#and didn’t generalize folk with fantasy and wonder

[iiinkos]

im feeling like listening to music that makes me want to fight the government *opens up the oh hellos*

[lurkingshan]

A Time Called You: A Great Reminder to Go Watch Someday or One Day 

This past weekend Netflix dropped a new kdrama called A Time Called You in its entirety, and I became particularly interested in watching it as soon as I realized what it was: the Korean remake of Someday or One Day I knew had been in the works for awhile. If you’re not familiar, Someday or One Day (SOOD) is a beloved 2019 Taiwanese drama that is widely considered to be among the best dramas the country has ever produced (there is also a 2022 film version of the story, but that’s less relevant to this post). Now, I love Korean dramas, and I know that countries remaking each other’s best shit is very common in the Asian media landscape, but I couldn’t help but feel protective of the original work and a bit resentful of the choice to adapt something that was so original and unique and specific and put that generic kdrama sheen on it. Taiwan has a small film industry, and this is one of its jewels. We didn’t need Korea’s take on it.

And having watched the adaptation in full now, I am feeling pretty justified in that initial feeling. Let me just say upfront: A Time Called You (ATCY) is a perfectly good drama with a solid cast and competent storytelling. Had I seen it absent the knowledge of what it was adapting, I probably would have liked it a lot. But I have already seen and loved Someday or One Day, so I feel compelled to break down why it is the better version of this tale, both for my fellow SOOD devotees who are wondering how this adaptation stacks up and for folks who have only seen the kdrama in the hopes that you’ll decide to watch the original. As usual, I did the most, so reader be advised that this is long (tagging @troubled-mind as promised and @smittenskitten because I saw you were looking for a comparison of the two dramas). TL; DR: if you liked ATCY, or have seen neither version and are wondering which to watch: go find Someday or One Day, because it’s an overall superior and more satisfying execution of the same story.

The Vibe

Let’s start here because it’s the most obvious and immediately striking thing as someone who has seen both versions. SOOD has a bit of a rough and unpolished feel, which makes it feel more grounded in reality (important when you are getting into fantasy elements like time travel but you still want the characters to feel like real people). We open our story in 1998 in a record shop with a young girl playing Last Dance by Wu Bai and China Blue, a 1996 mando pop rock ballad, and thus setting the tone—this will be a somewhat raw and bittersweet story about grief and hurt and longing that will invite us to wallow in our feelings. And that melancholic vibe stays throughout the drama, even in the explicitly happy scenes, because you are always aware that the joy you are seeing has already been lost. 

By contrast, ATCY feels… emotionally flat. Don’t get me wrong, it is a very faithful adaptation. The early episodes are practically a shot for shot remake of the original drama. But it’s too polished, too shiny. The filmmaking is bog standard kdrama fare; everything is soft focus and warmly lit and too beautiful and consequently nothing feels real. It feels right in line with the standard aesthetics of recent mainstream Korean dramas, and that choice undermines the emotional weight and grit of this story.

A great example of this can be seen in the way the two dramas handle the iconic scene where our female lead runs in the rain, looking back over her shoulder to smile in delight at the male lead before continuing on her way. This is a moment of realization for him about his feelings for her—one he will later immortalize in a painting that becomes part of the mystery of the past she is trying to unravel. In Someday or One Day, this scene takes place on a regular street, in the utterly mundane surroundings of their everyday lives as they walk home, and she runs down the middle of the road as puddles gather in the uneven pavement; in A Time Called Love, they are in a picturesque park for this scene, surrounded by green and encased within a grove of giant trees, and she runs right down the middle of a tree lane that looks like it came straight out of a fairytale. One story is very much about a love grounded in a reality we can recognize; the other is pure fantasy romance.

The Music 

I already mentioned the song that anchors the Taiwanese drama above. Last Dance is hugely important to the story, both thematically and as a plot device, and in its ability to set the mood and tone of the drama. 

The Korean remake similarly uses a real 1996 ballad as its main song and time travel mechanism: With My Tears by Seo Ji Won. And, uh, the vibe is a bit different. 

Discerning listeners might recognize this as one of the many classic love ballads performed by our favorite doctors by day, rock stars by night over on Hospital Playlist. It’s a perfectly fine song. But it sets quite a different tone for our story, doesn’t it? It also is meant to be a song that a teenage boy is hankering to listen to on cassette, and listen, I wasn’t living in Korea in 1996. I have no idea how culturally accurate that may be. I’m sure there were in fact baby Lee Ik Juns running around trying to get their hands on this cheesy love song. But the edgier sound of Last Dance definitely sounds more in line with something the teenage male lead would listen to and what the music is meant to convey. And frankly, since we hear this song about 30 times in the drama, it matters that Last Dance is just an objectively better song. 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, because beyond the classic song each version chose to use as its centerpiece, there is also a stark difference in the quality and tone of each drama’s OSTs. Here is a compilation of the Someday or One Day tracks, including the utterly gorgeous main theme by Shi Shi. The music is hugely important in the Taiwanese drama and is used to set the mood as well as emphasize its themes, and the tracks feel specific to this story.

And here is a compilation of A Time Called You OSTs.

If you’re familiar with kdrama OSTs, you will recognize most of the artists on here, as well as some new covers of old songs. And again, the vibes are quite different. Whereas SOOD was very intentional and specific in its music choices, ATCY just sounds like every other kdrama. There is nothing on this tracklist that stands out or evokes the kind of feeling that the SOOD tracks do.

The Main Couple

The name and timeline situation in this show makes this section unnecessarily difficult, so let me just make a little reference sheet here: 

Someday or One Day

Alice Ke plays Yu Xuan (2019) and Yun Ru (1998)

Greg Hsu plays Quan Sheng (2019) and Zi Wei (1998)

A Time Called You

Jeon Yeo Been plays Jun Hee (2023) and Min Yu (1998)

Ahn Hyo Seop plays Yeun Jun (2023) and Si Heon (1998)

All of the actors here are seasoned and very good at their jobs, so I am not casting shade on any of them—they are executing their performances based on writing and directorial choices. But I cannot deny that the Taiwanese version of these characters are more compelling all around. In SOOD, the main characters have a real spark; despite the melancholic undertone of the story, there are moments of genuine joy and when they connect with each other, you feel why this bond is strong enough for them to find each other through time and despite all the trauma they endure. In ATCY, however, the characterizations are muted.

This is most evident in the difference between Quan Sheng/Zi Wei and Yeon Jun/Si Heon. Greg Hsu plays Zi Wei as magnetic, playful, mischievous, utterly lovable, and very intense about his feelings for his lady. He has a real joie de vivre about him that clearly brightens up Yu Xuan’s life considerably, and his devotion to her is not just shown, but deeply felt. Experiencing their memories, you understand immediately why Yu Xuan can’t move on from his death; he was the joyful, relaxed counterpoint to her more ambitious and serious personality. Si Heon, though? He is a nice dude and a generous partner and he is very good looking. But he doesn’t have the playfulness or the intensity that his Taiwanese counterpart does. His personality is just more moderate all around. One great example of this: upon discovering that he has traveled forward into the body of the person that would become Yu Xuan/Jun Hee’s boyfriend, Zi Wei (in Quan Sheng’s body now, are you still with me?) actively decides to find her, love her, and try to solve this time loop quagmire they are in; Si Heon (in Yeon Jun’s body) waits for a moment of fate to give him a sign, and only makes the decision to pursue Jun Hee after running into her by coincidence.

