#The big thing is striking a balance between 'this is something i as a human would want to eat' and 'this is catfood'

[bonefall]

hi i just wanted to say your warrior bites series is so cool. the detail in every part is just. chef's kiss. i loveeeee the thought put into it. i just went through like every post you have on warrior cats and i'm completely obsessed

The secret to the Warrior Bites series is that I am very hungry all of the time. If I'm not thinking of food I am definitely eating it, as my partner can attest. We drive by sheep and I start talking about lamb stew

For example right now I am eating butternut mashcakes with hickory ginger syrup. Thanks for the compliment!! More to come

[twst-hottest-takes]

Tweel Anatomy discussion!

Part 1.

(Ask and ye shall recieve! This will be split up into a couple of parts because this could get long and it's easy enough to break up into pieces. [I definitely wasn't putting this off until the cards officially released.])

For starters I have to say again that I just love the twins and their merforms are so cool. I just want an excuse to gush about them. A lot of this discussiom will involve headcanons and hypotheticals and estimations, so there is your warning to not take anything in this post as law. This post, like pretty much all the others is very opinionated. Some of the fun bits about contemplating the anatomy of a fantasy creature involves drawing the imaginary lines between where the fish parts end and the human parts begin, and where the two become a blur and turn into something completely new. I like to think I strike a balance with my hypotheses, but perhaps others might not feel the same way. This is a post meant to start a discussion, not a fight. So let's see how far down the rabbit hole we can go . . .

Starting with a classic: How big are these guys?

Let's answer Ace's question. (While laughing like middle-schoolers about how that question was phrased.)

Now there is no canon answer to my knowledge so I can only give my best estimation. (Corrections welcome!) I firmly believe that they do not change "size" between their land and sea forms. For all intents and purposes, the twins are being treated as though their heads, arms, torsoes, and pelvic regions are the same size between human and merforms.

BECAUSE EVEN WITHOUT CHANGING SIZE THESE GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE MONSTERS IN THEIR MERFORMS.

I have no real proof of my theory. I simply compared the sprites and scaled the chibis until they had the same head size. Forgive me for not having a better method of measurement. I am not going to try and unravel the live 2D mermodels and I think trying to measure their shadows from their intro scene would be even less reliable. The length of the tail is approximately 75% the length of the rest of the body after where his feet theoretically end.

I didn't do the same with Floyd because I feel that it's safe to assume that he's probably a few cm longer (3-5 cm max) due to his 1 cm height difference when they are in human form. I hazard a guess that only the two of them actually care about that difference in length.

332 cm. (Or around 11 ft for those of us stateside.)

We know they're huge, but tying a number to the length REALLY puts things into perspective. Like it's actually a little scary.

Next: Gill placement.

I am a big fan of the gill slits being around the ribs! Not only do they look cool, but I like that it can be read as a combination of human and eel anatomy in their merforms.

Since they have a humanoid chest cavity, it makes sense that even though they don't have lungs, they may have a muscular structure similar to a diaphragm. By having a muscular system that works passively/sympathetically they could have a "breathing" motion similar to humans; but, instead of taking air in, it simply keeps water moving across the gills to maintain gas exchange.

Benefits of this system include: Being able to sleep (as I would assume merfolk do), and being able to stay in one place (most fish need to be moving constantly to keep their gills working). The ability to be stationary isn't necessary for fish, but for merfolk who have social conventions, even being able to sit still to have a conversation is a boon (unless the world of mermen is built around the idea that no one ever sits still, but I feel like the photograph from Book 3 proves otherwise).

Furthermore, having the gills on the ribs as opposed to somewhere farther up--for example, on the neck--the twins can reasonably stick their heads out of the water without fear of limiting their breathing ability. Though these new card illustrations show that they don't seem to have any problem with having their gills exposed to the air (at least as far as being photogenic is concerned), I can see it being convenient for merfolk to be able to poke their head and shoulders above the water and still be able to breath regularly (which definitely doesn't have anything to do with luring unwary travelers to their deaths. . .nope. . .not at all).

I have seen people say they don't like the choice and that the gills should be on their necks. If that's coming from a place of personal preference and is purely aesthetic I guess I can see it. But if anyone tries to tell me that it's not "eel-like" enough and they need to have the gills closer to the mouth, I will fight you. From a design and functionality standpoint the rib gills are fantastic!

For the last bit of this entry, let's talk about the elephant in the room: THE EEL ABS!

I'd say "don't get me started on this one" but I'm already here and we're already too deep in, so here we go.

Things are about to get spicy!

~They're fine.

Like, as a choice, the inclusion of these muscles is likely just for fanservice points, but it's not an anatomically strange thing.

Come here and I will explain to you a thing:

MERFOLK DO NOT SWIM WITH THE SAME MUSCLE GROUPS AS HUMANS DO!

Once upon a time, (this is going somewhere, just stick with me!) people complained that Ariel, the Little Mermaid herself, was too skinny and not built like a swimmer. People insisted that she not have such a tiny waist and her arms should be bigger. Now I, here and now, should not have to tell the reader why this is so ridiculous to say, but I'm going to anyway~ ARIEL DOES NOT USE HER ARMS TO SWIM! Those who have watched the movie may have observed that she swims like an aquatic mammal. All of her momentum comes from the verticle motion of her tail, and to some extent her abdomen, not her arms. When she turns human, Ariel does not even know how she can use her arms to help her swim upwards and out of the ocean. She struggled without her tail so much Sebastian and Flounder basically carried her to the surface.

In this way, merfolk do not need to have the same type of body as a human swimmer because they are functionally different and some people seem to get stuck on that.

Now returning to Jade and Floyd, again, their arms are not "built like a swimmer's." Once again THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE. There is nothing in all of Twisted Wonderland that suggests they swim with their arms at all. These boys have 5 foot long tails that are probably primarily muscle to propel themselves through the water. The arms are not for propulsion. The tails do the grand majority of the work, but this conversation was started about abdominal muscles so we'll circle back to that now. Unlike other merfolk (as exemplified by Ariel) who swim with verticle motions of their tails, eel-based mermen would swim by making horizontal motions, also primarily with their tails. I do say primarily because the idea occurs to me that there may be situations where the limits of their ability to move might be tested. If a merman built like this wanted to go significantly faster than whatever is "normal" for them, muscle groups higher in the body would get used. Essentially, given Jade and Floyd as characters, I don't find it hard to believe that, at the speeds they swim, they would be using their very human-shaped abdomens to increase their speed. That's a workout, especially for the obliques.

So, in conclusion, I don't think the abs are weird. Gratuitous? Absolutely. But they aren't the anatomical monstrosity some people seem to think they are.

Let me say once more, if you simply don't like how it looks, or the fish abs squick you out and you like to headcanon they don't exist--that's fine. But don't argue with me on the basis that it's not realistic. Mermaids are, after all, fictional creatures and depictions of them tend to be fanciful. The tough conversation comes about when we choose to draw the lines with how realistic we actually want them to be, HENCE THIS ENTIRE POST!

(Laughs like a maniac before signing off.)

Thank you for coming to the first part of my rambling. What should I talk about in the next part?

Other than the throat teeth. We've got a miniature essay about the throat teeth just about ready to go.

Also, apologies if there aren't enough visual guides. I really wanted to get this posted, so if anyone wants me to I can doodle up some more stuff to help with things like the image of the breathing aparatus and swimming motions. I have just not had much time this week.

(Going to fall asleep thinking about how sparkly these boys are.)

[little-lost-lamb]

The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

_____________________________________________________________

Beelzebub 

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him! 

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.” 

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes. 

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it. 

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest. 

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips. 

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck. 

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and  incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room. 

No. 

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together. 

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it. 

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he  replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.” 

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open. 

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out. 

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you. 

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess. 

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo. 

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known  he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk. 

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments. 

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage. 

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be. 

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling. 

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE. 

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True. 

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so. 

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist. 

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

______________________________________________________________

@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

[cherubofthenight]

Manifesting my Dream Self 🍦🍓

i had to post this cuz i culdnt find it when i posted it privately yikes

if someone does read this, note that i do acknowledge 'her' as me and this is just to make it more fun :)

1) characterization

Determining her physical, mental and emotional traits. Her goals, her values, her morals. What is she like? How would you want people to describe her? Does she have a good relationship with her family? Does she have a s/o? Things like that.

2) bring her to life

Do as she would do. Dress as she would dress (if possible). Act as she would act. Stick by everything I decided for her. Positive self talk- which will be manual until I grasp it and it becomes automatically. Even if I slip. It’s okay, after all I’m human - I make mistakes.

3) staying on track

Keep a log of this by journalling. Create playlists that align with me. Pinterest boards that align as well and all of my social media will align with me (following blogs that align with me and my goals, subscribing to YouTubers who encourage what I'm looking for etc) so I’m surrounded by this energy.

Yuh, getting into it!

When I picture her, I see what I decided about her, thus that’s what I see when I picture myself.

So what I decided about her.

She has pretty, big doe eyes with perfect 20/20 vision, and long, full, cartoon-like lashes. Her lips are soft, plush, and two-toned, and her dark brown 4a/4b hair is healthy, thick, and long. She’s got the cutest button nose that makes you want to boop it, and her eyebrows? Absolutely perfect. Her face is beautifully balanced, with clear, glassy, dewy skin that’s soft and smooth. She’s got small hands and feet, and a pear-shaped body with curves in all the right places. And aside from her scalp, lashes, and brows, she’s completely hairless—taking care of herself is her priority.

People often compare her to a doll, but she’s known for her sweet yet take-no-shit attitude. She’s an absolute sweetheart and a treasure, and luckily, she knows it. There’s no one quite like her, and she only deserves the best. Anyone who gets to be in her presence is lucky, and she knows she’s her own muse. Despite the confidence she exudes, she’s always working on bettering herself, knowing growth is part of life. She values authenticity and surrounds herself with people who appreciate her strength and softer side.

She’s independent, self-assured, and deeply compassionate, striking the perfect balance between confidence and kindness. Her sweetness is just who she is—it’s not something she tries to perform. She’s all about meaningful connections and is always there for the people she loves. She moves through the world with a gentle grace, and her kindness reflects how much she loves herself. She never seeks validation because she already knows her worth. She’s happiest in her own peace, and her warmth radiates wherever she goes. She loves her own company and is her own greatest inspiration.

She recently moved into her own apartment, where everything reflects her style—immaculate and organized. She drives a matte black Audi RS, a white Honda CRV, and a pink Mazda Miata. Her closet is filled with the finest pieces, blending simplicity and elegance, so she’s always effortlessly chic. And of course, accessories are a girl’s best friend (besides herself, obviously). She’s committed to her well-being, practicing yoga or Pilates daily for balance and serenity. When she wants to push herself, she turns to calisthenics. She loves cooking healthy meals and experimenting with recipes to nourish her body and mind.

She’s got a boyfriend who’s intelligent, attentive, and hilarious. He has an incredible job with flexible hours, and he’s got two cars of his own. He can dance, sing, and is a family man, soft-spoken, a lover boy, and a bit nerdy, too. He’s obsessed with her (in a healthy way!) and always makes her happiness a priority. He even plans to buy her a pink Porsche 911 Turbo S (because she’s been dreaming of one).

