Endings that seem to be drow-exclusive:

N: -ee, -aste

F: -ace, -it, -ice, -yrr, -fay

M: -ab, -agh, -ast, -iz, -ica, -ild, -aen, -et, -erd, -een, -fein, -ig, -izzt, -oj, -oth, -ozz, -orl, -olg, -oos, -omph -ahc

#I need to give my Durge like 30 different pre-amnesia identities that they've used in life and name several OCs so at least this-#- serves a purpose?#lore stuff #pointy eared stuff #long post

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thelastlynx · 4 years ago

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It’s the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, and Hermione joins Harry and the Weasleys for the finals. But rather than the match, it’s house-elves, Veela, Death Eaters, and other perplexing incidents that make this a momentous event for our two protagonists.

Chapter 6 of The Seven Year Witch is UP!

[AO3-Link to the current chapter or read from the beginning]

Here’s an excerpt

Crabbe and Goyle disappeared a lot earlier than Draco would have liked. They didn’t stomach the Whisky half as well as they had boasted. Theo, too, scarpered off around Midnight, saying he’d rather be home early tonight. Draco frowned, but since Theo had a tendency to behave oddly, he didn’t think much of it. Thus, he ended up alone with his mother eating supper. His father still hadn’t reemerged. Instead, he had picked up that, aside from the seniors Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, more “old friends of the family” had accumulated in the Cigar Room. Draco had been able to hear raucous laughter from the inside, until someone cast a Silencing Charm. Now there was not a peep to be heard.

‘Draco, dear—you’re not seeing anyone, are you?’

Draco almost spluttered into his chicken consommé.

‘Mummy!’ He nervously glanced in the direction of the Cigar Room. Of course, he’d had his share of fleeting fancies just like anyone. But that was nobody’s business, even if none of the girls had managed to keep his attention for longer than a couple of weeks. ‘Why on earth would you ask such a thing?’

His mother considered him for a long moment and then delicately brushed her napkin against her lips.

‘Didn’t you notice how the Potter boy reacted to the Veela?’

‘Of course not,’ he lied. ‘I have better things to do than watching Potter’s every move. Why do you ask?’

‘Ah. Well, so I’m assuming you also didn’t see how the Weasley boys were acting during their performance?’ his mother pressed on.

‘I didn’t even notice their performance,’ Draco shot back irritably.

‘Hm.’ His mother raised an eyebrow, the ice-blue of her eyes digging into his skull. Draco shifted uncomfortably and averted his gaze. ‘If you had paid attention, you might have seen your classmates ridiculous displays of masculinity.’

‘Then I’m sorry to have missed it. But it’s still eluding me why we’re talking about it now.’ He swallowed. His throat felt a little dry and his ears hot. ‘If you’re trying to have that talk with me, father beat you to it for about two years. I’m already fourteen.’

His mother daintily folded her napkin and gestured for the house-elf to bring the next course.

‘It is natural for Veela to appeal to men,’ she said casually. Draco flinched, heat creeping up his neck again. He did not like where the conversation was going. ‘Especially unattached , emotionally unstable men—or teenagers.’ She paused and her bright eyes swept over him again, making Draco want to flee the room. ‘These men—boys—would then display their sexual prowess, acting in any such way that might impress the Veela. Anything to get her attention. However. Men who are attached or, more precisely, who are in love don’t fall for their allure. Love renders their magic ineffective.’

For a fleeting moment, relief washed over Draco. He was not emotionally unstable. He was not weak , as his father had put it. But then the deeper meaning hit him.

‘I’m not in love!’ Draco said it with such force that he surprised himself. ‘There’s—there’s no one,’ he added a little more evenly, although his heart thudded in his chest. ‘There must be another explanation. Maybe I’m just emotionally stable.’

His mother continued to watch him closely with infuriating patience.

‘Really, I’m not!’ He almost shouted it. ‘I was just—’ Draco bit his tongue. He couldn’t very well tell his mother that it was thoughts of a Muggle family on a beach in Normandy that had kept him occupied during that time. ‘Distracted. That’s why I missed it.’

#the seven year witch #photo essay #fic update #dramione #dhr fanfiction #Hermione Granger #Draco Malfoy #they're full on teenagers now #and Draco has lost control over his hormones #*evil laughter*

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ronweasleyisourking · 4 years ago

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Why I Don’t Find Jokes That Claim “Actually, X wrote Harry Potter” Funny

In the wake of Joanne Rowling yet again being openly transphobic on Twitter, a common joke is going around, and the layout of the joke is basically just “[Insert name] wrote Harry Potter,” and the names have varied from Nobody to Luna Lovegood to Daniel Radcliffe, etcetera, etcetera. But what a lot of people making these jokes don’t seem to understand is that this bigotry is not new, that Rowling’s bigotry is all throughout her books, and that saying someone else wrote these books means you believe they have these bigoted views too. And I don’t really find that funny.

I understand that you might be wondering, “What bigoted views played a part in the Harry Potter books? I don’t remember anything wrong.” That’s okay! I’ll be happy to outline some of the issues of the books. So, that’s what I’ll be talking about in this post:

Firstly, anti-semetism

English folklore has always been rooted in anti-semetism, their descriptions being based off Jewish stereotypes, and this does not stop with Harry Potter where the goblins are cast as the overprotective bankers of Gringotts, following the stereotype that Jewish people (and Goblins, being based off them) are greedy. This trend also does not stop in the books or original series. Ron Perlman (a Jewish actor) play a half-goblin in the Jewish mafia in the first Fantastic Beasts movie, continuing the questionable and problematic connection between Jewish people and goblins in Harry Potter.