Similarly, Jun Hee is not quite as spunky and sassy as Yu Xuan and Min Yu is not as dark and awkward as Yun Ru; when Jun Hee travels to the past and takes up residence in Min Yu’s body, the differences between the two characters she is playing are not as evident. In SOOD, I could tell at a glance who is in Yun Ru’s body; in ATCY I need more context to be sure. Where Yun Ru had more of an edge, Min Yu simply reads very shy. It’s not as compelling. One scene that really stands out as an example of this: when Yun Ru is pretending to be Yu Xuan in 1998 and looks in the mirror to practice smiling, it looks downright creepy and sinister; when Min Yu is masquerading as Jun Hee and looks at herself in the mirror, she just looks awed and happy, if a bit awkward. It’s subtle, but it changes the way you feel about the characters. 

The difference in Jun Hee and Yeon Jun’s characterization also affects the couple chemistry, which is just not nearly as strong in ATCY. The characters are more muted and thus the expected sparks are more like smoldering embers. The relationship feels cozy and warm and nurturing, but it doesn’t feel vital. It doesn’t feel like the kind of relationship you would fight through time or break the rules of the universe to return to. I recall gasping or crying or laughing out loud throughout SOOD because I was constantly taken aback by Greg Hsu’s arresting presence and the chemistry he and Alice Ke generated was just emotionally riveting. When Yu Xuan told Zi Wei (as Quan Sheng) that they were officially together, that man literally jumped for joy and shouted out his love for her; Si Heon (as Yeon Jun) reacts to the same moment with a quiet smile and a hug. When Zi Wei saw Yu Xuan in Yun Ru’s body again in the finale, he knew instantly that it was her and the smile overtook his face as he reached for her; Si Heon initially called Min Ju’s name before getting closer and taking several beats to realize it was Jun Hee (ruining this iconic moment is perhaps this remake’s greatest sin against romance, my god). 

Everything between the couple in SOOD was just more, both in happiness and in despair. I liked Jun Hee and Si Heon, and Ahn Hyo Seop and Jeon Yeo Been are very competent actors whose performances I have loved in other dramas, but they didn’t achieve that level of chemistry here, the writing and directing choices worked against them, and I didn’t feel that same desperation for them to figure this out that I did with Yu Xuan and Zi Wei. 

The Story 

The Korean version is a very faithful adaptation overall (I haven’t mentioned Jun Jie and In Gyuk because his character and story is more consistent across the two shows), but does make some small tweaks to the story, some of which seem to be out of necessity due to a shorter run time (one episode and a couple hours total less than the Taiwanese original) and some just… because? The shorter amount of story time does lead to them having to cut corners on some aspects of the mythology and time travel lore, making it all a bit less clear for folks who don’t already understand what’s going on, and they put in a few nods to typical kdrama tropes like amusement park dates and hand of fate stuff that we really didn’t need—they are already trapped in a time loop together, we get it!

ATCY also messed with the timelines and ages for reasons I don’t really understand and that don’t really track. In SOOD, Zi Wei traveled forward from 2002 to Quan Sheng’s body in 2010, met Yu Xuan, and then died in 2018. In ATCY, Si Heon traveled forward from 2002 only to 2007 and did not die until 2022—but the relationship dynamics are all the same. It made sense for a young couple who had been together about 7 years and who were in their mid-20s to be having the kind of relationship problems they did—fighting about prioritizing careers and time abroad and whether it was time to get married. But a couple who has been together nearly 15 years? Who are in their mid-30s? They would have already been married probably and had a couple kids to boot. The choice to change the timeline like this had me scratching my head and accomplished nothing for the story. 

But neither of those things are the change to the story that is weighing on me most. That occurs in a very small and brief backstory for the real Yeon Jun, where the drama introduces an original character who has no counterpart in SOOD: Tae Ha. 

In SOOD, the real Quan Sheng is a closeted gay teenager who meets a tragic end: he confesses to his crush, gets brutally rejected, then gets bullied when the crush tells others about his sexuality, and ultimately decides to walk into the sea in an attempt to end his life, a choice that leaves his body in a coma until Zi Wei’s consciousness takes it over. In ATCY, this backstory changes and Rowoon is brought in for a brief but impactful cameo as Tae Ha, Yeon Jun’s cram school friend. We see that the two have mutual feelings for each other but are both struggling to confess. One day as they are driving together, they finally explicitly acknowledge their feelings, holding hands and smiling at one another—and then immediately get hit by a Truck of Doom (easily one of the most tired kdrama tropes), Tae Ha dying on impact and Yeon Jun ending up in a coma with Si Heon’s consciousness eventually taking over his body like in the original story. 

Now on first glance, you might be inclined to give the show some credit for including a new gay character and giving the original Yeon Jun a happier experience with his crush. Explicit gay representation? In a mainstream kdrama? Still very rare and a big deal if done right. But if you think for a moment longer you’ll realize we can’t give the show credit for this, because this is a textbook execution of the Bury Your Gays trope and the narrative punishment that befalls gay characters who act on their attraction. Essentially, what the Korean remake did here was reveal these two characters are gay, killed them both immediately after they decided to pursue a relationship with each other, and then had the het male lead character take over the body of this gay man and use it to enter into a relationship with a woman. Some aspects of this plot were present in the original tale, but this choice to add an additional gay character only to kill him and tie it to their moment of acknowledging their mutual attraction? Made it significantly worse. It was badly done and I will not applaud the drama for representation when they did it in such a cruel way. 

The Ending

SOOD ends on a hopeful but somewhat ambiguous note, with Yu Xuan in 2020 finding a way to go back and save Yun Ru (and Jun Jie by extension) and then breaking the time loop, sacrificing her relationship with Zi Wei in the process even as it breaks her heart (because the only way for them to meet and fall in love in 2010 was to stay in the loop). She sacrifices their romance, and all their memories together, because it’s the right thing to do—she inadvertently destroyed Yun Ru’s life with her time traveling, and she couldn’t live with that knowing there was a way to fix it. We are left with a broken time loop, original teen Zi Wei meeting child Yu Xuan again in 1998, and the hope that they will find a way to make their fates align again and be together without time travel complications. It’s just the right bittersweet touch to end the story on; their previous relationship was lost and their sacrifice was real, but there is hope for another version of a happy life together, someday.

By contrast, ATCY goes for a more explicit happy ending: Jun Hee makes the same choice to go back and save Min Ju, and to break the time loop and sacrifice her relationship with Si Heon, but in ATCY we then jump forward to 2011 to a happy epilogue to see Si Heon and Jun Hee meet as adults. And look, I love a happy ending! But what I said above about the sacrifice Yu Xuan and Zi Wei made in SOOD really resonating because of its bittersweet ending? That’s absent here, because ATCY decided they needed to put a bow on it and reassure us they would get back together. ATCY was just never willing to let us stay in the grief or commit to the darker and sadder aspects of this story, and as a result, the whole thing loses some of its impact.

[bramble-mouse]

The Faery Doctor

Chapter 2

Tags: G/t, gentle giant, timid tiny, fantasy setting, adventure Content warnings will be tagged appropriately for subsequent chapters. These may include death, gore and vore. They will include no sexual themes. CW: Vore (non-fatal), gore, vomit, implied death (Trish is fine!) Minors, please do not interact!

A marriage of peace and fear saturated every inch of Trish’s body the moment she stepped foot in the northern woods. Places as old as these carried stories, the voices born of nature itself that whispered to any with an open ear. While kind things could dwell in wise old trees, hungry monsters lurked, cunning and smarter than any ordinary beast. In truth, Trish was unsurprised that poor tanner’s son had vanished here. She could taste the old magic in the air, the countless memories of blood. 