She believes to be a pretty, artistic, strong, diligent yet delicate person.

Rules:

1. Starting to plan to start and end my day with a little prayer to myself, gratitude first and then reminder of the dream girl I am and will be.

2. Taking time to connect with nature or engage in outdoor activities

3. Practicing daily meditation or mindfulness

4. Surrounding herself with positive and supportive people

5. Setting achievable goals and celebrating small successes

6. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle by eating nutritious meals and getting enough sleep

7. Being willing to step outside of their comfort zone and try new things

8. Prioritizing self-care and making time for activities that bring joy and relaxation

Snippet of my Pinterest board:

what's mine will always find me <3

My spotify playlist:

Suggestions are welcome !

My fav affirmations:

what's mine will always find me

i don't chase, i attract

i'm not afraid to get what i want

my value exists out of what others think of me.

my potential is limitless, and anything is possible as long as I believe

and most importantly,

The reminder that I'm already her, no matter what.

I go more in-depth in my notion but this is basically the outline for what I’m gonna do.

And a small note:

everything that I claimed is mine has proven itself to be true.

From Bambi, To Doll, Love, you 😘 .

[peachycrisis]

Human Again

chapter 2

—————

The princess helped the former demon up the stairs as the rest of the residents watched in awe and utter confusion. How could this had happened? How could an angelic weapon cause all of this change? How is the infamous radio demon now a scrawny human?

“There we go, yep- one more step-“ Charlie muttered as she helped the injured man up the final stair, the man grunting in pain with each step. Charlie looked down at the man, who seemed to now be looking at her as well, the man’s eyes were dull- but alert. The man’s eyes were brown, with a little bit of green mixed in as well. It was very weird to look at the man who used to be feared all throughout hell as a helpless, injured human. The sharp red orbs on the man’s face were now replaced with big brown doe eyes- looking.. embarrassed? She sighed, stopping at the top of the stairs- feeling the man try to take his weight off of her and failing miserably.

“Woah- Al, are you okay?” the princess of hell asked as she felt the former radio demon place more of his weight onto her, the brown eyed radio host felt lightheaded and exhausted. His head fell into the crook of her neck, feeling his newly found curly hair brush up against her face and shoulders.

“It hurts a lot, you know.” he spoke into her neck, lacking the usual radio filter.

“I know, I know-“ she says, gripping onto the man, still allowing him to use her shoulders as something to balance on. Alastor winced, putting pressure back onto his own feet. “We’re almost there.” She said as they continued down the hallway slowly.

—————

The residents watched as the duo made their way up the stairs, confused as all hell.

“what the fuck just happened.” Angel spoke, breaking the awkward silence between them.

“I had never heard of such a thing, a sinner turning back into a human after being strikes by an angelic weapon..?” Vaggie questioned, dumbfounded at the events that just took place.

“That is unheard of, even in Heaven..”

“Well, I just gotta say- I would hi-“ Angel spoke seductively before being cut off by husk.

“If you hit on him I swear to fucking god.” Husk grumbled, everyone looked at him- surprised by his sudden outburst.

“I was just gonna say, he is kinda hot.” Angel confessed as he shrugged, everyone’s glance moved from husk to Angel within a second.

“Fuck no.”

—————

Once they got to Alastor’s room, Charlie helped him to the bed, before going back and closing the door for more privacy- she didn’t know the overlord very well, mainly do to him being a very private person- but one thing she did know, he would not want the entire hotel knowing about what is going on- or at least what is going on with his injury at this very moment.

“Okay, Alastor.” She started, “I’m not sure if you remember- I’m Charlie, but I think you know that already though-“

“yes dear, I know who you are.” Alastor spoke weakly. That’s right, he just mentioned the deal. Charlie internally envisioned herself smacking her own forehead. His smile continued to strain, the sharp teeth gone- replaced by a more human set. He cannot lose control. Not now, not ever. His smile strained even more as he watched the blonde woman in front of him, she looked so worried. He gripped tighter onto his coat, hugging his chest where his wound is, trying to hide it from view. He felt his breath hitch as his heart started to race… why was he panicking?

stay. in. control.

“okay, yes- um..” Charlie stuttered, looking at the man in-front of her- shock still coursing through her veins as she examined every nook and cranny- her eyes focusing down at the blood stained marks on his clothing. The clothing looked to be a little tight, possibly from the transition from a cannibal demon to a human being. She looked up and into his eyes, the man’s brown eyes looked tired and glassy as they also stared deep into hers. They stayed like that for a solid 30 seconds before the princess broke the silence.

“um…” she hesitated, looking at the arm encased in the bloody sleeve of his coat that was covering up the bloody angelic wound. She got on one knee in-front of the man and put her hand softly on Alastor’s arm, she felt him tense up, before watching him take a deep breathe and attempt to compose himself from the sudden touch. He allowed himself to loosen up, closing his eyes, putting his head down, and sighing.

“Can I see it?” She asked, gently rubbing his arm with her thumb. His breathe hitched again,

“uh- dear, i-“ his head shot up, his eyes opening- confused, scared, every emotion at once. Some strands of the overlords hair was sticking to his forehead from how much he has been sweating.

“I just want to see the damage.” She spoke reassuringly, “i won’t judge you, I promise..” the man noticeably tensed up even more, his eyes widened- his smile sharpening. His heart rate got even faster, Charlie noticed this, quickly getting up from her place on the floor, and opting to take a place beside him on the side of the bed.

“I just want to see how I can help you, is that okay?” She asked softly. The radio host finally agreed.

Charlie watched as Alastor- or the human version of who she knew to be alastor, took off his gloves, revealing flesh toned hands. She watched as his hands traveled to the buttons on his shirt, and how his hands shook with each button he needed to undo.

“Do you need he-“

“no.”

The man finally unbuttoned the last of the series of buttons, and slid the shirt off of his shoulders, revealing his chest and arms, all the same flesh color as his hands. Besides the obvious injury that stretched from the man’s hip to his shoulder, she noticed many scars littering his body, specifically his arms- she wanted to run her hands over the man’s scars, she wanted to tell him that everything will be alright… but she knows that the overlord would not want to hear any of it.

The man was stocky- thin, but built, a lot more built then his demon counterpart. His chest also contained the slightest amount of chest hair near his peck area.

“can we just.. get this over with?” Alastor spoke, his voice trembled and weak as his smile visibly starts to shake, on the verge of breaking. She took too much time examining and… exploring… the former demons body, she had barely payed attention to him himself. She watched as the mans body shivered, his eyes were wide with a mixture of what seemed to be fear and embarrassment.. the brown eyes started to well up with tears, as if he was going to break down at any moment. She watched him sniff, seeming either holding back a sob or a scream.

He could be self-conscious, she thought to herself before she looked at him, looking for a sign of reassurance that she could get closer. The curly haired hesitated, but then reluctantly agreed by giving her a nod.

She knelt down in-front of him again, taking a good look at the wound. It seemed to be starting to heal at the ends, but it was still very much inflamed and festering in the middle, with the outside skin looking red and raw.

“Alastor, you waited three days to take care of this?” She spoke… her voice shaking at the observation of how bad it truly was.

“yes…”

“Alastor-“

“I know.” he softly cried, letting a tear fall down his cheek, using one of his hands as stabilization on the bed, while the other found its way making it up to the man’s face and hair while the princess examined his bare, injured, and scarred skin.

he hated that she had to look at his body for that long.

[liesmyth]

Do you have any tips/resources on writing smut? I've never really written it, but I need to include a little in a fic I'm writing rn and yours is very good.

Anon! Thank you so much, this is Extremely flattering ❤️ Honestly, my #1 rule to Writing Smut is that actually anything can be hot if a scene is written to be arousing. It's all about the setup.

Some things that work for me:

EMOTIONS. ime, smut scenes should cause some level of emotional response in the reader. It can be the POV character experiencing strong feelings and that coming through in the narration; it can be a taboo or hard kink that’s enough to guarantee some kind of reaction; it can be an emotionally cathartic scene or character study through sex. It doesn’t have to be a lot! But there has to be Something that makes the reader invested, a takeaway that you couldn’t get from a purely objective description or looking at a picture.

FLOW. You’re either trying to make the reader horny and/or you’re trying to make them interested in what the characters are doing and feeling. Lean into that when crafting a scene! I find that varying the length of sentences in a paragraph helps (building up to a crescendo) and so does the deliberate use of terminology to set up a specific mood (more descriptive euphemisms vs. crude slang as the POV gets more overwhelmed, alternating lush prose and crass descriptors to create some contrast.)

CHARACTER-APPROPIATE VERBIAGE. This is a big one! There are NO forbidden smut words, actually. I have read super hot smut that hinged on the repeated use of some deeply unsexy terms. It’s ALL about the narrative voice. Try to construct a scene that’s immersive, with a narrative voice that suits the characters and the story, and the type of vocabulary that suits the POV and setting. Ime, anything and everything can be sexy if the mood is right. Yes, even the word “penis.” YES even funky euphemisms.

PURPOSE AND PACING. Why is the scene there? Try to strike a good balance between descriptions, feelings, and words. If the characters stop mid-sex to talk, it’d be harder to get back into a sexy mood (why I’ve been stuck on this one WIP for months. RIP) On the other hand, sometimes it’s fine to skip moments / descriptions, or even end the scene mid-sex.

(This is especially important in chaptered fics, in my experience. Sometimes there’s a long elaborate build-up to a get together and then all the emotions fizzle out during The Sex Chapter, or a plot-heavy story, and then the story slows down to fit in 3 orgasms per character. It’s fine, often better, to just stick to one orgasm, make it extra hot, and skim over the others)

WRITE DRUNK EDIT SOBER or any variant thereof. Write in comic sans and edit in times new roman. Write horny edits in public. It’s really easy to overthink smut and in my opinion, it Really helps to fully commit to a shitty first draft—no quibbling over word choices or positions; just don’t look at the screen and bang out 500 words. (Ah-ah, bang.) Write on your phone if you want! Put it away for a while then edit.

SMUT IS NOT SEX ED. Realism matters less than feelings do. I don't need to know every detail unless it's relevant to the development of the scene. Unless it’s something glaring like someone is suddenly naked or used soap as lube, no one is going to nitpick how realistic it is to hold X position for Y minutes or how many spankings a human being can endure. The scene works narratively >>> the scene can be recreated by random non-athletes having sex. It’s fic! If someone is taking it as a Guide To Sex that’s not on you.

Other resources: This is a good essay directly from 2005 era livejournal. Some posts about vocabulary: on kissing, smut thesaurus, more words! (use with caution, don't take anything as a hard rule etc.)

Also I just think I'm funny:

GOOD LUCK WRITING IT LMK HOW IT GOES

[tendermiasma]

I Hope this question won't attract unwanted crowd, I'll try to type it in a way it hopefully will prevent it, but I have a question. As a professional artist, do you have any advice on how to not feel discouraged by A /i g3 ner*a/t3d images? And what to do to protect my art from being stolen? Recently I discovered one person close to me, also an artist, started incorporating that into their works and got into selling stuff assisted by it, and I feel kind of... heartbroken, betrayed? I don't know what to do, it makes me not want to continue the relationship, because this stuff is, in my opinion, actively hurting artists, but on the other hand, I don't want to lose a friend over it. Also, I am afraid that the only way to prevent what I create from being stolen is to not share it online at all, which is also heartbreaking, because one of the biggest part of creating (at least to me) is a form of dialogue with fellow humans, sharing emotions, and interaction between the creator, the art and the audience. I just feel lost. Also, I really admire your art, your skill, and you inspire me in a very profound way, just wanted to say that. Hope you have a good day!