“But the entire series is supposed to be a parallel to the Holocaust, and the muggleborns (who step into the role of Jewish people in this parallel) are the good guys, how can she be anti-semetic?” Let’s turn again to the Fantastic Beasts movies, that she wrote the screenplays of, specifically to the character of Queenie Goldstein. In December of 2014, Joanne revealed that Anthony Goldstein was a Jewish wizard at Hogwarts and from that we can can reasonably conclude that Tina and Queenie were also Jewish. Which wouldn’t have been a questionable decision if not for the fact that a canon Jewish women (Queenie) ended up joining the side of Gellert Grindelwald (who is supposed to be a parallel to Hitler). What the fuck is up with that?

There’s also an issue with house elves and racism but that is a much bigger issue that would require a lot more of my time and research before I would feel comfortable writing about it, plus it deserves a post of it’s own.

Secondly, “canon” gay characters

I don’t mind that there weren’t any gay characters in the books, I really don’t. What I do mind is JK Rowling going in after the fact to say that there were gay characters. It’s unnecesary and honestly, she chooses the worst rep. First of all, she revealed Albus Dumbledore as gay in 2007, a character that manipulates things and people to his own benefit throughout the series and leaves a child in an abusive home, despite undoubtingly having the power to protect him. The second character she reveals as gay though is Gellert Grindelwald, who, as I said before is supposed to parallel Hitler, who was the face of the Holocaust and led to the deaths of hundreds of gay and effeminate men during that time. And the fact that she continues to refuses to show it in canon, despite having a whole new movie series about the rivalry between the two only makes it worse.

Another thing that has gone around in the Harry Potter fandom is the fact (or rumor) that Joanne once said in an interview that she considered making Dean and Seamus gay but that it would “take attention” away from the trio but one, I cannot find this interview anywhere, and two, believing that a background gay couple would have taken attention away from the main characters is not great.

If she wanted gay characters, she should have included them in the texts. Otherwise, I think she needs to stop trying to get brownie points for representation that she didn’t write.

Thirdly, werewolves

Joanne Rowling released an ebook in September of 2016 where she wrote that werewolves in the books, like Remus, were a metaphor for illnesses that carry a stigma, listing HIV/Aids as an example. This again was a questionable choice, seeing as HIV/Aids is a common problem in the LGBTQ+ community and the other main werewolf in the books, Fenrir Greyback, targeted children which follows the stereotype that gay men are predators.

And finally, these characters

Nagini. While I know that many people believe that this wasn’t actually planned as Joanne said it was, the etymology of her name does trace back to the Naag or Naagin, semi-divine half-human, half-snake creatures from mythology in South Asian cultures, meaning it might have actually been planned. But the problem is not whether it was planned or not, the problem is that Nagini is a woman of color (who is Korean, meaning she is East Asian not South Asian) cursed to live as an animal who spends the last years of her life as the servant of a white man who is equated with Nazis and whose eventual fate is tied to his.

Rita Skeeter. Rita is described as having a heavy jaw, thick fingers, and large and masculine hands, and with Joanne being openly transphobic, it’s not hard to make the connection of where she might have gotten the inspiration for this character from, and the fact that she transforms her body to spy on children brings to mind a certain tweet that Rowling liked a while ago that described trans women as “foxes pretending to be hens to get in the hen house.” The idea that trans people are predators who spy on others is a harmful stereotype and this description and characterization of Rita Skeeter does not help.

Cho Chang. Cho Chang is a Chinese character who has two surnames for a name, meaning there was little thought put into her chracter’s name. Honestly, it’s not that hard to find out whether or not “Cho” is a first name, it’s just one quick search away from not being in the wrong. That and the fact that Cho, along with Sue Li and Padma Patil (some of the only Asian characters in the books), were all placed in Ravenclaw, or “the smart house” just shows how little thought that Rowling gave her canonically poc characters.

Seamus Finnigan. I only recently realized the issues of this character, and it’s likely that most people wouldn’t know why this was a problem, but consider why an English women in the nineties (at the height of The Troubles and the English/Irish conflict) would write the one known Irish character in the books as untrusting of the English (of all of Harry’s friend, Seamus was the one who didn’t believe Harry in book five). Not only that, but in the films (which she was largely involved in) characterized Seamus as clumsy and explosive and a bit of a pyro, which are sterotypical Irish traits, and she didn’t question it at all?

Conclusion

These are just a few of the issues seen in the Harry Potter books and movies and I didn’t even talk about the issues that are less bigotry and more simply problematic, like Viktor Krum’s character, or the theme of forgiving abusive people in your life, or the constant issue of love potions and consent.

There is so much wrong in the books and we can’t just ignore them or transfer them to another person. Joanne Rowling wrote these books and her bigoted beliefs are abundantly clear in them and we all need to accept that. We can love the worldbuilding and the characters and yes, even the story, but we must recongnize the issues in them and we must realize that a bigoted person wrote it. There is no escaping that.

And yes, as everyone who I have expressed this two has brought up, the story does belong to the fans. And we can do whatever we wish with it, but we should never forget where the story began and we shouldn’t try and pretend that it had a different origin. Death of the author, or the idea that anybody's interpretation of the text is a valid interpretation, and that the author's interpretation is not the only one that counts, does not mean that the author is literally removed from the text. They still wrote it. And their bias (opinions) are still a huge part of the text. And we can try with all our might to remove their bias from our fanworks but it is still there in the original text. So, yes, the story belongs to fans. But the bias in it belongs to the author and will always be present.