If there’d been a road through these parts at some point, it hadn’t been maintained in a very long time. The only evidence it ever saw foot travel was an area where weeds didn’t grow between the remains of cobblestone. Trish had heard once from her mother that a great empire walked the world a long time ago, gifting roads, aqueducts and all manner of marvels to the common folk before departing to parts unknown. Some said these strange folk died out while others told of spying cities in the sky for a split second, only for them to vanish behind the dense cloud cover. 

What would it have been like to know this mysterious folk, Trish wondered? Were they elves? Old fey that predated even the sidhe? Were they beyond mortal knowing? Perhaps there would never be a true answer to the question, but Trish satisfied herself with coming up with theories whilst she picked her way along the road. 

The fork came quicker than expected- or perhaps Trish’s head had been so deep in the clouds she’d barely noticed time passing. She chewed on her lower lip. Perhaps being distracted was a poor choice. 

At the centre of the fork was a ruined statue, only the legs and the bottom of a robe remaining, captured in cracked plaster. Trish lingered, reaching out to trace the weathered surface with curious fingertips. A twig snapped to her left.

Trish’s head whipped towards the source of the noise and found a wolf staring at her, stalk still and muzzle coated in gore. It’s eyes were intense, alien and focused entirely on Trish.  Trish lowered her hand slowly, never once taking her eyes off the canine.

The wolf bolted and left its meal behind. She tiptoed forward out of morbid curiosity and peered over the small gathering of sparse brush.

Half a man’s torso, bare of clothing, with most of the ribcage exposed lay in a pile of gore and ichor on the permafrost. Trish covered her mouth and gasped, stumbling backwards away from the gruesome find. Was that from the tanner’s boy? No, frost giants generally ate their prey whole. The thought of the lad kicking as screaming as he was shoved into a maw of sharp teeth overwhelmed Trish with nausea.

The faery doctor found her feet and sprinted up the right path at the fork. There was nothing chasing her, yet she felt like a child rushing back upstairs when all the light went out for the night to escape the danger of shadows. 

Trish knew what could be in these woods, and meeting man eating giants in their element would be a death sentence. She pushed on up the incline, remembering her duty as a doctor. She had a patient in need at the end of this path, and come what may, her journey would be worth it if she could treat what ailed him.

Blessedly, it was spring and the majority of the snow had cleared off from the mountainside. Occasionally Trish came across piles of dirt flecked ice that stubbornly refused to yield to the sun. The trees grew taller, scragglier here with little successful underbrush beneath their high boughs, and soon enough, there was no longer a road to follow. Trish kept her eyes forward nervously. Would she get lost?

The lake Filip mentioned came into view, sweet relief in the form of an open space peppered with wild flowers, grass still recovering from the weight of heavy winter snow now since mostly melted and the bullrushes that flanked a corner of the water. Ducks floated atop the still waters of the lake, disturbed only by their movements and the jumping of trout. The fish were large, no doubt lovely if baked with lemon and herbs and a good dollop of butter. 

Trish felt sweat stick to her skin beneath her many layers. Despite the sunshine, she still felt the sting of the cold on her nose, a welcome relief after the most laborious leg of her trek. She longed to pause for a nap but there was a job to be done. Rest could come afterwards.

The faery doctor skirted around the lake and came to where the mouth of the cave should have been. Instead, there was a solid wall, seamless, jagged and unlikely to admit her any time soon. And yet the Sight bestowed upon her family generations ago by the faery yielded a flaw in the wall, a shimmering in a huge arch up the side of the cliff. Trish pulled out the stone Filip had given her and sure enough, the runes glowed, humming with a soft, electric power. The faery doctor drew in a few deep, grounding breaths before she touched the stone to the wall and watched her hand go through. The rest of her followed on nervous feet.

Inside of the cave was surprisingly bright, a tall corridor from the mouth illuminated by magical fire blue as sapphires. Every inch of this place thrummed with arcane power, both the wilder sort and the cultivated. The hairs on the back of Trish’s neck stood on end. She swore she smelled blood and ichor in the air still, shivering from both the chill of the higher elevation and the fresh memory of a discarded human torso.

There was a certain majesty to this place, carved into the very mountain as ancient dwarves had done. Though the handiwork was nowhere near as neat as a dwarf’s, the alcoves fit for the lights had been carved out by hand, high above on the walls. Trish still wasn’t sure she would get over just how high the ceiling was in this place. Would the end of this tunnel be just as massive?

Her answer arrived soon as she found a great opening nearly a hundred feet high, blocked off by a heavy patterned curtain embroidered with golden birds. The entire thing was beautifully sewn in a way only loving hands could craft.

Trish froze when she heard a pained groan from beyond the curtain. The voice was…big. Larger than any she’d ever known, like a clap of distant thunder.

‘I heard you treat anyone.’

The hooded woman had said.

Something dawned on Trish that turned her blood bitter cold.

Trish sidled around the heavy fabric and into a space that managed to be cozy despite being a cave. A kitchen counter had been carved from the stone, shaped and smoothed meticulously. She could not hope to spy what was on the countertops but she smelled something like stew and baked bread. There was a variety of rugs on the ground, handwoven, woolen and fur pelt alike. They served to make the hard ground more friendly to bare feet. There was a cold hearth straight ahead with an enormous iron stew pot over it, a well used kettle kept on the unlit augur in front of it. A plush cushion rested before the carved stone hearth, beside which was a ball of yarn and a half-knitted woolen shirt. Curiously, the shirt was a tiny thing, something made for someone her size rather than a giant.

A quick glance at the ceiling as Trish crept mouselike across the floor yielded a sight that made her gasp in quiet awe. Thousands of glowing crystals sprouted, like stars overhead. It was as if she were looking up at the nightsky, the soft myriad pinpricks of light chasing awake the lonely darkness in the cavern.

Another groan caught Trish’s attention and she snapped frightened eyes towards a large figure laid out on what appeared to be a bedroll. The figure appeared almost human- save for the sheer size, clad in simple grey breeches and a loose cotton shirt. The fellow must have been a good eighty feet tall, give or take. She was little more than a mouthful in comparison, and the consideration made Trish’s skin crawl.

But she was a faery doctor, Trish reminded herself, trying to bolster courage into limbs locked by terror.

She was a faery doctor and this creature was in pain. Trish had healed injured, grouchy dragons before, helped ogres with fevers and wargs with mange.

Would a giant be so different?

Trish decided not to dwell on that rhetorical question, lest what little bravery flee and send her running back the way she came.

“U…Um…Mister…Fr…Frio Frostfang?”

Trish’s small voice croaked out as she started forward towards the giant.

“E…Excuse me…Um..I…I’m s-s-sorry f…f..for b…barging in, I…”

Her throat closed up as the humongous  figure sat up with some difficulty. The giant’s eyes reminded her of the wolf’s she’d seen in the woods- pale, with slit pupils and fixed upon her with the intensity that could only belong to a predatory sizing up if she was a worthy meal. And yet the rest of his face sat at odds with such an assumption, a soft mouth, smooth angles, and an expression that while sick, showed concern.

“...You…”

The giant spoke breathlessly, his voice low and resonant in the closed space.

“Forgive me, I…”

“A woman sent me to heal you.”

Trish blurted out with the same intensity as one vomiting. She froze, wide eyed and shocked and her entire face went beet red.