Hi! It's a really shitty situation and I also often feel really doom and gloom about the whole thing. But the reason I keep making art is simple: It is my greatest joy to communicate through art and with every piece I make I continue to assert over and over that my human soul and the expertise that comes with it is a thousand times more valuable than a machine, and even though a lot of people wouldn't give a shit if a person or AI made it, there are always people out there who will care. I just really, really love doing it even while capitalism and our culture of consumption is taking on new and terrible forms. If we stop making art, what's left? Just the machine and nobody to speak up otherwise. Do nothing and lose everything vs keep fighting and something else, something better by some measure happens. Action is always the cure. I'm a big believer in that because I've found it to be true.

We're at a crucial time in the entertainment and arts industries. We all have some measure of power we can use against emerging policies and trends that don't benefit/actively hurt us. The WGA is currently striking in part to make AMPTP reconsider their AI policy of essentially just updating the WGA on the technology's progess annually. Other organized labor in entertainment and visual arts can negotiate anti-AI clauses into their contracts to make it less acceptable as a practice overall. You can use Glaze on your work to confuse AI engines and they just came out with a new version that I hear is a pretty nice jump in how detectable the texture is to your eye in the images.

I'm sorry you're going through that with your friend, though. It's hard and messy and there's no set way to go about it. It all depends on what you value most and what your own moral compass is telling you what you need to do here. Personally if it were a close friend of mine, I would talk to them about it. Depending on how they respond, your decision still might be a hard one or they could make it very easy. They will absolutely tell you how much time you should invest into this. Even if their attitude is clearly signaling that they do not care about you here and that you should move on from the friendship, it's probably still going to be painful and you'll grieve it for a while. Surround yourself with friends who understand how you feel and time will do its thing.

I think you should take comfort in that if you continue with art, this won't be the hardest decision you'll ever have to make. You'll have to make harder ones and will still come out on the other side. Even if you choose not to share your art on the wider internet and keep it as a precious thing among a smaller group of friends, it still has just as much worth and as you go along you will naturally find a balance between risks and reward. Don't forget that speaking out does actually have power in itself. Remember we've been able to bully a few companies into rolling back harmful practices in the past year or so.

I hope that was somewhat helpful. We're all trying to figure this out together and there's always going to be a future for artists as long as we keep pushing back hard. Capitalism takes a mile when you give an inch so it always, always matters to be vocal, spread useful information, use anti-ai apps on your art etc. It takes more energy to stay away from something you really want to do so I'm sure you'll find a way to share your art in the capacity you're comfortable with.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: Consort of Fire by Kit Rocha

4.25/5. Releases 11/28/2023.

Vibes: a complex love triangle, handmaiden/princess, arranged marriage, dragon heroes that fuck, and enemies to lovers with actual stakes.

Princess Sachielle is betrothed to the Dragon, a god feared for killing his previous consort a century prior. What the Dragon doesn't know is that she's been charged with killing him--and her own life is forfeit if she fails. He also doesn't know that Sachi's handmaiden and lover, Zanya, is much more than she seems. And neither Sachi nor Zanya expected their very different connections with the Dragon--or his determination to win both of them.

It's not easy to find FFM menage romances, and of course, it's therefore even harder to find good ones that don't treat the women as side dishes next to a hero entree. But this? This is really fucking good. And it's really good fantasy romance, at that. If the other dragon romance book (which I personally liked as well) was too light or tame for you--this uh... will not be that. This one is wild, and it is the beginning of a series--while this isn't exactly a cliffhanger, it doesn't end in a fully resolved manner, and I'm excited to see what comes next.

Quick Takes:

--Menage romances often favor one bond over the other; while I love them in general, I find many that do not... work. Here, it's pitched perfectly--and I suspect some of that has to do with the fact that we still have some story to tell, and development to watch unfold. Zanya and Sachi have a very established, loving, and passionate long-term relationship, and that is never in question in this book (despite the necessity of them keeping it a secret, initially). Sachi and Ash (of course the Dragon goes by Ash) have an immediate chemistry and physical attraction, which puts a real wrench in the "I'm here to kill him" thing. It only deepens into something more as they spend time together, with Zanya looking on--not quite un-jealous, but not really threatened either.

Zanya and Ash's interplay might have been my favorite, though. She is determined to keep Sachi safe no matter what, and she is vicious. Ash? Loves and relates to both of those things. The very literal sparring scenes between these two? So hot. And while I feel very sure about the dynamic between Sachi and Zanya and Sachi and Ash, these two still have a ways to go. Zanya is a hard character, with many emotional walls (and her reasons are super valid). Ash, on the other hand, is all heat--and while he's initially determined to make nice with Zanya because of his feelings for Sachi, over the course of the book you feel him become more interested in her, and excited to get to know her better and be with her for the long term. Zanya? Still needs some convincing. I am pumped to see how he wins her over.

--The way sexuality is handled in this book is so casual, and I fucking love that. Really, the main obstacle to Sachi and Zanya being together in public is related to class and Sachi's duty to marry Ash. The gods they meet are pretty much universally bisexual, and Ash's previous consort was a prince, not a princess, which doesn't seem unusual or remarked upon.

--I think it would be very easy for Ash to come off as a "just happy to be there" guy, because Zanya and Sachi have such a strong love, and such an established relationship. But he's really so lovable, so patient with both of them (well, Sachi has to be more patient in their case--he's very worried about hurting her) and so charmingly teasing. Like, he's a protective dangerous dragon guy (and to be clear: for most of the book, Ash is totally this big hot man dude, he shifts separately into a dragon form) but he's also just? A good guy?

--I loved the world of the gods and their mythology. It's fun, it's hedonistic, I identified several cool characters I'd love to see find love in their own books, and it feels like they're both... above humanity and sweetly emotional. It's a hard balance to strike, but I think they got it in this one. (Fun fact: Kit Rocha is a pen name for two friends.)

--In terms of "how fantasy is this and how romance is this" it's a romance novel, despite the fact that it doesn't end on a totally resolved note (I trust that will come in the future). But the fantasy is strong without being too hard to follow. I feel like fantasy purists who are Very Vocal On Twitter may complain about the level of fantasy in this but like. The world was very much solid enough for me. I got it. It was the right balance for me, as a romance reader, and I refuse to accept romantasy as a thing unless it defines itself better, because it feels like fantasy romance is all I really need to know about.

The Sex:

Um, one of the hottest books I've read in a while. It takes a bit before you get to the first sex scene, but once it gets going it's going. Most of the sex scenes involve all three parties in one way or the other. Sachi is absolutely a brat with both of her partners, and frankly, we love to see it.

One thing I really loved was the evolution of Zanya's role in the sexual aspect of the relationship. We see that she and Sachi have very defined roles in bed, they know each others' bodies so well. Ash is respectful of that, as he is respectful in general--and he's willing to learn from both Sachi and Zanya (and I get the impression that while both of them are clearly bi, neither has much or any experience with men due to their longstanding, presumably monogamous involvement with each other). He's such a great example of writing a romance hero who's like... an animal where it counts, but so respectful of consent and so willing to be taught. So, as time passes, you see Zanya's more dominant side come out with Ash as well, and the way in which she begins to shift her focus from just Sachi to Sachi and Ash. Which of course, very much aligns with the fact that she's catching feelings. Oops!

I can't give away too much, but--there is one sex scene towards the end of the book that is just. Beyond.

Like I said, it's kind of hard to find FFM, and I jumped on this book because I was so excited to see that--and of course, I want to read more fantasy romance. I'm really happy with where it's going, and I look forward to the next book.

Thanks to Montlake and Netgalley for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Greensleeves Chapter Six: Figure It Out

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: None Wordcount: 4.9k

Astarion tries to get the measure of Xaph. The party find a githyanki woman in a cage. Gale feels compelled to share important information. Shadowheart is unimpressed with the lot of them

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Astarion is early to rise, quick to wake, as always. A single delicious ray of sun slants yellow light across his white shirt. The novelty has yet to wear off. It would be on his face if he weren’t half-in-half-out of his new tent. This must be what snakes feel like when they emerge from their burrows, find a hot stone and refuse to move further until they’re practically burning. He cannot allow himself that sort of luxury. It could be suspicious. Roughly a third of the tieflings are still sleeping when he rises to his feet. Shadowheart is sitting in the same position he’d last seen her, as though she hasn’t moved all night, and Gale is stretched out almost starfish-style like he has all the space in the world. He’s lucky that the tiefling girl has already vacated her bedroll and packed it up. She strikes Astarion as a child who would have no qualms kicking a grown-up awake. While he’s thinking of the tieflings though, isn’t that where Xaph had slept? She’s nowhere to be seen. Nor is the Blade of Frontiers, or the children. Not his concern. His concern is that all these bodies being so close is getting to him. He picks his way through them, taking the shortest route. This puts him next to the ramshackle training ground where they’d found Wyll yesterday. And this is where he finds Wyll again. Wyll, Xaph, and the children. Xaph is standing behind a tiefling who looks to be around twenty human years. Her hands are on his shoulders as she assesses his stance,

“Your balance is off.” She knocks his feet further apart with one of her own. A well-practiced move, Astarion notes. He’ll have to remember that. She manoeuvres the tiefling into a better position that secures him to the ground and covers his ribs. “Try again.”

“Step. Parry. Strike.” The tiefling’s hit lands true, sinking into the target dummy’s side, where the soft flesh of a waist would be. Xaph’s hands hit his shoulders again as she smiles. She keeps her mouth closed when she smiles, but her sharp eye-teeth push against her lip.

“Good! Good, Guex,” an unfortunate name with an unpleasant sound, “Word to the wise, don’t shout out your moves. Gives the game away.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you,” The young tiefling leans forward and reaches for something behind the dummy, “Here. I found this on the road. Suppose you’ll put it to better use than I would.” A battleaxe. The silly besotted thing is giving her a battleaxe for showing him how to hit an inanimate object. They really are strange creatures. Still, Xaph thanks him. Or at least, Astarion thinks she does. He doesn’t understand the word she says, but it seems grateful. Guex returns to his practice, and Xaph hops down from the wooden platform to put her new prize away. 

“Astarion!” She sounds…happy? “Good morning!” Not dwelling on her cool rebuff of him last night, clearly. Her shirt is too big for her, and the laces have come undone in the night. She has those ridges on her sternum that most tieflings do, he can see the first few disappearing beneath the fabric. She moves between the sleeping tieflings with none of Astarion’s careful care, but the several who do wake simply roll back over again. She sets the battleaxe by her pack and returns to his side. Her eyes search his, but only for a brief moment before she settles her gaze on the children. “They’re not fighters.”

“That’s abundantly clear, my dear.”

“Figured I should at least,” her shoulders shrug as she folds her arms, “Try to help prepare them, I guess.”

“And you’re a good fighter, would you say?” Astarion asks, mimicking the gesture. Mirroring is always a good tactic. Makes them feel in sync.

“Did we not kill goblins yesterday?” Xaph asks, wincing as a child trips.