The author of the Harry Potter series is JK Rowling, no matter how bigoted she and her beliefs are. We should never forget that.

#jk rowling critical

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ginnyzero · 4 years ago

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The Discriminatory Werewolf Archetype?

I love werewolves.

I hate werewolves in most fiction. Werewolves in most fiction are abusive, out of control, OCD, monsters that are usually white males that promote things like incest and rape and well, there tend not to be female werewolves. Werewolves in fiction are representations of toxic masculinity at its worst.

So, why do I love werewolves? I mean, who doesn’t want to be nature’s answer to the chain saw every once in a while or have four feet and run in the forest. I had a wolf dream once and I was so at peace in that dream. Best dream ever. (I blame an old roommate and her love of old WW Werewolf: the Apocalypse Tabletop RPG too.)

But the representation of werewolves in fiction is problematic and that’s putting it lightly. In mainstream traditionally published fiction, female werewolves are rare or they don’t exist. They don’t lead packs. Forget black werewolves or Asian werewolves or Latino/Hispanic werewolves. They don’t really exist either except as “token” characters. And nine times out of then there aren’t gay werewolves, or if there is a gay werewolf they’re outcasts because somehow other werewolves just can’t handle them being aroused by men?

Then there’s the alpha to omega and submissive pack hierarchies that are easily abused. The fact that werewolves are so “grr” angry all the time they can’t form normal or healthy relationships. Then some writers buy into the cult and noble practice and sometimes downright redneck mentalities that to be stronger werewolves you have to marry your cousins. And men are always in charge, always.

You see these werewolves always based upon the French idea of the Loup Garou mixed with bad wolf science over and over and over again. You want the out of control monster beast in your kitchen sink urban fantasy? You include a werewolf. Vampires are urbane and controlled. Fae are aloof, businesslike, and mystical. (Makes me wonder what fae stories these writers are researching.) It’s become a trope, an archetype.

I mean, usually, the conflict resolves down to that no one can understand the monster that is the werewolf. They can never love or truly be loved by a human or other type of being, be they human or supernatural. Angst. Woe is me! And if it’s a horror story, the werewolf dies at the end.

The fantasy romance genre isn’t immune to this. Sometimes they’re a tad bit better. They include female werewolves more often. But even then, the general rules still apply that are sick and twisted and mostly are there to support the premise that even monsters can be loved in the end. (Yeah, I’ve read my fair share of werewolf romance novels okay.)

Archetypes are archetypes. Tropes are tropes.

But in this era of MeToo and men being called out for toxicity and media being urged to be more inclusive of people of all races and sexualities, isn’t it time for our media to catch up including speculative fiction where vampires, werewolves, mutants, elves and so on are used routinely to represent the other, the disenfranchised and the discriminated against.

Viewed in this lens, the portrayal of the werewolf is sickening. This is the worst of the patriarchy on display in speculative fiction form. When women, LGBTA and people of color are the minority and not the normal, disabled werewolves don’t exist (or are killed) and men are always in control and their behavior is excused because they are “alphas” isn’t right. It’s wrong. It’s grossly wrong. Why are those in writing and especially in publishing and in Hollywood still pandering to these ideas?

“People like monsters.” Ugh. Rejection right there. Werewolves can be cool without being downright nasty and out of control monsters. There are more werewolf types than the loup-garou. Beep. Exit stage left please. “It takes time.” You say. “People aren’t ready for werewolves that have control of themselves and can have healthy relationships and are female and are all races and all sexualities.”

Bullocks.

The ideal werewolf novel by CrockpotCauldron has over 68,000 notes. Assuming even half of those were likes, that’s 34,000 people who are interested in werewolves that are women, LGBTA, POCs, based on good wolf science that have healthy relationships with those and others around them. (And what would a disabled werewolf look like? Ponder. I might have to figure that out. I have so much to else to delve into why not add another thing?)

Most books don’t sell 20,000 novels in their first year. Sure, okay, so many of those people who noted that post aren’t going to buy a book. So if you go with the 3% conversion rate of all the notes that’s only 2000 sales. And I’m going to say people aren’t probably going to buy the book because they may not like the plot presented. But you have to get the book in front of those 68,000 note people in the first place!

The day I wrote after I wrote this post I found yet another person complaining about alpha-beta/dom sub dynamics in werewolf fiction! The people are out there!

So that means you can’t just put out one inclusive werewolf story, you have to put out multiple ones until you find the one with the plot and world building that people are going to buy across all age levels. You have to get it in front of influencers like CrockpotCauldron and others like her.

(She also has a list of werewolves she’s excited about. Sadly, I’m not on that list.) (Yes, I sent her my first book. Oh well.)

Fiction is a reflection of our reality. It disturbs me that werewolves are still being presented this way. That the art I see is all about growling and werewolves dripping in blood. That toxic masculinity parades itself across the page and most times isn’t called out for what it is, wrong. (Kitty Norville did, Women of the Otherworld did not, Patty Briggs is halfhearted about it. Butcher is, omg, let’s not even go into Butcher. I swear Jane Yellowrock series ignored weres most the time. Charlaine Harris didn’t help anything. Kim Harrison’s werewolves were, well at least there were females! That’s the most I can say.) Many times the sexist and horribly toxic tropes are written in as world rules that can’t be gotten away from. (Women of the Otherworld, Blood and Chocolate.)