The frost giant regarded her carefully, and Trish did the same to him in return. She noted soft, white waves of hair that fell in his eyes and down his neck. He sported short horns, like a young buck’s. Trish wondered idly if they were soft and velvety like deer horn too. She also noted, much to her own chagrin, that this giant was unfairly beautiful, utterly unlike any depiction of the burly, bearded and terrifying frost giants she’d heard about.

The giant’s lips perked up at the corners into a smile that softened his gaze, but the welcoming expression was fleeting. He winced and doubled over, clutching his middle.

“M…my apologies. I am not usually so terrible…”

He grit his teeth, hissed

“...A host.”

Trish swallowed thickly.

“...N..No, no, you’re… you’re unwell and…you weren’t expecting me, s…so…”

She trailed off, playing with the end of one of her braids. The ribbon fastening the end had loosened.

“I…I should like to give you an exam…if…if you’re comfortable with it.”

Frio hummed in assent.

“Gladly. Though I would like to know the name of my healer, I might thank her properly afterwards.”

Trish found she couldn’t meet his eye. Was he..was he charming? Yes, this giant was charming and polite- a gentleman, of all things. Not at all what she would expect from a frost giant. And yet here Frio was, well spoken and minding his manners even when he felt under the weather. She chewed on her lower lip. She continued to play with her hair ribbon, feeling the smoothness of the mossy green silk.

“T…Trish Mctavish, sir. I…I’m Doctor Trish Mctavish.”

She stammered.

“Sir?”

Frio chuckled softly.

“Please, my dear. Frio suits me well enough.”

Trish’s heart pounded. His laugh was gentle, too.

Trish made to approach the towering figure and the closer she drew, the more her fear returned. Her blood surged through her veins, a deafening pounding in her ear. She fought to keep her breathing even.

“I would never hurt my benefactor, doctor. Be as at ease as you are able.”

Frio said, his voice low as if he could read her thoughts. She tilted her head up and caught sight of his nose twitching in a manner more beast than man. Had Frio smelled her discomfort? He smiled down at her.

“Ah, but…I should lay down. I doubt you would like to try and…”

He paused, his jaw clenching as another wave of pain from his middle surged through.

“Y-Yes please.”

Trish cut in.

Frio nodded and laid down gingerly, pressing into his belly with one hand. His fingers were tipped with dark talons. They looked sharp.

She stared at the side of his head, noticing that he wore a blue tear drop earring.

“W…Would you turn to… to face me please?”

Frio hummed in response and tilted his head to the side. His lashes were long and pale, a veil over his monstrous, yet kind eyes.  She reached up to touch his forehead, painfully mindful of those immense gaze pinned to her form.

“You are quite pretty.”

He hummed, the statement decidedly too casual for the situation. Trish squeaked in response, her hand darting away. The giant laughed.

“My apologies. I am distracting you.”

Trish felt like she might explode from such velvety words- especially when they were close enough to rattle her very bones. 

Trish went through a mental checklist as she scanned over his body. A mild temperature (at least for an ice aspected being), sharp pain in his belly, and persistent nausea.

“Would you...o…open…your…”

Trish trailed off.

A giant’s mouth. Trish felt her courage falter and dug her nails into her palms to push on.

“Mouth. I …I need to…see inside your…”

Frio frowned. He appeared as if he wished to say something, to offer some word of comfort. Instead, the frost giant parted plush lips and revealed long fangs, a bluish tongue and the cavernous darkness in the back of his throat. The sight set off alarms within Trish- her instincts begging her to run, to flee, to hide, that she was in danger.

Frio’s breath gusted past her frame, tousling her tartan dress, coat and hair. It smelled of elderberries, and felt like a welcome, sunny breeze in early spring.

Trish could do this. She was a faery doctor and Frio was her patient.

The little woman set down her pack, shed her coat atop the mound of her belongings on the ground and poked her head inside the giant’s mouth despite the protests screaming loudly in her head. She sought any sign of poor health- discolouration of the tongue, a sore in the cheek, any inflammation in the throat.

Trish backed up, shaking from the ordeal and the moment she was far enough away, Frio snapped his jaws shut, causing her to squeak.

“Ah…My apologies.”

He said. Trish noted his features were flush and he seemed hesitant to meet her eye.

“Perhaps I should give a warning next time? If there is one. I would not presume…”

Trish chewed on her lower lip and fiddled with her skirts.

“N..No, I…It’s alright.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between them both before Frio cleared his throat and turned onto his side fully.

“Do you know what ails me, Doctor Mctavish?”

Trish rubbed her upper arm. There were several potential diagnoses but none that make sense for the sharp pains Frio described. A dull ache or a sour feeling would have made more sense- food poisoning, or a giant’s strain of stomach flu. And yet…

“Frio, what did you have to eat when you first noticed these pains?”

She inquired.

The frost giant’s face fell. He pressed his lips into a thin line. His brow creased and it was not anger that crossed his features but shame.

“...A giant hunter.”

He admitted, and his own voice wavered.

Trish knew logically what most frost giants ate. By rights, she could be on Frio’s menu once he was well again. Perhaps it would be the best choice to leave him here in pain and run before he could scarf her down too.

But that look in Frio’s eye- Why would a frost giant feel shame for admitting he’d eaten what was natural to him?

“You don’t like to eat humans.”

Trish mused aloud, words that had been meant to stay in her head tumbling free.

Frio laughed humorlessly.

“My nature would have me kill thinking, feeling beings for no reason other than greed and hunger. It is…disgusting to me, every time I falter.”

Trish frowned.

“And…and you said he was…was a giant hunter, didn’t you?”

Frio’s eyes flew back towards her, lidded and tormented.

“I could excuse myself for murdering him because he wanted to kill me first. Yet that would taste like a lie. I chose to consume him like a common beast. A man who most assuredly had a family. Who will now be a hole left in a child's life, a widow’s heartache.”

Fear was a strange thing in Trish’s line of work. It could manifest so easily when dealing with a stranger. She felt it even when she treated ordinary human men. It ebbed and flowed as easily as a tide while Trish treated every manner of creature both friendly to humankind and enemy to it.

So when every last mote of fear fled from Trish’s body, replaced by the adrenaline of compassion, Trish decided to follow that flow- that ever wobbling march of fear and bravery every faery doctor required.

“I have met very many different souls in my profession,”

Trish spoke.

“And…When a man regrets his actions this way, I…I find that such mental pain can make his illness all the worse.”

She glanced towards the giant’s midsection, so far away from where she stood. She’d noted the telltale sounds of indigestion when she’d made her observations there.

Trish lamented when she realized just how far she was about to go for a patient.

“What I…I mean to say is…is that I trust a man who desires to cause no harm, even if he falters. Because someone who makes a mistake so terrible is that much more steadfast in his conviction not to do so again.”

Frio’s eyes shimmered, reflecting the glowing crystals on the ceiling. He reached for her gently, slowly and when Trish flinched at first, he paused, extending the back of his index finger claw to her. It was an invitation. Trish hesitated once before reaching for the fingertip, placing her hand atop the pad.

“You think whatever I consumed with the hunter must be responsible for my pain, I take it.”

He said in a near whisper.

“Just as well.”

Trish fluttered her lips.

“Did you…”

How should she word this…

“Did you…eat him whole? With…with all of his affects?”

Frio cleared his throat.

“I…Yes.”

Trish nodded slowly, her hand still rested atop his finger. The cogs turned in her head. Resignation had her shoulders sagging, her hands reaching for the hem of her dress to pull it up and over her head. She kicked her boots off.