“I recall I had to kill several for you.” Astarion points out, goading her. Her head turns to him with a snap. Just like he wanted.

“One. One goblin.” Xaph corrects. It’s a sore point. Good.

“Not to mention I had you on your back before I even knew your name.” He dares to edge just that little bit closer, without breaching the bubble of personal space enforced by horns. Xaph’s lips part in indignation, and her tongue is shockingly pink against navy-blue skin.

“What is it the patriars do, when they’re offended and they feel melodramatic?” Xaph asks, but he can sense she doesn’t really want an answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms unfolding. She’s wearing gloves, soft woollen ones with the fingers cut off, and she pulls one of these off. It smacks into his shoulder, not with any real noise or impact. A challenge. To a duel. He’s already won.

“Oh? Daggers or swords?” Both are readily available.

“Quarterstaffs.” Xaph decides, pulling two out of a nearby barrel that’s full of the stout pieces of wood.

“Sticks.” Astarion protests.

“And a sword is a pointy stick.” Xaph counters.

“Not my weapon.”

“Or mine,” with a flick of the wrist the quarterstaff turns smoothly in her hand before she offers it to Astarion, “Makes it fair.”

“You could fool me.” Astarion says, but he takes the stick. She turns her back on him. Draws a mark in the ground with her staff, then walks twenty paces and makes another mark. She connects the lines in a wide circle. Stands as far away from him as she can, and holds out the staff. It becomes an extension of her, perfectly lined up with her arm up until the slight bend of her elbow. Astarion mirrors the pose, and they begin to walk.

Gale wakes to a lot more sound. Wood against wood, insult against quip, the giggling of children. He’s almost entirely alone in the sleeping quarters of the tieflings, and picks himself up quickly in hopes that no one’s payed enough attention to him to notice. He’s in luck. Many of the tieflings have returned to the packing up of their lives. Another squad seems to have been sent to petition Kagha. A small group, mostly children and young adults, are clustered around the wooden training ground. Voices that are quickly becoming familiar to him rise above their heads. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moves towards the sound and finds Shadowheart. She’s already in her armour, her hair meticulous - she must have redone it this morning.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m just glad they’ve stopped circling like jackals,” Shadowheart jerks her chin towards the sound of wood hitting flesh, “Though I’m not sure what the point of the exercise is.”

Xaph and Astarion are at the centre of a large circle drawn in the dirt, whacking each other with lengths of wood. No, wait, quarterstaffs, much like Gale’s own. Still simply pieces of wood, in most respects. Waiting more, he sees that it’s less them trying to brain each other and more something else. A tricky real-time puzzle each of them is trying to solve first. Wyll, standing with the children’s teacher, looks to be torn between refereeing the duel and pulling the pair apart. Xaph is barefoot and her sleeves are rolled so Gale can see every muscle in her arms as she moves with the staff. Her fingers twist one after another after another to keep the staff turning, turning, turning, fast enough to shield her from Astarion’s blows. Astarion, whose eyebrows keep pinching and his nose keeps twitching until he feints, side-steps, striking at just the opportune moment when Xaph switches hands and elbowing her side in that place that makes her double over.

“Cheat.”

“Stickler.”

Xaph recovers well and smacks her staff into Astarion’s back as soon as she has the opportunity, which makes him stumble and allows her to kick in his knees. Or at least try to. He’s got a good grip on his own staff, and uses it to bat her foot away as he turns. Before Gale can really process, they’re locked together, a knot of sticks and arms, until one of them kicks the other and they tip too far over for either of them to recover. The wooden planks shake underfoot at the impact of their combined body weight. Some of the tiefling children cheer, and some of them groan. A small girl with a strip of fabric tied around her head to obscure one of her eyes slinks through them collecting pieces of gold. Xaph rolls away from Astarion once she’s caught her breath and settles on her knees, chest heaving. She’s smiling. When she stands she offers Astarion a hand, but he gets to his feet on his own. He does however concede to a businesslike handshake.

The tieflings start to disperse, Xaph reaching out to ruffle a little boy’s hair as he passes. Astarion pushes his staff into Xaph’s hand with something of a smirk, as though he’d won. A child shouts to her and she obliges him, starting to spin the staffs. One in each hand. Much slower than she had been with one, but the movements are fluid enough that after a minute or so she can swap hands without too much of a hiccup. The child is herded back to his own target practice and Xaph deposits the quarterstaffs in their barrel. Her tail is moving again, and Gale can’t think of a better word for it than wagging, quick swipes back and forth. In dogs that indicates happiness, and it seems to be the same of tieflings.

“Are you quite done?” Shadowheart asks, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to grab some fun where she can, Shadowheart.” Xaph says, linking her hands and pushing them up into the air to stretch.

“Believe me, I can,” Shadowheart deadpans, “We need to move on.” She casts a sidelong glance at Gale, still in his sleep clothes. Everyone in the party is still in sleep clothes but her.

“You’re right.” Xaph nods, “Aradin and his mates left in the night, apparently. Pricks,” some of her knuckles crack and pop as she works her fingers, “But if we run into them, they can show us the way to the goblin camp,” her eyes slide away from Shadowheart when she sees Arabella picking up the battleaxe Guex had given her, “Muzz-”

***

Irritation is rankling Shadowheart’s features further than ever before. The party had managed to gather themselves quickly, that wasn’t the issue, but Wyll had been late to the gate and brought news that turned Shadowheart’s lips in disgust. A couple of tieflings had come across a githyanki caught in a goblin trap, and Xaph was convinced it was the woman who had helped them to crash the nautiloid. Even if it isn’t her, she’d pointed out, it’s hardly right to leave her there. Shadowheart and Astarion had been outvoted. The party, now with Wyll, were moving in the opposite direction from where they needed to go.

“It’s not far.” Wyll had assured them, and it wasn’t, but it wasn’t the distance that was the issue.

There she was. The gith woman. Suspended in a crude wooden cage with a face like thunder. If looks could kill, there would be no survivors.

“Zorru was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly.” There’s one of the tieflings, deep in conversation with another. Shadowheart vaguely recollects the name Zorru as someone she’d been introduced to last night. 

“The thing’s dangerous,” the other tiefling reasons, “Leave it for the goblins to kill.”

“Damays!” Wyll strides forward without hesitation. The woman startles, but the man rests a hand on her arm to calm her and waves at Wyll.

“The Blade of Frontiers,” he replies, though he doesn’t move to meet the party, “Have you ever killed a gith?” 

Shadowheart can’t keep her attention on the idle conversation Wyll entertains, not when Xaph’s head twitches violently and her horn rings against the blade of the battleaxe now strapped to her back. She’d managed to coax it out of Arabella’s sticky fingers with only minor bribery. The worm situated at the base of Shadowheart’s skull corkscrews, then pushes forward. Yearning for contact. She follows Xaph’s line of sight up to the cage, to where the githyanki has speared the ranger with her gaze.

Get me down. Speech. No, not quite. The githyanki’s lips haven’t moved, yet her words echo in Shadowheart’s skull. In Xaph’s. Their worms have connected again. They can recognise one another. Communicate. And the gith has already mastered the art. Xaph’s voice, as thin as thread, pushes through the mental link.

I will. Just wait.

“Remember how keen she was to leave me to die on that nautiloid? We can’t trust her.” Shadowheart doesn’t even try to test the mental link. She doesn’t want anyone in her head. Besides, from here it’s unlikely the gith will be able to hear what she’s saying.

“But she didn’t,” Xaph says firmly. She and Shadowheart have butted heads too many times to be entirely at ease with, but neither one of them risks escalating disagreements, “And she’s infected. Like us.” As if any of them need the reminder. Shadowheart has neither the time nor the space for sympathy. It’s not a muscle she has cause to exercise. When no one replies, Xaph moves forward to join Wyll and the tieflings.

“What did I tell you about rangers and strays?” Astarion asks, his words as light and carefree as a seed flying on the wind, “And there’s no accounting for taste. She did pick you and the wizard, after all.”

“Ours was a mutual agreement, unlike your death threats,” Shadowheart hisses back, “And she saved my life. I owe her.”

“As do I,” Gale adds. It’s perhaps the shortest sentence he’s uttered over the course of their acquaintance, “Though I think she’s a better judge of character than you give her credit for, Astarion.” Ah. He wasn’t done. 

“Nonsense. She’s been living up in the mountains for gods know how long and she talks to pigs.” Astarion waves a dismissive hand.

“Why linger, then? You seem confident in your ability to handle yourself out here in the wilds.”

“Oh, because I want to watch the shitshow, darling.”

Between them, Xaph and Wyll manage to convince the tieflings that the gith is no threat and to return to the grove. The party huddle together again, and Xaph cups her hands around her mouth to call to the woman in the cage,

“Are you alright?”

“Release me. Or enjoy a future as ghaik.” The word is harsh and guttural and she is very good at being threatening. 

“What…what’s that?” Xaph asks.

“Mind flayers. The atrocities we are becoming.”

“Ah. Right.”

It doesn’t take long to find the rope that is keeping the wooden cage suspended in the air, but the githyanki is less than grateful when she’s released.

“The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled all your senses. Auspicious,” her voice is low and full of gravel, as it had been on the nautiloid, and Xaph suspects it must always sound like this, “But the longer we wait, the more it consumes.”

“You're welcome,” Xaph says, hands on hips, “Are you injured?”

“My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a creche. You will join me.”

“A creche?” Xaph repeats. She knows the word, but she associates it with young animals being cared for by a community of elders. Probably not exactly what this woman means.

“Careful,” Shadowheart warns under her breath, “She obviously sees your kindness as weakness. Don’t let her take advantage.”

“A creche is many things. A hatchery. A training grounds. A shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification.” Xaph has not met many githyanki before, and those she has come across have been watched from a distance rather than met, but she knows they’re a strictly militaristic people and that comes across in this gith’s choice of words.

“Alright. Journey with us. We can keep an eye out for a creche.” Xaph tells her.

“This isn’t wise.” Shadowheart says, but that is her only complaint. She can’t deny that the githyanki is a fierce warrior and a survivor, she had proved as much on the nautiloid, and she seems to know the most about mind flayers in the group. Besides Gale, maybe, but his knowledge is more theoretical whereas the githyanki have been battling illithid for centuries. 

“You have made an ally from Creche K’liir. Few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.”

“Xaph, of the Sunset Mountains. Gale of Waterdeep,” Xaph indicates each member of her group, “Astarion and Wyll of Baldur’s Gate, and you know Shadowhea-”

“It matters not what crevice of this place you crawled out of.”

“Well met indeed.” Wyll remarks, and the distinct indifference does not pass the party’s notice. It’s the furthest from jovial they’ve heard him yet.

“I’ll trust your judgement, but I won’t trust her,” Shadowheart tells Xaph. She agrees with Gale and does trust Xaph, to an extent, but that doesn’t mean she has to make friends, “Not until I get the measure of her.” Xaph nods to indicate her acceptance of this.

“You’ve a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind proved its equal.” Lae’zel pokes.

“Half-elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you.” Shadowheat pokes back. No one steps in, not yet. Some of them aren’t sure about the githyanki either, some of them think it’s better to let Shadowheart get this out now rather than let it boil over. The gith lets it pass, at least.