By the time I came across CrockpotCauldron’s post, I’d already written my books. I was already disturbed as much as she was by this one dimensional portrayal of werewolves and their origin and their dynamics. I wrote Heaven’s Heathens MC as a revolt of what I was seeing in werewolf media in order to start portraying that wolves are families that work together and not domineering hierarchies where the “Alpha” is in charge. That there can be werewolves of many colors and skin tones because well, a) medieval Europe was not white, white, white. And B) this is the future, and many people have mixed their blood together enough that’s it can be difficult to know what race they are. I have female werewolves. I have nerdy werewolves. I have big buff mad scientist werewolves who enjoy DnD.

And honestly, I don’t mention character’s sexuality at all unless it’s important to the story. I don’t base my characters around the idea that they’re LGBTA and that defines them. It doesn’t. If there are LGBTA characters in my stories I want it to come up naturally and that “oh, they happen to be this” rather than “this is a problem.” Because I don’t want sexuality to be a problem in my werewolf pack. That goes against everything my werewolf pack stands for. (If it is a problem for werewolf packs that aren’t the Heathens in the story then you know those packs are bad packs. Bad! Bad wolf packs. No biscuit.)

I’ll admit, writing people in healthy relationships that share emotional labor is difficult due to lack of personal experience to some extent and that it cuts out what is the fall back conflict of most television shows and books, aka miscommunication. (I hate miscommunication personally. It’s one of those growing up things.) This is how insidious toxic masculinity is! This is how deep the patriarchy runs. That even when you’re trying your best to stay away from it, you feel like it’s slipping in no matter how hard you try!

And I know this seems an odd thing to be talking about with all the problems going on in the “real” world. But I think that if there are those that would defend these werewolf archetypes and tropes, they need to be looked at hard especially if they are in the publishing business. Because Media reflects reality and any trope and any archetype that is as discriminatory as werewolves needs to be dissected (and Vampires need to be dissected too because they represent another side of toxic masculinity. But I can only do one post at a time) and then broken down and transformed.

That’s what werewolves are really about, transformation! So, locking them into one rigid role seems awfully backwards to what they are.

Is it discriminatory? I'll leave that to you to decide. I know that I don't like it and am trying not to pander to it in my books. And if this blog post wasn't enough for you, I also talked about this on Twitter.

#werewolves #wolves #writing tumblr #writrblr #writing wolves #writing werewolves #reference to crockpotcauldron #representation

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the-bae-who-lived · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! 🍊 for Vael and/or 14 for the relationship ask :) :) if you want to of course!

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ♡ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

ALWAYS ACCEPTING <3

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?

eeee!!!! ok i’ve been wanting to write a bit more about vael’s habits and self maintenance because it’s been on my mind lately so this is great!

BODY HAIR:

let me preface by saying that upon my research of elves, dunmer specifically because vael is half, i’ve found that they have no body hair??? correct me if i’ve been misled by articles i’ve read! but vael doesn’t have to worry about body hair other than her brows, head hair and lashes. but i also feel the need to capitalize on the fact that hair growth and hair removal wouldn’t be a taboo thing in skyrim. people could shave with blades and whatnot but body hair removal wouldn’t be a thing in tamriel because like...they didn’t care since it’s natural and it’s literally just hair??? but removal of hair could also be a cultural choice as well.

basically what i’m saying is that by her genetics, vael is virtually hairless on her body. but if she were to grow hair like crazy, she probably wouldn’t shave it off or care that it’s there. in fact, she’d embrace it and groom herself accordingly for hygienic purposes.

HAIR:

as far as the hair on her head, it’s quite dense and thick and has a lot of texture to it. vael’s mother would trim her hair to keep it healthy. she also taught her how to braid her hair (just simple braids for keeping hair out of the face. which was difficult for vael to learn at first because coordination of the hands lol). but most of the time, especially as she gets older, she tends to wear her hair down, washes it every few days, and ties it back when doing more strenuous work.

BODY/SCENTS:

vael keeps up on her personal hygiene. she’s not concerned with looks, but she cared about how she felt and if she smelled good so she would bathe regularly and because she grew up around potions and ingredients, she was taught how to make pretty smelling oils and waters for simple aromas and also to put on herself.

PHYSIQUE:

vael was never one for exercise per say but she did eat a lot of plant based things being that they were most accessible on solstiheim. also a lot of seafood because that was also quite accessible. she’s naturally on the lithe side given her elven genetics but it’s also quite easy for her to gain muscle from her nordic side. she mostly kept busy just moving and walking when she was younger. and now that she’s in skyrim, she will be building up her stamina and muscles with all of the dirty work she’s getting into. (i might make a more detailed headcanon about her body stats at some point!)

MAKEUP:

makeup was never something she played with given where she grew up and how she grew up. solstheim is there was never a reason to have makeup. if you give vael makeup, she wouldn’t know what the hell to do with it (and we’re gonna get into some makeup a little later on in the story(((((((((::::::::) but since her mother was fleeing from vvanderfell, she wasn’t making makeup a priority to bring with her.

ship headcanon meme

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

KDSJBGHDFG!!!!

if kaidan has a cold:

he’s not like most guys in that he would literally rather suffer in silence than admit he’s sick. because most guys are big babies LMAO. it’s not a masculinity thing but a perseverance thing. he was always taught to push forward no matter what and a little cold is no excuse. but now that he’s with vael, and she’s pretty observant (who wouldn’t be with kai he’s so fine), she calls him on his shit and forces him to take a break. she’s an attentive person naturally. she was very much cared for a loved by her mother and elynea growing up. not only that, but they taught her so much about making her own medicines and tending to a home and being resourceful.