“What are you…”

Frio inquired and stopped.

“I…I need to perform an…extraction. And…”

Trish swallowed nervously, her voice cracking

“An internal examination.”

Frio appeared as if he’d been slapped. His eyes went wide.

“Absolutely not!”

He balked.

“I am sure the pain will pass with time. I will not subject someone I hardly know to…this!”

Frio gestured towards his middle with a claw.

“So you would swallow a friend, then?”

Trish mumbled before she could catch herself.

Frio’s mouth hung open a little. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, no I would not.”

Trish, dressed in stays, bloomers and woolen stockings that only served to accentuate just how boney her tiny form was, padded closer to his mouth. Her hands shook. The cold and the fear crept ever nearer and Trish had to begin before she could back out.

“I-It’s the doctor’s orders, i…if you please!”

She countered.

“I…I will be alright. I…I…”

Trish knew the words the sought their place on her tongue. They calmed her. Somehow, some part of her, faery gift or her own innate instinct on people kicked in.

“...I trust you, Frio.”

The frost giant was clearly at a loss for words. He looked utterly horrified at the thought of consuming this frail little woman, terrified she would break at his slightest touch.

Gods, was she brave. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

“You have known me for mere moments and you would trust me.”

Frio said.

“You are either a kind or foolish doctor.”

He opened his eyes again, fixing them upon the little human in front of his face.

“Are you certain you are willing to do this?”

Trish chewed her lower lip and went to his mouth, placing a hand on his lip. He tensed at the touch, felt something inside of him twist wonderfully. The doctor had no idea the effect she had.

“Yes. I cannot leave a patient to suffer. No matter who he is.”

Trish felt the careful weight of the giant's fingers on her upper arm. She felt the gentle stroke, a reassurance.

“You have my word that I will keep you safe.”

He spoke with conviction that gave Trish no doubt he meant what he said.

The faery doctor nodded, grabbed a few things from her pack and returned to his mouth.

“C…Could you…?” She said.

“Of course.”

Frio replied and turned over, mouth open wide and chin on the ground. The giant’s posture brought to mind a prostrated man praying to his god for salvation in one of the great temples.

Trish steeled herself for what would come next- for the horror she would find within this (thus far) gentle being’s belly. She lifted her foot onto his lip and hoisted herself inside. Her first step sank into his tongue. Trish felt his shuddering breaths rush past her.

Drool pooled quickly beneath the giant’s tongue. Was Trish making Frio salivate? The thought was unsettling yet…not fully unpleasant, to be delicious. Something to unpack when she wasn’t about to journey to the literal belly of the beast shortly. Trish lowered herself down, keeping a tight hold on a little satchel of supplies that thrummed with magic. She could hear the squelching of his throat, the way it seemed all too eager for her arrival.

“...You can..”

Trish whimpered

“S…Swallow me..”

Frio’s tongue slid her towards the back of his throat and she gasped in surprise. The giant stopped instantly.

“K-Keep going!”

Trish insisted.

Frio sighed passed her little body and pushed her past the point of no return with a deep, meaty gulp.

Trish had never been swallowed before and frankly, the entire experience was terrifying. She shook and stifled sobs as the darkness of Frio’s squeezing throat forced her downwards. Claustrophobia, the imminent destination below her- the faery doctor’s eyes prickled with tears as her whole body shuddered in fear. A powerful heart hammered behind Trish. Was Frio afraid too? The erratic pulse nearly deafened her as she felt the final squeeze before a free fall into an active stomach. She let out a cry, muffled by walls of thick flesh as she dropped into a pile of liquid that made her skin tingle. Trish gasped and scrambled backwards in the dark until she felt a solid wall at her back. A loud gurgle vibrated the fleshy chamber.

The inside of Frio’s belly was pitch black, humid but blissfully not sweltering; Trish had his frost giant nature to thank for that small blessing. The stomach grumbled again, the distinct sound of imminent digestion. Regardless of Frio’s wishes, the giant’s stomach viewed Trish as food. She would need to work quickly.

As Trish dug about in her bag of holding, she heard a muffled, yet booming voice cut through the squishing, wet sounds of bodily organs working around her.

“...Are you alright?”

Frio. He was checking on her.

“Y..Yes! I’m..I’m just getting to work.”

She shouted back. Would the giant even hear her? Evidently so, because his heart rate calmed some at the evidence of her well-being.

“I will give you five minutes, doctor, before I bring you back up.”

Frio stated firmly.

The time limit was a bit of a comfort, but it also meant she had a tighter deadline to find the hunter’s remains and figure out how to deal with his armour. Trish groped about her bag of holding until she found her quarry- a little piece of expensive parchment. It glowed faintly, then brighter when Trish read its incantation aloud. A trio of glowing lights, yellow like sunflowers illuminated the rippling space.

Immediately, Trish noted that she was wading ankle deep in masticated stew- and floating human bones. She yelped at the gruesome sight and started to hyperventilate, the sour air making her nearly sick as it stung her eyes and throat.  Trish reigned herself back in, thinking of her mother’s calm voice, lessons that ingrained deep in her psyche.

‘Deep breath. Assess the patient, find the ailment and the cause, determine the treatment.’

Trish’s lip quivered, her whole body trembling, but she cast her gaze around the inside of Frio’s stomach. Wrinkled pale blue flesh pressed in against her, writhing and alive. There was a mark along the lining and instantly, Trish knew it was the culprit of Frio’s pain. It weeped dark blue blood and appeared raw and angry, unable to heal when constantly irritated by the chaos of a working stomach.

“An open wound…”

Trish mused quietly to herself as she dug about in her bag for a solution. The holding enchantment afforded the doctor the ability to bring all manner of potions along to unique locations- and the perfect one for the job sat in her hands now, a soft lavender coloured liquid that resembled a milky sweet tea. Normally, Trish would have had a patient simply drink it but she doubted it would do little other than get lost in the rest of his stomach contents.

Trish felt her ankles begin to itch as stomach juices soaked through her stockings. She quickly but carefully poured the potion over the wound- and thankfully got enough on it before Frio let out a grunt of pain and the entire fleshy chamber shifted. Trish screamed as she was thrown backward against the opposite wall, the wind blown out of her. A splash of stomach liquid on her front made her panic. It burned.

“Gods, I am so sorry.”

The giant fretted.

Trish shoved a stomach wall, a silent reassurance that she was still alive and well, and heard the way Frio’s lungs filled and emptied like a relieved hurricane.

“Forgive me.”

She felt something press in against her. His hand, perhaps.

Trish found her balance again and toddered back over towards the site of the injury. It steamed and already, it was closing. Good. That would be enough.

And now, the disgusting bit.

Trish turned around with a grimace and stared down at the pile of bones surrounded by horrifically blood red, murky liquid. While even the bones had begun to slowly erode, the chain mail and the leather armour the hunter had worn over it remained nearly untouched. If the faint shimmer of magic rising off the articles was any indication, they were enchanted to be incredibly durable.

 Frio’s stomach let out a bubbling groan around Trish, the wrinkled walls closing in on her. She wobbled but mercifully stayed upright; Trish never would have recovered from falling on the hunter’s corpse.

“Whatever you have done is working wonders.”

The giant’s voice spoke again with a deep sigh. 

Trish chewed her lower lip. His relief would mean nothing if the armour made another wound. With that, the faery doctor let out a whine, picked up a vomit covered chain shirt and stuffed it into her bag of holding.