“The horned ones mentioned a camp. One there - this Zorru - has seen githyanki,” Xaph glances at Wyll, because she recognizes the name Zorru and can see he does too, “A creche must be near. We will ask this Zorru where he has seen my kin.”

“Back to the grove then, I suppose.” Astarion sighs.

“Better to go now than have to travel back once further afield.” Gale tells him. Shadowheart can tell that the group has made up their mind without her, so she doesn’t protest when they turn back to the grove.

The tiefling on guard at the gate is a little confused when the party she’d let out only a few hours before return with an extra member.

“Couldn’t get enough of us, mad-meph?” she calls, leaning over the ramparts. She’d taken over for the young tiefling who’d died yesterday. Kanon. His sister had spent most of last night crying, and none of them had wanted to approach her. This tiefling woman seems in good spirits, if a little forced, “Or did you bring us more goblins?”

“Mragreshem,” Xaph calls back, “We found a githyanki, she wants to talk to Zorru.”

“Githyanki? One of them killed Yul.”

“She’s with us. She causes trouble, I’ll deal with it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Lae’zel mutters, but the tiefling doesn’t hear this and cranks the mechanism that opens the gates with a shout that Zorru should be near the barn. That is where they find him, only minorly waylaid by concerned tieflings wondering why they’re back so soon and some casting wary glances at Lae’zel. She doesn’t notice this, or doesn’t care, and strides purposefully a half-step ahead of the others though she doesn’t know where she’s going. She could have found Zorru by herself, because the second he sees her he starts trembling.

“My friend’s blood not enough? Come to split me open too?” He asks, trying to fake bravado and failing, a defensive hand already in front of him.

“In Creche K’liir, a formal greeting begins with a bow.” Lae’zel’s voice is level and firm. An order.

“Lae’zel!”

“I hate to say I told you so-” Shadowheart starts.

“No you don’t.” Astarion argues.

“-but I did tell you.”

“Show some sympathy, Lae’zel. These people are terrified of more than you.” Xaph tells her. 

“Has the tadpole ravaged your senses? Sympathy will not lead us to purity.” Lae’zel snaps, fists forming at her sides. 

“Enough,” Xaph’s voice is as tight as her bowstring. Lae’zel is about to learn the lesson of don’t badmouth tieflings that Shadowheart and Kagha had yesterday, “Stand down. I won’t tell you again. He owes you no such respect.” Lae’zel makes a harsh sound between her teeth, tchk, but she steps back. Outnumbered. “Zorru?” the tiefling is still watching the githyanki, his eyes fixed on the sword pommel he can see at her shoulder, “Zorru, look at me,” he does, the familiar sight of horns making him relax a bit. An argument breaks out somewhere to the left…is that a goblin?  “She won’t hurt you. I won’t let her. Damays told us you saw some githyanki. All we want to know is where,” she turns her head aside to ask Shadowheart for the map, “Can you show us?” Zorru nods, “Thank you. What’s going on in there?” Xaph points to where the distressed voices had come from.

“Arka caught a goblin.”

“Arka?”

“Kanon’s sister.” Zorru answers. Xaph says something in Infernal, and it seems to put him at ease. She presses a hand to his shoulder as she turns away from him to speak to her companions.

“Have him mark the location on the map,” she says, “And Shadowheart? Don’t let her hurt him. And don’t hurt her,” her eyes skip to Astarion, “No one hurt anyone, blanket statement. Wyll?”

“Got it.” Wyll nods. He seems the most trustworthy to keep the peace at the moment. Besides perhaps Gale, but Xaph asks him to accompany her so she isn’t going into this next situation both blind and alone. She leads him towards the angry voices, hidden behind a wooden fence and gate. Inside is a makeshift prison. An iron gate sealing off a crack in the rocks forms a cell, and a metal cage sits in the centre of the chamber. Sure enough, a goblin is jeering from behind those bars. Two tieflings stand outside the cage. One is holding a crossbow, and must be Arka.

“Y’aint gonna shoot me,” the goblin’s voice croaks, “Yer ‘ands are shaking.”

“Put it down,” the unarmed tiefling says, clearly repeating himself, “She can’t fight back.”

“That’s the point.” Arka growls, teeth bared as she readjusts the crossbow. Her stance is good, but her fingers are trembling. Her face still bears streaks from tears. “Get out of the way.”

“She didn’t kill your brother, Arka. You’re better than this.” Rage. Dangerous fuel for revenge.

“Shoot before you lose your nerve, tiefling,” the goblin taunts, “If you ever had it to begin with.” And she will. Xaph can see it in her eyes, burning gold against yellow skin. She passes Gale the bow she’s still holding, which he takes automatically, and she steps forward. Between the crossbow bolt and the goblin. The goblin sneers further, saying that an Absolute has sent her a protector. Xaph doesn’t pay attention to her. She isn’t the threat.

“Arka-”

“You. Out of the way!”

“I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sorry we couldn’t save him. But this is not the way to deal with it.”

“How dare you.” Arka’s tail whips to the side, sharp enough that Gale can imagine a snap noise, but he only sees it out of the corner of his eye as he watches Xaph. Her face is set, her feet rooted. Her own tail resolutely still.

“Would he want you to do this?” Xaph asks. For how hard and sharp she’d been with Lae’zel, for how firm her stance is now, her voice is soft. Sympathy. It may not lead them to purification from the tadpole, but perhaps to peace of mind and quieting of the heart. Gale could do with some of that. Xaph might be the best of his newfound companions to confide in. The one he knows the most, at least, not that he knows much. But she seems a good person, and that’s more than he can say for Astarion or Lae’zel. Arka has faltered. Her grip on the crossbow is loosening. Xaph holds out her hands, entreating the tiefling to surrender her weapon. 

“Damn you. Damn it.” Arka drops the crossbow into Xaph’s waiting hands and wraps her arms tight around herself as fresh tears fall down her face. The other tiefling puts an arm over her shoulders, and mouths something at Xaph that must be grateful. Gale has to learn more Infernal if he’s going to be travelling with tieflings. “Why do you care if a goblin lives or dies?”

“Because she’s not a practice target. She’s a person.” Compassion rolls of Xaph in waves, practically visible. Maybe Astarion was onto something when he was complaining about strays. Not many would stand in front of a crossbow for a goblin. 

“Can’t say I understand that. Not sure I want to.” Arka says, but her voice has shrunk. Rage within grief is possibly the strongest form of anger, but it tends to pass quickly. In flashes.

“Arka. Let’s go.” The other tiefling pulls at her shoulders until she turns and leaves with him. The stern expression on Xaph’s face flickers, but doesn’t drop. She looks to Gale, as though looking for approval of her decision to save the goblin.

“You did the right thing. Revenge has a habit of eating people alive.” He tells her. She sighs and swallows as she schools her expression and takes her bow back from him. Then, she faces the goblin.

“Ain’t sure why you protected me,” the goblin sniffs and wipes her nose on the length of her arm, “Don’t care, neither. It’s too late to make friends, worgmeat. My tribe’s coming. They’re gonna burn this pretty place for the glory of the Absolute,” that’s the second mention of Absolute, “And ‘ang ya by yer guts.” Well. Goblins aren’t exactly known for their charm. 

“Who is the Absolute you’re so fond of? Your god?” Xaph asks. The goblin has that tone to her voice, that of a fresh fanatic.

“Goddess. We’re burnin’ her name across the face of the world, we are. The Absolute is gold from the sky, she is. The blessin’ in the storm an’ the storm itself.” Yes, these words carry a cadence Gale is intimately familiar with. 

“I’ve no interest in blessings from gods,” Xaph’s arms fold with her words, “I’m interested in why your people are attacking this grove.”

“Get me out of ‘ere, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I saved your life. I think I’ve filled my quota of favours for you. You’re at the mercy of the druids now.” Xaph turns her back as the goblin starts to spit insults and slurs of such a derogatory nature that Gale has to commend her for how small a reaction she has, little more than a twitch of the tail. As they leave the makeshift prison, Gale recalls a particularly entertaining memory,

“Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments.” He cuts himself off when Xaph holds up a hand.

“Forgive me, Gale, but perhaps we can save anecdotes for later. We have slightly more pressing issues.” She tells him, and she’s gentle enough that he only takes a slight offence. They do indeed have more pressing issues. He has more pressing issues, but their other companions are in sight. If he’s going to confide in Xaph he has to do it now or wait until they make camp.

“Xaph,” he stops, and she pauses a few steps later when she realises he isn’t following her anymore, “Spare me a moment, if you please. I’ve something to discuss with you,” she opens her mouth and he knows what she’s going to say, “Not the Yawning Portal story.” She drifts back to him, and he’s grateful they’re out of earshot of their other companions. “Ever since you were kind enough to free me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Please.” Xaph closes her mouth. “You’re defending your people. You saved that child, Arabella. You just stood in front of a crossbow to prevent a murder. In short, I’ve grown to trust you.” Xaph’s eyes narrow, just a little, trying to discern any underlying meaning, and her head tilts to the side when she finds none.

“I appreciate the sentiment, and I return it, but the flattery’s more than enough.” She tells him. Compliments have a habit of making her squirm. 

“I was being quite sincere, I assure you. The reason I make a point of it is that there’s something, well, rather important I need to tell you,” he casts his eye about the grove, full of people, “Not here.” Xaph worries at her lip, at the corner where they join, for a moment.

“I understand,” she says slowly, deliberately, “We have to move on, but we can’t walk through the day. We’ll have to take a break. Find fresh water or boil some from the river. You could help me, see if you can find any more edible plants.” He understands the offer. A window of time out in the wilderness when the others are busy, tired, when it will be easy to separate themselves from the group. Privacy. Gale lets out a sigh of a breath and inclines his head in a mock bow,

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” Xaph asks, and he almost smiles. Compassion. Sympathy. For how much longer will she look at him with such softness?

“Your trust is more than enough, for the moment.”

[oddygaul]

Jakub Rebelka’s Origins and Cyberpunk XOXO

Ever since there’s been a wallpaper shuffling function in Windows, I’ve kept a big-ass folder full of art to cycle through. When I was younger, this was more traditional wallpaper-type wallpapers, featuring plenty of references and tongue-in-cheek, graphic tee style images. Nowadays, I basically use it as a big repository for all my favorite art: illustrators whose work I admire, favorite frames from movies or animation, comic pages, or even just character designs I particularly like.

Weighing in at over 10GB and containing nearly 12,000 files, it’s safe to say that it’s not especially curated - I must’ve thought everything in there was neat at the time I added it, but given that some of the images are almost two decades old, there’s certainly some pictures that’ll pop up in the rotation that I wish I could remove then and there. More often, though, and this is what I love about this wallpaper folder, it’ll remind me of an artist whose work I haven’t thought about in years, and allow me a moment to stop and appreciate it before I go back to whatever I was doing.

One of the artists I found myself stopping and appreciating a lot was Jakub Rebelka. I must’ve found him back in the DeviantArt days, but lost him in my transition to more modern platforms - so by the time I started seeing his work pop up, it had been so long I had no idea who he was. Finally, after being so impressed with the style every time a piece of his came up, I spent half a day digging through the folder to try and find his name – nowadays I always label each image with the artist’s name, but back when I was younger? It was a free-for-all. 