vael would first get kai to chill out and take a break whether it was at a camp they set up or at an inn. she would rather lose time than have kaidan get sicker and have to cope on the road. kaidan would be really stubborn about it but agree eventually because he knows it’s what’s best and that vael is equally, if not more, stubborn and would force his sick ass to lay the hell down whether he wants to or not.

she would make sure he’s comfortable and warm, get him out of his armor and wrap him up in furs. and then she’d get to making some holistic remedies for a cold. she would also make him soup and remind him to eat even when he’s not hungry or can’t taste anything because he needs the energy and nourishment. he would probably feel a bit strange about letting her take care of him in that he’s not used to a female presence that’s nurturing, (his ex girls ain’t shit and obviously his poor mother is gone) but would eventually just let it happen because it feels nice to be cared for. he would definitely be worried about her catching the cold though and warn her to keep her distance but vael doesn’t really care.

and when she makes it perfectly clear she doesn’t give a fuck about his snot nosed can’t breathe sick self, he accepts her cuddles. she’d make him a sleep tonic and then hold him through the night and stroke his hair and coddle her grown ass man.

if vael is sick:

vael has gotten sick a few times before but nothing ever too serious. a cold isn’t a big deal for her but it’s uncomfortable being that she doesn’t have a stable home and or elynea to care for her. with kaidan, she tries to conceal it a little because he warned her about getting to close and catching his cold. so when it happens, it’s a joking i told you so. but then he’s quick to return the favor of his care. kaidan’s approach to caring about others or for others is kind of nonexistent or even a tough love type of care. but not with vael. it’s so painfully obvious how soft he is for her and that she’s teaching him how to care for someone else in ways more than just pertaining to emotions.

since he’s not as well versed in tonics/remedies/potions as she is (not in the way she uses them), he would have her tell him what ingredients he needs and walk him through the process of creation. and if we thought kai was protective always, he’s even more protective now. he doesn’t want to leave her side but will gladly give her space if she wants it. but he’ll sleep at her side to keep her warm. he’s like a furnace tbh. so he’ll lay with her at night when she’s in and out of sleep and just let her snuggle up to him. he tends to stay awake just in case she needs something and so that he’s aware of his surroundings to make sure both of them stay safe.

kai is actually a GREAT cook. despite not being able to really whip up potions or knowing more obscure ingredients, he knows how to make a good meal. he’s had to fend for himself a lot and so, he learned how to feed himself well. he came by quite a few cook books during his travels and may or may not have taken one or two of them. he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s spent some of his hard earned coin on spices. he doesn’t have them now being that his camp was raided and belongings stolen, but the man knows how to improvise with natural spices. and they definitely clear sinuses LMAO.

kaidan will offer to read to vael because he knows it lifts her mood even if he’s sassy about it any other time. he wants to return all of the care she gave to him back tenfold not because he feels indebted to her like how they came to travel together after the prison, but because she deserves to be cared for in that very same fashion with the same energy.

#Anonymous #thank you so much for the ask <3

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black-rose-writings · 2 years ago

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Harry Potter IS bad because JKR is bad.

It’s a bigoted creation from a bigoted mind. Her views clearly impact the universe.

Other issues to mention:

The whole Name Issue. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the black guy. Cho Chang, the asian character. Sirona, the trans character. Nonsensical nonexistent polish name in one of her detective novels.

Speaking of those detective novels, her pen name for those is also the name of a man who basically founded LGBT conversion therapy, but back to HP is bad.

The Irish character who always makes things explode and wants to drink hard alcohol, even as a child. (That might be movies only, so it’s not just on her, but still).

Tired old “nerdy girl gets a makeover and is suddenly the most beutiful person ever seen because she straightened her hair and wore a dress for once” trope.

Certain clearly sentient races are treated as lesser than and the books only adress it with “wow, that sucks, but that’s life” and the characters never seem to think it should change or the attempts at change are mocked. Sure, there’s house elves and goblins (though I don’t think anyone ever even feels bad for the goblins), but there’s also the centaurs, who, to me, seem to have some storng Native American paralels (or at least with the stereotypical ideas and common knowledge a european would have about those cultures).

Speaking of Native Americans, there’s the blatant appropriation of their culture for JKR’s american wizards lore.

The only character ever mentioned to wear a turban was hiding Voldemort under it. I hope I don’t have to explain why that’s sus.

There’s a massive “not like other girls” energy coming from both Hermione and Ginny. Less serious, but still an issue.

Ugly female characters are describe as masculine and/or fat. We should have seen the TERF twist coming.

There’s a lot of fatshaming. Unless she likes the character in question and then she’s “plump” and fatshaming her is not okay.

The way JKR chooses to “justify” elf slavery in the books is concerningly close to the way plantation owners justified enslaving black people (like, “ex-slave turned into a substance abuser because they don’t know what to do with their life” was an argument used back then. And look at Winky and tell me that’s not exactly the same fucking idea).

The way JKR treats “good” and “evil” even in the later books, is extremely naive and childish. The only character that gets a half-decent redemption is Snape, and he’s still a fucking terrible person, he just works for the good guys now, but that’s a rant for another day.

I’m pretty sure every single character that is not white-english is in some way a stereotype or a caricature.

On the topic of writing, JKR has a chronic fear of the word “said”, sometimes to the point of absurdity, while overusing certain other words.

And The Fantastic Beasts movies are their own can of worms.

There’s probably a lot more, but it’s pretty late and I should go to sleep.

I think in addition to the conversation about JKR’s transphobia it’s vital that we address the antisemitism in the Harry Potter universe.