“Oh…Good heavens above…”

She gagged, the bits of tougher leather going in next. The bones Trish would leave. A frost giant could digest that when given enough time. The bag of holding would be the best method of transporting the indigestible bits out without potentially tearing up Frio’s throat even if Trish feared she’d never get the smell out.

Trish cinched the bag shut and found her voice again.

“I’m…I’m done!”

She called up.

Trish’s expulsion occurred faster than expected. Frio’s stomach lurched around the live human and propelled her and a load of chyme rapidly upwards. Trish’s shriek cut off in his throat.

Frio remained doubled over and coughed the little doctor up in a pile of half digested lunch. He caught his breath, then rolled over onto his side, his collapse like an earthquake.

The faery doctor stared up at the ceiling, panting, gulping in lungfuls of clean air.

Trish had just been in a stomach. In a stomach. In a giant’s bloody stomach.

And she was still alive to hopefully never tell the tale to a living soul.

She shivered in the open air, her whole body soaked and slimy. Trish felt dizzy, overwhelmed.

Shock prevented her from registering when a pair of massive, gentle hands slid beneath her body and lifted her up. Trish’s last view before passing out consisted of two frantic, pale eyes fixed upon her, and a soft, rumbling voice apologizing repeatedly and thanking her in a jumbled mess of words Trish felt too exhausted to make out.

[the-journey-was-the-point]

"Blood Cookie"

(Title is a play on the term "blood money")

My second fic with underworld Linnéa, and a sort of counterpart to the previous one! If that one was more serious, this one is more lighthearted in tone. Linnéa is always so stoic when I write her, so it was nice to let her be cheeky here!

I would also like to thank fantasy name generator for helping me come up with Ranger names on the fly XD

Summary: POV you're a Ranger-in-training and you meet a nice lady at the apothecary whom your senior doesn't like for some reason. Relationships: Linnéa & Rangers (this time with names!)

Nellriel met up with a senior member of the Dúnedain just outside of Combe. Calethor, whom she was tasked to shadow for the day, gave her the briefing as they entered the town gates. 

“We’re going to be around some dangerous folk,” he said with a surly countenance. “So don’t touch anything. Let me do the talking. And don’t take anything from anyone. Even if it’s offered.”

Nellriel took in his advice and steeled herself to deal with danger. She clenched her fists and put on her game face as they turned the corner and entered an… apothecary? 

She was expecting a smoky bar full of dart-throwing ruffians, not a neat and organized shop that sold medicine. Her eyes scanned the rows of glass bottles on the shelf. There were poultices and syrups and the air was fragrant with the smell of herbs.

“Stay here.” Calethor instructed, breaking Nellriel out of her distracted thoughts. She watched as the older Ranger brusquely followed a gruff-looking man into a back room. She was left alone with an old man, and a younger woman with blonde hair and blood-red lips, both of whom were quietly at work.

To Nellriel’s credit, she stood at attention for the first five or so minutes. After a while, her mind began to wander. 

“You're new,” said a voice. Nellriel looked to the one who had spoken: the woman, who was now balancing dried herbs on a weighing scale.

Though Nellriel was told not to speak to anyone, she felt she didn’t want to be rude. “Beg your pardon?”

“You're a new Ranger,” the woman repeated. “I haven't seen your face before.” 

“Yes. I mean-- I'm still in-training. I hope to become a full-fledged member soon.”

The woman transferred the herbs to a dish and muttered something to the old man about fevers and colds. “And they sent you out here today?” she asked Nellriel, addressing her once more. 

The Ranger-in-training bristled. “Yes. Why?”

“Nothing. You just seem a little young.”

Nellriel felt her cheeks heat up. “I turned seventeen last month.”

“Seventeen!” exclaimed the woman. “You are young. What are those Rangers doing, sending out children?”

To Nellriel’s embarrassment, the old man chuckled. “Now, madam!” he said, speaking for the first time. “I’m sure Miss Trainee has done a good amount of feats to her credit.”

The woman’s lips curled into a small smile, and Nellriel felt she had witnessed something rare. “Perhaps you’re right, Mister Taproot. I shouldn’t be so quick to write her off if the Rangers saw fit to bring her along.”

Nellriel puffed out her chest. “Last week, I snuck into the camp of the Daybreak Bandits and retrieved all of their stolen loot.” The Daybreak Bandits were a small group of independent petty thieves that had taken to jumping people along the Greenway. Nellriel had helped put them in jail.

“So that was you,” said the woman. “Impressive.” And though her ego was sufficiently stroked, Nellriel had to wonder why she felt a chill. 

“Someone's got to keep the peace, ma'am.” Nellriel clasped her arms behind her back and held her chin high, feeling very important.

“Very true. I certainly hope you were rewarded for your efforts. We have a good poultice here that helps to stop the bleeding.” She turned to the old man, who quirked an eyebrow. “A small jar,” she clarified, to which he nodded his assent, “and perhaps a cookie?”

Nellriel perked up as the woman produced a tin. The scent of vanilla wafted into the air when she opened it, and Nellriel had just picked a sugar-dusted treat for herself when Calethor barged out.

“Up-up-up! Put the cookie down, Nellriel! That’s blood cookie!”

She did as she was told, ashamed at having been caught in such a weak moment. Wasn’t she just instructed not to take anything? She cursed at herself. Calethor, meanwhile, gripped a newly-acquired scroll in one hand and used his other to waggle a finger at the woman. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”, he demanded. “A bribe? You’re not going to corrupt one of ours so early in her training! We’ll take the poultice, though.” 

“It’s only a sugary treat, Calethor.” Though the woman rolled her eyes, an amused smile played on her red lips. “A little reward for a heroic act.” 

“One that’s a little too sweet coming from you.” He took the jar the old man offered him. “Come, Nellriel. We’re leaving.” 

Not wanting to make any more blunders, Nellriel hurriedly followed without speaking any more to the woman or her companions.

“Good luck on your quest, Calethor,” the woman called out as they left. “And Nellriel, I’m sure you’ll make a fine Ranger someday.” 

“Definitely an odd encounter,” thought Nellriel. She’d have to ask Calethor about that woman later.

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 12

If you thought I'd make it easy for my boys to be together....honey, you've got another thing coming.

I'm so sorry 🙃

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13 Word Count: 3349 (average 25 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, homophobia, fantasy racisms. Steamy scenes will come to those who are patient. :) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

The Council was a group of old men who should have probably died or retired ages ago and they still believed their opinions mattered to generations much younger than them. I sat at the front of the long, rectangular room next to the seat of my father. There were nine council members, five on one side, four on the other, all regarding each other like they were better than all the others. I wondered if any of them even considered anyone else in this room their friend, or if they were all in this just to barter their way of life into this town.

I was equal parts frustrated by their traditional methodology and scared at the power they still held over a society that had evolved since their time. They were capable of so much simply because they had climbed up the ranks until there was nowhere else to go. 

My father had been summoning me to each Council meeting for the past week and I found myself bored to tears each time. I contributed very little to their conversations, and I already knew that I was doomed to disappoint all of them again today.

Most of the items of business were small, inconsequential things like adding more roads, where to expand for more homes as more people come to our town. With each one we offered our vote, when there really wasn’t much to vote on. I found my fingers itching to be playing with something other than the fringe on the hem of my sleeve. 

I couldn’t deny that my father - despicable as he is - was a committed leader. His attention was fully invested in each person’s comments, and he weighed all of the options equally. 

My father was an intelligent man, and a deep thinker and I think that’s why it hurt me so much every time that he didn’t seem to have the heart to make sense of me. I wasn’t worth his time mulling over and understanding - to him I was simply broken and in need of his repair.