Upon finding his name at last and pulling up his portfolio, I was, if anything, even more impressed! Even coming back with a decade’s worth of refinement in my artistic taste and skill, I still found all his work breathtaking. Rebelka’s art occupies this incredibly unique balancing point of painterly and graphic – sick character designs with strong silhouettes, a rendering style with plenty of brush strokes and paint texture, while still blocking things off with big, graphic shapes – and a great knack for color besides.

And so, I resolved to not let myself forget him again. I got a couple prints of my favorite pieces of his, and found that he’s even done some sequential work since then: Origins, a far-future scifi story about the last human being, and XOXO, a Cyberpunk 2077 tie-in that restrains its scope to the story of one particular ganger.

Origins

Well, after all that build-up, this one was a bit of let-down for me.

There’s no denying Rebelka is an incredible illustrator, but he’s still very much getting his sequential narrative legs here. Origins has some truly breathtaking splash pages and environment art; the in-between moments, though, that get us from setpiece to setpiece, can be stilted. When characters are striking stoic poses or overlooking a scenic vista, they look great; when those characters are performing more specific, dynamic actions, or having a conversation that requires nuanced expression, they leave a bit to be desired. The action sequences are pretty rough as well; the back third of the book has a lot of big fights, and they mostly come off as confusing and static.

this is also probably the most I’ve ever been distracted by lettering. All the SFX look like they’re from a different book

Mind you, these missteps might mostly be the result of time crunch, because in Origins, Rebelka has staunchly refused to reign back his artstyle to something more workable for a comics format. While there’s the odd panel here and there that looks like a traditional, inked comic page, the vast majority of the book is done in Rebelka’s usual style: striking shape language, extreme textural depth and remarkably thorough landscape work. Seriously, while I may take issue with some of the art, it’s an incredible feat to finish a whole book in this style.

Part of the credit here goes to colorist Patricio Delpeche, of course, who did an excellent job on this whole book. I should mention here, by the way, that the way Rebelka did the black and whites is crazy: he just full-on painted all these panels in grayscale. This is seriously wild – I struggle to think of another book with this approach.

In the typical inker / colorist contract, outside of texture, the inks are usually left as just black and white without mid-tones, with those left to the colorist’s discretion. It’s easy to think of a colorist’s job as just choosing a color palette, when in reality they’re making a lot of incredibly tough decisions about value and composition. There’s some artists, like Matteo Scalera, who do their own middle values with inkwash, but even then, the colorist is doing a lot of sculpting and shaping of form.

Looking at this before and after Delpeche posted on his Instagram, though, it seems Rebelka just went whole-hog on defining value as well. Now, this is a splash page, so maybe it was an exception, and there’s certainly some chunks of the story later on that look more like traditional comic pages; still, it’s crazy to see.

Now, I’ve largely focused on discussing Origins’ art since that’s what I came to this book for, but it’s also because the story and writing are nothing special. The premise feels pretty boilerplate; we have nanites that grey goo’d the world, we have an all-knowing network that killed off humanity, we have the Last Man on Earth, we have robots that were programmed to serve humans reckoning with a humanless world, we have a lot of creator vs. their creations dynamic… I dunno. Origins throws a lot of concepts together, but none of them struck me as especially fresh, and the story doesn’t come together to be more than the sum of its parts. The writing is also fairly stiff, which doesn’t do the book any favors as it tries to culminate things with a more character-centric resolution.

Cyberpunk 2077: XOXO

Right off the bat, this book hooked me more, in no small part due to the more flavorful writing. Gone is the exhausting explanatory narration of Origins, replaced with a less-is-more approach, leaving a lot up to interpretation despite being a narrow-scope, character-focused story. Issue 1 immediately introduces us to a strong “finger, eyes, ears, nose, legs, stomach, shoulder, feet, heart” motif, which is used brilliantly throughout the entirety of XOXO to hint at the history and motivations of our taciturn protagonist.

The cartoon frame story is also a successful trick. Fully wordless, these sections give us a bit of a break from the clamor and chatter of the characters, while also allowing the visuals to step apart from the grime and neon of Night City every so often. They’re nice reprieves, and Rebelka’s style lends itself well to the flat perspective and exaggerated proportions.

In general, Rebelka’s art here is a huge step up; he clearly learned a lot in the near-decade since Origins. For one thing, the setting fits his aesthetic pretty well; the grim, angular cityscapes all look effortless with his penchant for graphic composition. The figurework, too, is killer in this book; the characters are all incredibly emotive, and the action is clean and legible here. The colorwork, as expected of Rebelka, is dynamic and fitting, especially in issue 1’s kaleidoscopic flashbacks.

the figurework and perspective is miles ahead

Again, there is a bit of the classic limited series dropoff, with the art in the back half falling short compared to the lavish introduction. Seriously, just look at the rendering in issue 1’s cover compared to issue 4:

I totally get it, of course; comics are an exhausting business, and Rebelka was pulling double duty here by doing all the colors as well. And on a monthly comic like this, which I’m sure didn’t have much of a lead time? It’s still a pretty heroic effort, and what I’m calling a ‘dropoff’ is just a switch from his incredible painterly rendering to a more traditional lineart / flats style – it’s still pretty ace.

The story doesn’t end quite as well as it begins – the pitch-black nihilistic finale feels like it’s fulfilling a brand obligation to me more than anything – but between Rebelka’s enveloping art and the consistent, rhyming motifs, XOXO still ends up as a nice little tone piece.

[miyakuli]

Citizen Sleeper

Wake Up

Citizen Sleeper is a mix of visual novel and role-playing game set in a purely SF world; you play the role of a sleeper, a kind of humanoid robot with a human conscience, who finds themself stranded on a space station called Erlin's Eye. Your first goal will obviously be to survive, but over time and encounters, you may find a real reason to live and, who knows, even a future.

❤ An immersive and detailed SF universe, in terms of its lore, visual and sound atmosphere, as well as the themes addressed, rather typical of this genre (transhumanism, capitalism…) but always intelligently presented. ❤ Speaking of design, the game is fairly minimalist, but it's enough to immerse us in this cyberpunk world, not only in terms of the station and its varied locations, but also thanks to Guillaume Singelin's splendid illustrations, which give us striking characters with their own identity. ❤ In keeping with this idea of immersion, the soundtrack discreetly but effectively accompanies this universe, with its futuristic, melancholy music and ambient sound effects of the space station life. ❤ The rpg aspect is characterized by dice rolls after sleep cycles that allow you to unlock new areas and perform specific tasks. And unlike a certain Disco Elysium (which still sticks in my craw x'D), RNG is very well balanced, as the success of your throw will depend on your physical condition and energy. And even if your dice are low, you'll always have something to do with them (small numbers can be used for hacking actions, for example). The station may not be very big, but it's vast enough in terms of activities, offering several hours of play to discover all its nooks and crannies.

+/- The story is very well written, the narration is neat and coherent, and I really enjoyed the intimate exchanges between the characters....on the other hand, I sincerely regret that there's still no translation planned. I'm used to playing games in the language of Shakespeare, but let's face it, this game won't be accessible to everyone, as it requires a very good command of English (many highly technical SF terms). +/- While the gameplay becomes very addictive over time (I couldn't stop restarting cycles!!), it also becomes rather repetitive, especially towards the end; if you stay on the station until the end to unlock all the storylines, you're going to spend a lot of cycles just doing activities here and there while you wait for the next quests to unlock (because sometimes you have to wait several cycles to move on to the next stage).

✖ The idea of choosing a class at the start of the game is only of interest at first, because after a while you end up unlocking all the abilities and your specialization no longer matters. Also, the classes are quite unbalanced (the operator is clearly the one to take to advance quickly and efficiently). ✖ Mouse handling, especially when walking around the station, is not at all great. So I switched to the controller, which has smoother movements, but which wasn't always easy to select zones and dialogues (plus you can only use the directional pad). ✖ Basic options are lacking for a game with so much dialogue and several endings; autosave is imposed, so you can't save at a specific point in the game if you want to come back later to unlock other things, and there's no skip for text already read or even a visual indication (like colored text, for example).

Citizen Sleeper is a very pleasant discovery, with a well-developed SF universe into which I immersed myself, although not without difficulty due to a high level of English. If a French-language version were to come out, I'd be delighted to relive this story and its encounters, and perhaps appreciate its subtleties even more :)

➡ My personal VN ranking (in french) ➡ My Steam page

[pastelwitchling]

I just want to get right into it. Here are my thoughts (mostly rants) on Percy Jackson and the Olympians, episode 5.

Why is this turning into the Annabeth show?

They literally have Ares complimenting her after almost every single line. And don't even get me started on their interactions. Annabeth was the one who was constantly scolding Percy for talking to Ares with disrespect, now she's the one doing it? The titular character doesn't seem to get as many lines or screen time as Annabeth, that doesn't strike anyone as odd?

(Also, no hate to Annabeth here, this is all the fault of the writing.)

AND titular character aside, it makes no logical sense! She's the daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom, wisdom is her whole thing in the books -- how is it wise for her to speak the way she does to Ares? Book Annabeth always knew the rules, always tried to follow them as best as she could, that was why, when she was openly hostile to Hera, it showed a TRUE hatred and connection there. Annabeth doesn't talk back to the gods, so we know that her hatred for Hera has to really MEAN something. Well, that's out the window now. Why? So the show can have their little girl power message. Does it make any sense for her character or the story? No, but hey, if we don't have other characters constantly praising every word she says, then I guess that makes her weak.

Also, it makes no storytelling sense for Percy to then get all up and angry in Ares's face. He wasn't the one talking back to Ares in the diner (you know, like in the books), so this sudden anger really comes out of nowhere. It just drives me a little bit crazy because this was the biggest difference between Percy and Annabeth in the first place. Percy is all heart, he's guided by his feelings. Annabeth is all logic, she's guided by reason. They balance each other out and then end up learning more from each other. Now Annabeth is just Flawless Badass? Even Hermione acknowledged that there were more important things than books and cleverness, her particular set of skills -- it's not wrong or demeaning to have a female character acknowledge her own flaws.

It's Percy who sees the Fates, yet we have Annabeth this time? It seems like a minor detail, but Percy seeing the Fates and not knowing why he felt like something was wrong showed his connection to the Olympian world. Yes, he'd grown up like other humans, but there was a part of him that recognized parts of the Greek myth life that others didn't. That's what leads to my biggest problem:

Percy is not treated like a son of the big three, he's barely half the time treated like a demigod, he's treated instead like a random kid that happened to stumble into all of this. Except he's not. That's kind of the whole POINT. And I fully blame the script for this, but you can't give most of the screen time and dialogue to Annabeth, and then act like, "No no, this is Percy's story!" It sure as Tartarus doesn't feel that way.

Why is everything so dark? And I'm not just talking about the terrible lighting either (I can barely make out a thing half the time)! I'm talking about the fact that rarely anyone cracks a joke, and when they do, they do it in such a serious way. The colors are so muted, why? Hate the movies all you want, but they were colorful, they were vibrant, they were fun. The pacing was faster, the music was brighter.

Why is everything so serious? The brilliance of Percy Jackson was that it was able to introduce these dark themes in a bright environment, and it made the deaths and darkness even more frightening because we had fun, vibrant characters who were now suffering, so it means that much more to see them hurt or die.