Not enough people are talking about it. Yes her transphobia is having an effect on legislation and yes supporting Harry Potter in any way is endorsing that BUT I don’t think we’re going to get through to people with just that. Harry Potter is not as wholesome as many people would like to believe. It’s a racist and antisemitic garbage fire with some pretty poor writing. I should preface this by saying I am not Jewish, nor am I a poc, I am white and fairly well off, I am just very opinionated and want to do my best to explain the things I can when I see something wrong. Carrying on,

One of if not the most blatantly fucked up thing in the Harry Potter universe is the presence of “house elves”, a race of mythical creatures that function as slaves in the wizard world. What is most appalling about them is that rowling wrote them to be happily subservient, a race that enjoys being enslaved. For one, this is all kinds of weird, and for two, this does not mix very well with the complete lack of plot relevant POC.

The second big issue and the one I feel a particular need to address is the goblins. Beginning with how they are meant to represent and mock Jewish people. Goblins are a common caricature of Jewish people, and the goblins in Harry Potter have all the traits of that caricature, hooked noses, greed, power over government, malice, etc. also notable was their appearances in the movies, being depicted as practically identical to nazi propaganda portrayals and having the Star of David clear as day on the floor of the bank. Now all this alone should be enough to make you feel queasy, but if that isn’t enough for you let’s bring the latest addition to the franchise in. The “goblin rebellion” of hogwarts legacy depicts an oppressed race as the antagonists in their rebellion, and if the well established context of goblins as a caricature of Jewish people wasn’t terrible enough in conjunction with this plot, one of the goblins is also depicted as plotting to kidnap wizard children, yet another direct parallel to historical oppression of Jewish people, the accusations of stealing Christian children (in this case wizard children) and using their blood for rituals, also known as blood libel.

Supporting Harry Potter is not just bad because JKR is bad. There is no way around it, and you cannot disconnect the author from her work. Harry Potter itself is bad. It’s time to let go of this.

#harry potter critical #anti jk rowling #anti jkr

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dailycharacteroption · 5 years ago

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Conversion Corner: Legend of Zelda Races part 1

Gorons

Bringing in another race conversion, this time for Pathfinder with five different races from the Legend of Zelda!

The classic Nintendo franchise has been an influential part of pop culture for decades, albeit an inconsistent one, as the unified LoZ timeline has mostly always been an afterthought, resulting in bizarre continuity errors, an ever-changing landscape of the game world, and most relevant to this week’s special: Various friendly NPC and enemy types have had dramatically different appearances between games, with only a few remaining consistent.

Also worth noting is that I won’t be covering humans, hylians, or the shiekah, since they seem to have analogues in the human and half-elf races, maybe even full elves.

Anywho, moving on to the actual subject of today’s entry. Gorons!

Living high in the mountains, most typically Hyrule’s Death Mountain, gorons are a rocky race of humanoids known for being elusive and xenophobic to outsiders, but also extremely friendly and gregacious to those they consider friends, often uncomfortably (or dangerously) so.

With their round bodies, short legs, long, muscular arms, and broad faces, goron almost resemble hairless gorillas. However, their thick skin, rocky growths on their back and other areas of the body, and strange diet mark them as something very different than most any simian as we understand them. Interestingly, gorons can sometimes either grow or shrink as they age, with some goron elders resembling small, tightly-packed boulders with gangly limbs (and sometimes even miniature volcanos growing from their rocky backs), while others grow to massive sizes, becoming recluses who toil away at their chosen profession in solitude.

Indeed, gorons are best classified as geolithic beings, since they survive on a diet consisting mostly of rock, supplementing it with certain mineral rich fruits, particularly during their youth. Further adding to their resemblance to rocks is their tendency to curl up into a ball and roll around, picking up terrifyingly large amounts of momentum in doing so, hitting with the force of a literal boulder.

Goron culture revolves heavily around strength, skill, and brotherly bonds, with gorons enjoying the sport of sumo wrestling and rolling races to test their might and the unique form of mobility that they possess. Many gorons are skilled smiths, or perfect the alchemical arts, particularly with explosives both engineered and cultivated from the bomb flower.

A tribe is like an extended family, and while they use masculine pronouns for both themselves and those they consider honorary tribe members, they do not appear to possess or understand gender as most other races do. On a related note, goron reproduction is a heavily guarded secret, and asexual in nature.

Typically, gorons are a stalwart and passionate race that can be seen in the vigor with which they pursue their interests, and the depth of the bonds they share with others. However, their distrust of strangers who have not proved themselves makes them quick to judge or even become hostile when stressed, or simply become even shyer in other situations. Still, they are a goodly people, and are usually willing to give strangers the opportunity to prove their worth. Heaven help the idiot who gains their trust, and then turns around and breaks that bond, though.

Goron

Ability Score Adjustments: +2 Str, +2 Con, -2 Cha. Gorons are mighty and tough, but are insular and shy.

Type: Gorons are humanoids of the earth subtype.

Size: Gorons are normally medium size, but small gorons are also possible. Gorons of large size or larger are likely unsuitable for play.

Darkvision: 60 ft.

Slow: Gorons have a base movement speed of 20, but speed is never affected by encumberance and armor.

Curl Up: A goron can use a move action to curl up into a ball. While curled up, their natural armor bonus to AC increases by +5, but their actions are limited. They can take a move action to uncurl, or they can move in a straight line 30 feet as a move action (50 feet if the direction is downward in elevation, 10 if it is uphill).