Time moved slowly, but I did my best to keep my mind on the present conversation. I was surprised that my father didn’t ask more of me since he insisted that I be there, but I was also grateful to not be put at the center of attention in front of these old men. 

After a long laundry list of things, my father cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “Council Orin, I seem to recall you mentioned to me an issue you were having in the Northern district?” 

I watched closely as the man named Orin nodded sagely towards the Duke. “Ah yes, thank you, Your Grace. Gentlemen, I’d like to discuss the matter of a newcomer that’s been in town. A well respected innkeeper came to me with some concern that an orc has been staying in his inn for the past nine days now. He doesn’t appear to be here for any particular reason besides to loiter in our streets. We’ve been good enough to attract very little of the other folk in Faerun, and I wonder if there is something to be done with this newcomer?”

I gripped the armchair of my seat as I was forced to listen to these men discuss their distaste for orcs. With one mention of Drun’s race, they suddenly all felt it was their right and permission to exclaim their opinion - all of the despicable and completely wrong. They were talking about Drunrag, my Drun. They called him unclean, and one of the cursed races because they had sided centuries ago with the enemy. A long dead enemy that Drun had nothing to do with. They were formulating plans to get him out of town. I had to say something, but I couldn’t, not when I looked over and saw the way my father was watching me with such a smug look.

He shifted in his seat again and cleared his throat, the room fell into expectant silence. 

My Father spoke, “Altan, son, what do you say is the best course of action? Perhaps your youth can help us see a different light?”

I refused to look back at him. He was mocking me. I knew he was cornering me to fold and not say anything. I knew if I said what I felt, it would fall on deaf and racist ears. Instead I sat straight and held my fingers tight like claws on the armchair. “Perhaps it would be wise to avoid making a rash decision until we learn why he’s here.”

“The innkeeper says the orc won’t speak when he talks to him. Says he’s practically mute.” Councilman Orin responded.

Another Councilman jumped in, “I thought I saw him working with that Dragonborn Doxxah in the Northern District, perhaps they’re plotting something.”

I couldn’t believe them. Doxxah had been here for years and had proven themselves again and again to be an honest, hardworking contributor to the town. I opened my mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another round of the men exclaiming their dislike of Dragonborns, of Orc of all the races they felt uncomfortable around.

“It’s not as if we don’t want them in our town.” One of them said, “But it must be understood that our town was built centuries ago as a fortress to protect our ancestors from the dangers that these very same races brought outside our day every day. Do we ignore our past and history just to embrace these newcomers into our town?”

“I don’t see any reason why we should be the same as our ancestors from hundreds of years ago.” I replied. They all looked at me with furrowed brows. “Perhaps Berdusk is more than about keeping tradition, but about making traditions that provide comfort and safety for all folks who pass through. Neither Doxxah or this orc you speak of has caused any true offense that warrants this amount of distrust towards them. Perhaps change is not so bad for a town and we simply need more time.”

My father tapped his finger on his armrest, “So you would erase our history from us?”

I shook my head, “That’s not what I'm suggesting at all. I see it as an expansion of what we could offer.”

“But we can’t please everyone, young lord.” One man said, “We are not as impressive of a town as those larger, more advanced cities like Waterdeep, or Baldur’s Gate. We cannot easily accommodate them and our people would not be comfortable to change for them. Wouldn’t it be safer for them to not be here?”

“So you’re saying we force this gentleman to vacate our town?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a gentlemen, young lord. He’s an orc, he’s from the wild plains in the South. They’re undignified and so uncouth there.” 

My voice was shaking as I spoke. “I don’t see any sound reason to kick him out.”

“It’s for the safety of the town. You must remember that the North District is where families live. An orc living there is…well…it’s preposterous and it cannot stand.”

Tradition. Family. Protecting what’s always been. These were the grumblings that this town rested everything on. It was a narrative that had pervaded and infected the way the Council viewed anything. They had used the same disgusting rant on my mother when she had tried to change things here to help her children and other people's children. Remembering her then made my blood turn hot and I couldn’t listen to any of that bullshit anymore. I sprung to my feet, my chair making a loud clatter as it fell back. The room fell silent.

“You are the ones who are preposterous. Look at you! You all live in denial that times have changed since you were young. Times have changed since our ancestors. Time changes people, it changes us. We have a chance to be more than just Berdusk, a town where all Men live and thrive. Why must it just be humans? Because you’re more comfortable looking at someone who looks and thinks exactly like you! It's easier, isn't it? It’s too uncomfortable to have to consider that other races could be better at your job than you! It's too uncomfortable to have to recognize that maybe your traditions are worse than outright violence. You don’t like that the world is changing to make you less important and you would drive out every last race that isn’t human if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? Including me.” 

The silence in the room was deafening and none of the Councilmen would meet my eyes as I let them have a taste of what I thought of each of them.

I turned to look at my father, who was looking at me with a smug look. 

“I’m dismissing myself from this meeting.” I said, before stepping down and racing out of the room. 

I caught the eye of Commander Gideon who was standing outside the door into the room. He didn’t move, but I caught something in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. I didn’t bother dwelling on it as I continued my march out of the room, out of the building and down the steps towards the town below me. 

The guards weren’t prepared as I barreled passed them and down the street. They tried to follow me, but I shook them off quickly as I wound through the crowds and into another crowded street. My head was pounding, my heart was racing and I only had one place I wanted to be. 

I burst into Doxxah’s bakery, out of breath and heaving. “Where is he?” I asked.

Doxxah broke into a grin and pointed behind them. “In the back, young lord.” 

I didn’t wait for permission to walk around the counter. I wove my way through the various obstacles until I found my way into the back where the room was so much more warm with all of the ovens burning. There was Drun, covered in flour and sweat. He hadn’t seen me and was bent over a tray of rolls, sprinkling a dusting of cinnamon over the top of them. He was biting his bottom lip and was deep in concentration.

All of the tension inside of me loosened at being able to see him. He was adorable in that moment, and I would have loved to take in the image of him like this, but I needed him. I cleared my throat and waited for him to look at me. 

His eyes, his beautiful stormy grey eyes found mine and he raised to his full height. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He looked behind me with a worried expression. He seemed afraid to approach me.

“I just needed to see you.” I said. “I’m…” I felt hot tears as I looked at him. Why couldn’t they see him the way I saw him? He was gentle, he was beautiful, he carried himself so carefully and thoughtfully. How could someone look at him - sprinkling cinnamon on a roll with such care for gods’ sake- and tell me he was of a lesser race? There was nothing about Drunrag that I didn't find lovely and safe and good. I closed the distance and barreled into him, wrapping my arms around him with my head buried in his chest. “Please, let’s go.”

“Where?” He asked.

“Anywhere,” I said, my voice was muffled in his chest and I felt like some pathetic child. 

I felt Drun’s hands settle around me. Holding me around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. His body was so warm.

“Will we be safe?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer.

“Altan.” he said and he pulled me back so he could look at me, he took my hand and placed it on his chest. Oh all of the nine hells consume me, my name on his lips was sin. Gods I needed him.  “Do you feel it?” he asked, using the same words I had said to him.

And I felt it, the quick beating of his heart. It was strong and steady and purposeful. I pressed my hands there, feeling comfort in its power.

“Do you understand?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Do you trust us?” He asked.

“I trust us.” I said. “But my father will never allow me to be with you. We’ll never be safe.” I looked up at him, “The city intends to kick you out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan to do worse. If I can’t go with you, then promise me you’ll go and be safe.”