And I thought they were trying to give the show a timeless feel? I didn't ask for that or anything because the books make a ton of dated references, but they volunteered the information that the show was going to feel timeless. Then within the first two episodes alone, we get a Minecraft dance or whatever that is, and an Olivia Rodrigo song?

I feel the need to mention all of this because no one else is. It's all, "SLAAAY ANNABETH" and "OH MY GODS PERCABETH" AND I DON'T CARE. This feels like the Harry Potter movies giving all of Ron's most vital lines to Hermione -- she doesn't need anyone else's lines, what she contributed was more than enough! Except, in this case, it's not the best friend she's taking lines from, IT'S THE MAIN CHARACTER.

I absolutely loved Ares, he was hilarious and a breath of fresh air, I loved every scene with him. I also absolutely loved that chair scene, I loved the shield sacrifice, I loved Annabeth's speech, but all that does is just remind you how great Annabeth is and what she can grow to be without the need to take from Percy. Because all that does in the end is ruin her character because it stops making any sense, and ruin Percy, which is a crime when you have this brilliant cast to carry the show, but you've got to let them be great. Leave your little moral high-horse messages behind, and focus on the freaking story.

I'm tired. I don't know if they're going to confess to Luke being the thief yet, the way it ended? Luke's reveal was kind of a big deal in the books, a pretty big moment. I don't see them spoiling it too soon, and I hope they don't. I liked the lake scene, and I liked that it was such a big betrayal. If they try to rush through it with more exposition at the beginning of the episode, I just don't see it being as meaningful. That said, I really don't think they know who it is yet, but I guess we'll find out next week.

[wired-for-weird]

favourite monster??

HMMMMMMM okay my answer to this changes depending on my mood but I do have a couple of go-to's.

DRAGONS - okay maybe starting off with a bit of a cheat bc the thing I like about dragons is how variable they can be. You can call nearly anything a dragon and I love that. Fur or scales, wings or no wings, big and bulky, lithe and sinous, magical shapeshifters or nearly mundane beasts- there's So Much you can do with them and it's still a dragon.

NAGAS - I love love love the muscular coils and the reptilian instinct to cosy up to something warm, along with their place at the top of the food chain. Plus, they strike a nice balance between human and not. There's a lot of room for worldbuilding. Mer are enjoyable for the same reason.

VAMPIRES - look, I'm not especially interested in either monstrous-looking vampires or Basically Pretty Humans, but I ADORE a sentient obligate carnivore that feels bad about it because it used to be a person. It's about the desire, the obsession, the struggle with hunger, it's just fucking hot okay.

honourable mention goes to semi-organic androids/clockwork mechanical automata, cos they're not really monsters and not really my go-to but they're too good not to bring up

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 49: The Dark One Stirs

As always, I have to warn you about spoilers or you'll whip out your magic staff and fireball my perfectly delightful garden of evil. There's not just spoilers for this book (though as we're steadily approaching the end what could you expect) but the whole of this series. If you don't like it, please rub your face all over these flowers and you'll die instantly. Thank you.

Like the last chapter, this chapter has the Blight icon. This is because we're in the Blight. I don't really have any deep analysis for that.

He wondered if women had a way of reading men’s minds. It was an unsettling thought. All women are Aes Sedai. Telling himself he was letting the Blight get to him, he rinsed out his mouth and hurried to get the bay saddled.

This better be the Blight (or rather, the taint) getting to you Rand, because it has absolutely nothing to do with anything.

Nothing happened that Rand could see, except that Nynaeve and Egwene shivered despite the heat and rubbed their arms briskly... The two women looked at one another, then Egwene nodded and grinned, and after a moment Nynaeve did, too, though her smile was only halfhearted. ... He was sure there was something in the silent exchange that he should understand, but that feather-light brush across his mind vanished before he could grasp it.

Dear God the Blight is making him dumber. Maybe Mat and Perrin are better with girls. (Or maybe he's actively in denial about everything because acknowledging what has to happen next is far too stressful.)

“Look as if they want to grab us,” Mat said nervously. Nynaeve gave him an exasperated, scornful look, and he added fiercely, “Well, they do look it.” “And some of them do want it,” the Aes Sedai said. Her eyes over her shoulder were harder than Lan’s for an instant. “But they want no part of what I am, and my presence protects you.”

Another delightful species of Blight horror that our heroes powerleveled entirely past by the time we actually got around to going back to the Blight. Missed opportunity I say.

Silently a massive body leaped out of the trees at them. The Warder spun Mandarb, but even as the warhorse reared, ready to strike with steelshod hooves, Mat’s arrow flashed, piercing the one eye in a head that seemed mostly mouth and teeth. Kicking and screaming, the thing fell, one bound short of them. Rand stared as they hurried past. Stiff hair like long bristles covered it, and it had too many legs, joining a body as big as a bear at odd angles. Some of them at least, those coming out of its back, had to be useless for walking, but the finger-long claws at their ends tore the earth in its death agony.

Really the thing about a chapter like this is that there's not much to say except "why couldn't these things show up more?" because they're far more terrifying than the standard Shadowspawn. Sanderson really should have thrown more of them into the Last Battle as a way of upping the stakes.

If the trees had not struck into the mass of attacking flesh as much as at the humans, if the creatures, no two alike, had not fought the trees and one another as much as to reach them, Rand was sure they would have been overwhelmed. He was not certain it would not happen still.

Oh look at that, is that the main theme of Jordan's good vs. evil dichotomy? There's a reason that the complex villains of the story are all at least nominally on the side of light while the cartoon villains are all on the side of shadow. The Dark One isn't complex, it doesn't represent balance or an alternate and ambiguous morality, it is one of the two extremes that actual humans exist between and those who throw themselves into its service lose that humanity and ability to actually be effective in achieving their goals.

“Won’t the Worms follow us into the mountains?” Egwene asked breathlessly, and Lan gave a sharp laugh. “They won’t. Worms are afraid of what lives in the high passes.” Loial moaned again. Rand wished the Ogier would stop doing that.

Dammit Rand it's hilarious, stop fighting it.

The void eluded him, forming, then shivering into a thousand points of light, re-forming and shattering again, each point burning into his bones until he quivered with the pain and thought he must burst open. Light help me, I can’t go on. Light help me!

Note to self: Pay attention to what happens when Rand actually asks the Light to help him. This time it summoned a verdant ex machina. Earlier it did nothing for Lews, helped Rand calm down enough to find Moiraine, helped Rand channel, helped break him out of a Ba'alzamon dream (twice!), convinced Gill... I guess it didn't do much when he was freaking out about Moiraine and false dragons... But still, Rand has an amazing response rate for prayer.

He studied the others, just now getting down from their horses, and his eyes lit on Perrin. “A Wolfbrother! Do the old times truly walk again then?”

This is hella early installment weirdness. Wolfbrothers shouldn't have been running around in the Age of Legends for the Green Man to recognize, and Green Men definitely weren't part of the age before that so... What is up with that? Were there Wolfbrothers at some point in the Age of Legends, and if there were what happened to them?

“Strange clothes you wear, Child of the Dragon. Has the Wheel turned so far? Do the People of the Dragon return to the first Covenant? But you wear a sword. That is neither now nor then.”

Funnily enough, Rand is a huge outlier on this front. I wonder how many Aielmen have ended up in the Eye of the World as they try to die in the Blight. One can hope that just as the Ogier minimized the number of crazy men running around at any one time that Someshta's care minimized the number of brainwashed Aiel in the Town.

But that's all for today! Next time: the Eye - and the bad guys!

[hungeringheart]

hi! i was wondering if u did session analysis(es?) and i just wanted to ask if u could do an analysis for muse of void (troll), heir of hope, thief of breath, prince of blood (troll) and maid of doom. if you dont wanna do my request its fine! also love ur classpect analysis :D

It's been a minute! I'm sorry it took so long, I just saw "muse of void" and knew I'd have to give this one a particular level of think because it's such an interesting and uncommon classpect.

I think it's so uncommon and interesting because most rp groups within the fandom would never in a hundred million years let you bring in a Muse -- oh power creep this oh narrative focus that, you know, that type of thing. The usual mechanics measuring you get stuck into with people you don't know well and trust. So usually people make muses for fanventures or small closed things with friends -- and on that account I want to say, thank you as always for letting me at your characters to turn them over and put them in situations!

I don't acknowledge this enough, but when I write these posts I do my best to strike a balance between analysis according to my tastes and respecting the creative intent of the asker. Sometimes I can't obviously see it, and some people like to be vague in their asks because they want to see my take on something they're doing differently anyway -- but the sentiment is there!

I also quite like that you've specified everybody's species. Mind you, I do tend to assume your trolls are Alternian if not given any other context, and I might suggest a few things pertaining to my fanworld if I think it could help you think some things through. But the species context helps enormously!

Now that we've got preliminaries out of the way, let's get cracking.

Dramatis Personae

Trolls

Muse of Void

Prince of Blood

Humans

Heir of Hope

Thief of Breath

Maid of Doom

Lay of the Land

As usual, we're starting off by establishing the general status of our classpects. There's a bit to get through, so I've helpfully made some subheadings.

Hope

In my session analysis I usually say that the presence of an Heir means that their aspect is in a position to nurture them, but also in decline such that it requires an heir, a person to whom it (the aspect, in the sense of a programmed environmental preset or in the sense of a semi sapient force) can legally transfer its power, pass its torch.

In our case, that aspect is Hope.

Now, Hope is often scanned as optimism and literal actual hope and faith, but I would argue it also represents perseverance; one of its consistent symbols in the narrative is this idea of an unstoppable force, like a shonen protagonist or your friend that is somehow capable of ignoring all indications of reality when pursuing a dream. It's associated with angels, heralds and messengers of What Must Be -- you can't go protagonistier than divine approval of your pursuits!

When a hero of Hope is fully realized they can look at the rules and the realistic limits of a situation, say "nah but for real tho" and skip merrily right on through on the strength of their ability to ignore the haters. Aranea at least is of the opinion that Jake's aspect is "unrivaled 8y any other", and it's easy to see why - it's got big damn hero written all over it!

Not to say that you can't weight your aspects anydamnhow you like, of course. That depends on the story you want to tell.

But it's pretty classic storytelling to say that hope and faith and belief and dreams and such is dying, and someone loyal, brave and true is there to help. On some level we could all have used a champion for our childhood gentleness.

Breath

In keeping with our previous discovery that there's very little Hope to go round, we also have an understanding that Breath -- agency, serendipity, room to breathe, narrative, limelight -- is so rare, so precious, that somebody in need might be tempted to steal or usurp it.

Now, it is possible that the lack of Breath is personal for the Thief themself -- but is that more interesting for you than nobody having much agency, and the Thief deciding "screw y'all, I got mine"?

Or let's consider for a moment that maybe they want to help their team, but they need more Breath to do that... in essence, they need to learn to claim the limelight and occupy space? Oh, now we are cooking with gas. Now we're cooking with gas.

Doom

It can mean a lot of things for Doom to have a maid. Obvious among them is that there's a need for maybe tidying up, maybe some introducing and making -- disarray, lawlessness, a general disrespect for the conventions of being. That's not surprising given this Maid's friend group! Good golly, two entire main character syndrome patients. Naturally someone has to rein them in and establish some rules.