Heat Resistant: Gorons are commonly found in mountainous regions with a lot of volcanic activity, and often mine superheated caverns for prized nutritious stone and metals. As such, they never have to make fortitude saves for high heat, and gain fire resistance 10

Goron Crafting: Famous for their metalwork and explosives, gorons gain a +2 bonus to craft checks to craft weapons, armor, and alchemical weapons.

Lithovore: Gorons gain no nutrition from normal food, but rather from stone rich in minerals. The require half as much food as normal, but the rock they must consume weighs 5 times as much as its equivalent in normal rations, and may be unavailable depending on the region and GM fiat. (As a general rule, volcanic rock that has minimal weathering is considered a good meal, while metamorphic rock is considered fair, and sedimentary rock is considered poor.) Additionally, Gorons can drink lava without taking damage, gaining sustenance that way.

Natural Armor: The rocky hide of a goron offers it a +2 natural armor bonus to AC

Ramming Speed: A goron that is currently curled up can take a move action to move twice their curled-up speed in a single direction, though they immediately stop if they hit a solid wall (i.e., one not destroyed by this ability) or if they would enter a space occupied by a creature, slamming into the obstruction with all their momentum. Upon stopping in this manner, the goron makes an unarmed attack roll, dealing 1d8+Str mod+ the goron’s character level in bludgeoning damage. On a successful attack, the goron can immediately either bull rush or overrun the foe, moving the rest of the movement this ability allows for in the latter case.

Stability: Gorons receive a +4 racial bonus to their CMD when resisting bull rush or trip attempts while standing on the ground.

Languages: Gorons begin play speaking Goron. Gorons with high intelligence scores can choose from the following bonus languages: Common, Terran, Ignan, and Goblin

This was a fun race to play with, but what’s a race without some fun options to go with it? If I were to expand upon it, I’d consider alternate racial traits or feats to account for goron characters with volcanic power, or maybe brawlers and monks that focus on wrestling or on explosives, or even gorons able to use magic to enhance their rolling ability, like in Majora’s Mask.

That does it for now, but we’ll see what other races I have in store throughout the week!

#pathfinder #race #conversion corner #legend of zelda #goron

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royal-ni-fe · 6 years ago

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The types as roles they play in the Kingdom™️

INTJ: The Wizard: the Queen’s magical and SOMEWHAT clairvoyant consort, whom she always consults with before making any important decisions about the Kingdom. He’s counseled her in avoiding several wars, and dodging death innumerable times. He shares a castle tower with the Elf and since they couldn’t agree on a single theme, the result is hilariously mismatched. Invasive plants, elegant flowers, and engraved marble statues must share table room with disturbingly grotesque materials of dark alchemy. He borders between chaotic good and chaotic neutral but with just enough good in him to be occasionally benevolent.

INTP: The Wizard’s Owl: was once a young, wildly curious peasant who snuck into the Wizard’s potion lab to study the chemicals at the witching hour. Caused an explosion. The well-done Wizard casted a spell on her and turned her into his familiar of sorts. She still regularly singes her feathers on experimental potions. She often attempts to make witty banter with the Princess’s Badger, but he doesn’t speak barn owl.

ENTJ: The Pretty Warlady: a tall and strikingly gorgeous dictator who’s ruthlessly out for another throne, namely the Queen’s. Her army accepts women exclusively. One thing that sticks out about her is her refusal to accept the premise that to be powerful is to be masculine. Her maidens tastefully paint white flowers on her black armor because that’s aesthetic as heck and she relishes in looking exactly how she wants to while butchering her rivals in combat.

ENTP: The Escaped Gryffin: a very small gryffin who’s half kestrel, half house cat. He’s on the run from the Warlady. He used to be her court Jester but he asked too many riddles and argued with everything she said. One day, after he had made her question her existence for the seventeenth time in a single hour, she exploded at him and locked him up to be promptly executed. In her blind rage, she forgot that he could fly and he simply squeezed through the 87ft high dungeon vents. Luckily, he was charming enough to befriend some dwarves who took him out of her reach down in some deep mine. After several months, the dwarves begin planning a little “cave-in accident”. Of course he’ll survive to harass someone else.

INFJ: The Elf: Most elves are known for being mysterious and wise. Ours is no exception. Starry eyed with short and fair hair, the Elf provides a stark contrast to his castle roommate, the dark and broody Wizard. He mesmorizes the Queen with his philosophical wisdom about kindness and love. Due to his partial mind-reading ability, he also makes accurate predictions about the integrity of her subjects. He’s brave, extremely powerful and isn’t opposed to battle. However, ask him to shoot a troll with a bow and he might manage to pierce through his own heart. He does better just being pretty, writing futuristic fiction and providing the queen with more humanistic insight as opposed to the practical predictions of the Wizard. It should also be mentioned that his forest magic keeps the queen’s gardens looking lovely all year round.

INFP: The Prince: the Warlady’s younger brother. Small but resilient and highly principled. He refuses to fight her battles but instead dons shining white armor and goes in search of those in need. He’s actually a skilled hand-to-hand combatant and is known to fight off entire bands of desperados should they be harassing a traveling maiden. Of course, he often stops and gets off his horse to sit down on a nearby log to write poetry about soft brown hair and bloody knuckles. He’s in love with the Princess but she doesn’t return his affections. He respects that and remains solely her friend without expectation of anything more because he’s a decent human being.

ENFJ: The Benevolent Dragon: the Queen’s pet water-drake and The Malevolent Wyvern’s brother. Longer than several football fields, the pastel blue fellow wraps himself around the castle and serves as a living and dangerous moat. He sleeps and guards his treasure, the Queen. Her ambition is his ambition. Whenever a friend wishes to enter the castle, he asks them a fun riddle. It doesn’t matter if they guess it or not, he’ll let them in. He just likes riddles.