Rules in general seem to be relaxed here, and death and decline are quite remote -- is this a good thing? Is this a bad thing? I don't know -- time will tell.

One alternative reading of the Maid of specifically Doom that could be interesting is another digression into traditional narrative -- the figure of the doomed maid.

Let's take the mythohistorical person Berurya, for example, known mainly for being the wife (and therefore in some sense, in the period, also the servant) of the scholar Rabbi Meir. She's a fairly paradigmatic example of a narrative about someone who punches above their weight (she often argued theological opinions and people cited her in formal debate, she was famously very pious, and also she was, horror of horrors, a woman). In response to this her husband's students get jealous and conspire to put her in a position where to protect her dignity, she has to honour kill herself. They then expect him to go on like he's been having a normal one, or at least they never talk about it again except the guys who started a grassroots movement of naming after her.

You see these types of characters and imageries throughout a lot of different cultures, and mostly they boil down to this idea that there are people (reduced to archetypes) who are perfectly fine and even respectable as long as they serve the needs of the powers that be (in Berurya's case, the rabbinical establishment), but the moment that they fly too close to the sun, they have to be cut down. Doom is positively about justice and law and destiny (which is what doom meant to the Anglo-Saxons), but it can also be read as being about death, decay, judicial punishment, and yes, cutting down tall poppies...

Homestuck has an unfortunate (for your Maid) precedent for Maids -- underappreciated, servile, in some way sacrosanct figures -- as scapegoats and sufferers, and Doom is canonically also an aspect of suffering. I sure hope Doom doesn't turn on this poor individual right at the moment when they believe the rules that protect them would be most applicable! I sure hope they don't have their expectations and sense of effifacy built up only to have to resist their being torn down!

Blood

This is a lovely segue into a classpect that works really well thematically with Doom -- Blood represents connection, obligation, comradeship, change, revolution, mutation, connection, inheritance.

We do need to make a note of the fact that our Prince of Blood is a troll. For them, then, Blood is also fundamentally about caste and fitness and predestination in a way it probably isn't for your humans -- unless it is, but you'd know that better than me.

The duality of Princes -- do they destroy their aspect or destroy with its power? -- and their theming, which we can read as monarchic or as judicial (Nasi, the title of the president of the Sanhedrin, can be translated Prince or President), is similarly dualistic. Are they tyrants or mediators? Can you be both?

Regardless of their approach, a Prince in the game means the aspect is at a zenith of relevance -- Dirk's Heart aspect and his callousness with it was sort of a central thing of the alpha session -- and it's in their hands to some extent where their thing goes from there, up or down. They have dominion and they're free to use it as they like, define it, reform it -- like a Sylph, but more selfish, almost.

For the trolls this means a particularly harsh society, and for everyone it means that whatever the nature of their Blood, it's important. Maybe the troll species of your Prince inflects Blood for your human players too; maybe, if you like, your text is fundamentally focused on the implications of heritage in a way that Homestuck very deliberately avoids being.

Void

There is an argument to be made for the idea that Void is irrelevant to your game -- or nearly so, at first. Muses inspire and command (or command through) their Aspect, which is huge, but... it's a muse. It's the dinkiest most passive passive class, and in my particular balance oriented reading a Muse commands the aspect that's initially or eventually weakest and least relevant in the session. Calliope had zero room to learn or grow, and Caliborn blew up most of Space. That's a thing that he definitely actually did.

Put simply, your game is chockablock stuffed full of random pointless shit. No one has the time or desire to stop for a bit and do nothing; there's no mystery, they've all lost the plot of what they're doing and the reverence due to the thing in the background, the fear, the unknown. Minmaxing is expected.

If your troll religion is Horrorterror-oriented, this is a good time to say that's in decline too -- the level of abject don't give a fuck is so profound that the Muse may well believe they're the only person who really looks and sees anything at all in the world. That's a miserable way to be; they're probably not very effective, maybe even maladjusted.

But they don't have to be. After all, there are powers in the abyss, which are there and Ą̴̪̜̤̣̥͍̗̆̈́̏̇̾̅̈́͝ḻ̵̬̱̳̙͈̰̳͙͑́̎̐w̷̟̤͎͎͉͔͑̂̈́á̸̢̳̮̇̈́̽̒̍y̵̹̰̝͇̝̹̺̖̾̊̋̏ͅs̴̨͇͇̰͙͎̯̆̽͌̆͜ ̴̣͙̝͇͍͙̪͍͔́̉̽͗̃̚̕͝ẅ̴͙̼̭̹́̽̽͛̏̉͜i̸̛̖̘̮̤̱̳̖̎̀̔͑̂͘l̵̢̯͈̅͛̅̿̐́̾́̚l̴̜̝̙̪͕̔́̋ ̷̼̓͋͊̒͑́́̔̔b̷̳́̔͊̈̇̀̈́̊͊e̵͇̩͑̓͋̑͝.

Whoops! Got a little eldritch there for a second.

The big thing about Muses is that when realized, they can affect their aspect as much as it does them -- and in Void's case that means that our Muse here has the potential to seriously course correct the narrative, to restore Void to prominence and force everyone else to take time to reconsider things and reanalyze the space they occupy. For especially the Maid, that might be important...

From the top, now

First things first, no one's breeding any frogs, and no one has any do-overs. You'll also note I didn't do any ominous red text evoking Caliborn, and that's intentional too -- no Time aspect means that it's possible, as I've just realized, for this universe to be outside of the cancerous frog branch of SBURB.

So what does the game look like? How do they play?

I think the human kids start playing first, and they find their game a bit of a mess; hopeless, directionless, and kind of broken down systematically. The trolls play their own two-player game, which as far as they know is thematically about analyzing their society (through blood as caste and void as religion and both as what a person owes to society), and fail -- but the Muse leverages the Terrors and the Prince leverages their sense of decency, and off they go through the Ring and into an adjacent universe. I think they might begin as Exiles for two of the human players.

While the Maid runs around trying to facilitate the Hope player and keep the Breath player on course (their aspects are opposing along the axis of attitude to destiny, it's not easy), the Prince and Muse disagree (and maybe balkanize the human kids) as to what would be the most helpful form of intervention. That could be dangerous, but on the other hand, for now, their universe is coming to be still and quiet... there's a long window between when it becomes noticeable that an end is coming and when an end does come.

And oh, what sorts of things they could all get up to then!

Of course, in your own universe, mileage will vary...

Bonus rambling: a brief aside about an interesting point of mixed species sessions.

In a fundamental way, if there's no time travel and cultural anthropology involved, there's a very limited window of time in which one group of young people can communicate their worldview to another. Culture shock is real and sometimes strikes a long time after you think you've assimilated.

Children handle it better than adults on a lot of levels, but not on all of them. How much worse is a time limit if the people it's imposed on can't communicate about important issues?

Take Alternia: they have a caste system. In a group of human friends who don't have one, informal deference on the basis of social status just doesn't really usually happen. And in caste societies we do have, well, we have all kinds of social movements and changes ongoing.

Even insomuch as we have castes, for the most part, they don't affect our children in the way that trolls' castes do because they're partly morphological. We can infer from the existence of hemoanons that the phenomenon of caste is much like our phenomenon of sex-based gender for trolls -- the biological foundations are murky, but the sociological realia connected to them are attributed to innate traits and not really questioned.

This is a little like caste based politeness and a little like our binary gender in human societies so far, but stay with me -- I think there actually are certain aspects of the hemospectrum that are at some level instinctive. The castes correspond to castes in eusocial insects, and by that analogy we may assume that trolls in person a) can instantly tell what socially constructed caste a troll belongs to by their morph, and b) have some ant-brain level of very broad inborn behaviour about it.

It's always a good idea to consider your caste worldbuilding when you write little guys in opposition to each other and to humans -- how does your system respond to the species having internet? How does your humans' culture interface with it? Is it different by region, by planet?

Well, that's all for now, I think.

Thank you for sticking around this long!

[sutzrainbow]

Why I look forward to Avatar: The Way of Water

First, disclaimer: I like the original Avatar; I always did, buuuut I’ll be the first to admit the story of the original Avatar sucks. It is a white saviour movie and I have learned to loathe those. It is Pocohontas/Dances With Wolves in space. The story is bad. But to be fair, the story wasn’t really the point. It was the visuals. It was the immersive world. To be honest I could have skipped the whole plot with Jake and Neytiri (I’m one of those people who can actually name most of the characters from Avatar), and I’d have been happy if it was just about a group of scientists studying the planet. Maybe only bringing in the war at the end. Or, alternatively, I think it would have played out much better if Jake had been a full-blooded Na’vi not controlled by a human, but perhaps taken at birth by humans and raised to defend them. Then he wouldn’t be a white saviour; he’d be a Na’vi reconnecting with his roots and using his knowledge of humans as a weapon.

(Or maybe I’ve just been consuming too much Oddworld, which does this whole concept of nature vs. industrialisation on an alien planet a million times better and predates Avatar by over a decade)

But, with all that said... I’m really looking forward to Way of Water. And what’s more, I’m actually looking forward to the plot of Way of Water. And the characters of Way of Water. I mean I don’t expect the plot to be complicated, but the characters already look a hell of a lot more interesting than the ones in Avatar 1. Even Jake and Neytiri.

I am absolutely fascinated by all the Sully kids, I love that they’ve gone with the family angle, and because of the timeskip it looks like it is really dealing with the fallout of the original story of Avatar.

So, let’s start with Jake and Neytiri. They’ve been together for over a decade. They know each other incredibly well now, but there’s still conflict and bitterness due to the history with humans. By the looks of things, they have to leave their home and go and live with these Sea Na’vi, who look seriously cool, what with all their adaptations for the water. I love this because it’s not just White Saviour Jake learning the Na’vi ways and then becoming better than anybody else at them. It’s both Jake and Neytiri out of their element, having to bow to someone else, and having to adapt. Also juggling that with being parents to their kids, some biological, some adopted. I love that. I love that Neytiri is struggling to bond with her human child Spider because he reminds her of the people who killed her father. These guys could be really, really interesting, which is great because despite the fact that Sam Worthington and Zoe Saldana were doing their damndest, the characters were so boring in the original Avatar.

I love their kids and I haven’t even met them yet. I love Lo’ak (maybe a play on the human name ‘Luke’ and if that’s the case that’s hilarious), who will have to deal with learning the ways of the sea Na’vi and being part-human - so he’s doubly different from other Na’vi. I love Kiri being like a reincarnation of Grace and having a human parent and trying to connect with that. I love Spider, a human raised as a Na’vi. I love that Kiri and Spider are clearly going to bond over their human history.

I’m slightly less engaged by big bad Quaritch coming back as a Na’vi, but it is interesting. And I’m sure most of the plot beats will be the typical humans being bad, Na’vi good, blah blah. But you know, the fact that they’re doing stuff with Kiri and Spider makes me feel that maybe things will be a little more grey this time. Maybe it will be established that there is a balance to strike between the tech and the nature, as long as it’s not being fuelled by greed.

I’ve said before, I have kind of grown out of Avatar, but I do think it’s a wonderfully creative, beautiful world and I’m glad we’re going to spend more time there. I also do love that it focuses so much on the nature of its alien planet as well as its people. That was something that kind of bored me with Star Trek - there was very little focus on alien wildlife.

We’ll see how I feel in a couple of weeks when I’ve seen it.