ENFP: The Princess: the Queen’s adorable, teenage sister has chin-length, curly, dark hair that always seems to get caught in things. The original anti-hero. She dabbles in a bit of magic herself but as more of an art form in contrast to a weapon. Her olive green eyes constantly sparkle with curiosity and intrigue. The world has never been boring for her and it never will be. Occasionally, she gets a bad case of wanderlust and with her favorite familiar, she travels far and wide in search of slightly malicious adventure, pulling dangerous heists and randomly starting rebellions within other kingdoms. She went through a dark phase at one point but when she accidentally raised an entire graveyard of people up from the dead, her sister put a permanent ban on necromancy.

ISTJ: The Princess’s Familiar: the intelligent, lawful good, dutiful little badger who follows the princess on her every adventure, even if he doesn’t approve. Truth be told, at one point, he’d rather have stayed in the gray forest, digging and searching for underground food like his badger family. However, he’s grown accustomed to his life as a magical companion to, in his opinion, the loveliest witch in the kingdom. He just wishes she’d incorporate a little structure and routine into her evil antics. Also, he has the voice of Sterling Holloway

ISFJ: The Winged Healer: when after the battle of the century was over, and the Queen lay half-dead atop her fallen soldiers, her dying general and former lover whispered a barely audible prayer for healing. Alas a drop of starlight hailing from the highest heaven floated down like a dove and took form as an ageless woman. She simply slid her slim fingers delicately across the Queen’s fatal wounds and healed her completely. Since then, she’s become the Queen’s lady in waiting. She belongs to no race and there are none like her. It’s said that to simply gaze on her is to be cured of any illness. Her ivory skin, rose colored hair, golden eyes and silvery wings are alarmingly beautiful, but her disposition is sweet, quiet, naïve and unassuming.

ESTJ: The Cold Knight: almost none have ever seen his face but everyone knows who he is. He rides a dead horse and commands a dead army. It’s been speculated that this is the same army the Princess haphazardly resurrected. Little known to the general public, he was once the Queen’s lover and was quite handsome before the lust for her throne overtook him. Now, he bides his time in a small castle set atop a cold mountain, waiting for a moment of weakness in the walls of the Kingdom. He’s not as scary as he sounds though and he and the Queen still occasionally hit the local pub disguised as peasants. She still loves him but keeps him at bay.

ESFJ: The Giant: The last giant who wants to fit in with the little people so badly that he doesn’t see how unique and special he really is. He spends his time rearranging the mountains, unclogging the rivers and romping about or wrestling with the Queen’s dragon. Unbeknownst to him, his favorite friend, the Princess, is madly in love with his curly brown hair and periwinkle eyes. She’s been openly working on a spell to shrink him down to her size, at least temporarily. She regularly tests it on her familiar and so far has managed to turn him into various types of chairs. On a side note, he’s three-hundred and seven years old, but in giant years, that equals about fifteen and a half.

ISTP: The Tinkering Fairy: a tiny chaotic neutral fay with a pension for the mechanical. The Queen paid a steep price to have her renovate the entire castle with the latest gadgets and weapons of the time. Of course, she lives in the Castle Garden among the angstiest of the flowers. When a storm seems on its way, the Queen casually opens her bedroom window and the fay will settle down on a little cushion, laid out discreetly for her on the Queen’s dresser. As she’s technically a part of the Forest, the Elf’s natural magic he exudes seems to have a euphoric, drug-like effect on her. She mistakes this for love. Fay minds cannot be read so, of course, the Elf is oblivious.

ISFP: The Malevolent Dragon: a graceful and charming Wyvern, living in the gorgeous and expansive mountain hall she confiscated. She brought in an army goblins simply to sort out her treasure and move it to a safe chamber so she could redecorate. The walls are lined with her intricate and colorful paintings of the various breeds of dragon. The hall itself is the picture of luxury and eccentricity, and the color scheme seems to compliment her lovely iridescent scales. From time to time, she comes to the aid of the Warlady in hopes of procuring more riches for her hall. She boarders between true neutral and neutral evil.

ESTP: The Queen: arguably the most lovely person to ever exist. She rules the Kingdom with a sharp mind, a soft heart, iron hands and a diamond scepter. She’s kind and caring but also daring and adventurous. She’s fought and befriended dragons. She’s battled in great wars and went on grand quests to rescue her loved ones. She’s truly loved and quickly left her lovers. She’s done it all and is forever excited to do it again. She’s trained to fight on any terrain, in any circumstance with any weapon. She’s a master with the bow, a sage with any sword, a lady of knives and sharp things. She’s not taken to magic but knows a few simple spells her sister taught her. Even though she’s openly admired by even her worst enemies, she must remain watchful and vigilant because her Kingdom and the giant castle are the most enviable in the world and no one could resist the temptation to conquer it, be it that they are able. But only fools are not afraid of her, to quote the old saying “You want battle? [The Queen] will give you war.”

ESFP: The Dwarf: a young and attractive red-haired dwarf who forgot about treasure or mines long ago. He pursues a career in acting and in minstrel work. He’s performed for the Queen several times and she regularly invites him back to act or sing or both. One time, an entire battle was fought between the Queen and the Warlady over whose kingdom he belonged to, but he’s never belonged to anyone but himself and that’s a fact he relishes in. He’s eccentric and demanding, with a love for speedy ponies and cinematically dark pubs. Don’t underestimate him though, he’s deadly with a ball and chain mace.

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