He shook his head, “Not without you.”

“Then let’s go.” I said. “I’ll leave it all behind, right now.”

I heard Doxxah’s throat clear behind me and I whirled around to see Commander Gideon standing next to them. 

“Your grace.” He said, his voice was gentle. “Your father asked that I get you…he wanted me to inform you that you should say your goodbyes now.”

It was a threat. Say goodbye to your lover and come back repentant or face the punishment. My body tensed and I resisted moving. 

“It’s alright, Altan.” Drun said softly, his hand was on my arm, and he gently coaxed me to return my attention to him. 

I nodded, my face wet with tears. “Drun…I love you.”

He nodded, his hand tightened around me. “And I you.” He leaned forward and his forehead was pressed to mine. “I’m yours, djenifad. Don’t give up on me.” 

He pushed me gently towards the door and I resisted every time. I saw the pain reflected in his eyes as I was being pulled away again from him. “Drun, Drunrag. I love you. I love you...” I could only say it again and again as Commander Gideon took my arm and gently began to pull me away. Drun was standing there, watching me and I saw a faint glint of wet light in his eyes. 

Commander Gideon was gentle as he pulled me discreetly into the carriage that was waiting outside the bakery’s steps. Of course there were still many eyes on us as I pulled myself in. 

“Commander,” I managed to say, struggling to stay composed. “What does my father intend to do to him?”

He remained calm, and he was gentle in his answer, “The Duke did not make any mention of the young orc, only to return you home.”

Somehow, that left me more scared, but I could do nothing else but nod and utter my gratitude to him. He was being surprisingly gentle and kind about all of this. 

Doxxah stood at the door, but not before approaching me and placing in my hands a small box. “He made this one, he added so much cinnamon I couldn’t sell them. I think they’re for you.” 

I laughed before immediately coughing and choking on my tears. My Drun, he remembered I loved cinnamon. I couldn’t speak. I was so overwhelmed with emotion. Doxxah closed the door and backed away, waving gently at me. They didn’t say anything, but I saw an ally in them. They would take care of Drun while I couldn’t be by his side.

The ride was silent, uncomfortable and the Commander was once again patient and gentle as he told me that I was to be escorted to the Duke’s chambers to meet with him. In all of this, I could sense a reluctance in the Commander’s actions. I’m sure he felt a bit like a babysitter and could easily resent me for making his job such a headache, but he continued to remain neutral and impassive. 

My father’s chambers was a room I only saw when I was in trouble and I only ever associated it with bad memories. I never remembered seeing it until I started to disobey my father’s rules and resist his instructions for me, and then I would be taken there to be given a stern talking to. When stern talkings to didn’t work for him, it turned into ridicule, chastisement and sometimes physical punishment. I hated that room.

The room was all dark wood panels, red velvet curtains that kept the room dark and moody. He had little furniture in there, just a round room that was dark and shadowy. When the Commander let me walk in, he waited outside and I stepped in alone.

“You made quite the impression in the Council meeting today.” The Duke said. He was sitting at a chair, a scroll in his hand that he was reading.

My jaw was tight as I took in the sight. “You can do anything you want to me, but you can’t hurt him, do you understand?”

“By our laws, we have no grounds to do anything to him yet.” My father said coolly, not looking up from his readings. “But if I hear or see that he has touched you in any way…I can promise you that I will remove him from your life in one fell swoop and ruin any chance of you seeing him again. I have him right where I want him to keep an eye on him. And you, my son, will be kept under a more severe supervision. So I know where you will be at all times. Be careful of your actions.” 

“Why is it so important to you to control me?” I asked, fighting back the emotion in my voice. I had to stay in control. “There is no love lost between us. Why must we suffer ourselves through this? I’ll never be the person you want me to be. Just let me go, let me be happy with him. I’ll never speak your name again. I’ll change my name if I must. But we don’t have to keep doing this anymore.”

“You ungrateful, insolent boy.” My father seethed, “You have been given everything since the day you were born and I have been the one to give it to you. I could have taken you from your mother as soon as I saw how she was turning your mind against me. But I let her keep you. You were always hers and I was gracious enough to let it be that way. But she is gone and you are mine now, and I will see you thanking me for the mercy I continue to show you.”

“I’m not grateful.” I spat, “How can I be grateful when you intentionally keep me from being who I am? Just…please…let us go.”

He sighed, feigning exhaustion. “I know the moment I set either of you free, you’ll be crawling right back to each other. I see it in both your eyes, you're sick for each other.” 

“I’m not sick, I’ve never been sick. This is my choice.” I pleaded back, “Your Grace…Father. I love him, he means more to me than my own life.”

His eyes became wild at those words, “You would bring yourself this low to get the attention you so crave? If you desire to be nothing more than a whore, then I will find you someone better than this. You depraved child.” He rose to his feet. “I do not see how you became so wrong as you grew, but this would disappoint even your mother to see you as wanton as you are for that beast. You will not see him again, and if either of you seek each other out, it will cost him his freedom.”

I flinched, the words bit into me and I felt tears form once again on the surface of my eyelids, but I did not blink, nor back down, “So what will you have of me, now that I am your depraved, sick, deranged prisoner?” I asked “Should I worship you? Kiss your feet for your bounteous generosity for saving me from my own choices? Or would you prefer your prisoners to stay silent, meek and submissive?”

“You will be grateful and you will follow my instructions with obedience. Do you understand?” His eyes were cold and heartless as he regarded me. “Your life will be easier once you start to see what I’m doing for you and you’ll thank me someday.”

I could not bring myself to beg anymore. I saw the finality of his words in his eyes. He intended to break me, and I was afraid there was no hope to be free this time.

[sassthatsarcasm]

OKAY Y'ALL DID THIS TO YOURSELVES

1629 AU: Leon is a farmhand working the Marner Estate and Mitch is the pampered socialite son.

THIS IS NOT GOOD!!! but enjoy :3

people to blame for this atrocity:

the director of that soft core gay porn sports betting ad

mm16 for his immaculate twink vibes

the various people in my notes who enabled this u know who u are

It’s just that he’s so sweet. Soft curls, full mouth, the delicate jut of his collarbone above the gentle untidiness of his shirt half-undone. Leon usually didn’t have time for these air-headed, privileged things, come to the country in the sweltering heat for their fantasy versions of slumming in. But – he’s sweet.

Leon – like his father and his father before him, ad nauseum – had been maintaining the grounds of the Marner Estate for what feels like all his life. So, he’s seen the Marner son grow into his limbs and his giant eyes and that stupid mouth, not that Leon was ever looking at his mouth.

Marner was the same as all of them. Mitchy, they called him – one of the carousel of soft, young things so tightly swaddled in their privilege Leon couldn’t believe they didn’t choke on it. Maybe they did and didn’t know that pain wasn’t pleasure. Mitch Marner laughed loud, took up space in the world without ever questioning if he deserved it. The world was his and he had Daddy’s fucking mansion to prove it.

For all of Leon’s thinly-veiled irritation, the Marners only ever converged on the Estate in the summer, when the baking sun drove them out of the city to breathe fresh country air. Still, he could usually minimise interaction with the Marner clan and spare himself a headache. There was just this way that moneyed folk laughed which sunk into his skin and made it sit uneasy over his bones. Maybe he was a snob - wouldn’t be the first time he’d been accused of it. They were snobs, too – wouldn’t ever dare to look the help in the eye.

So, for most summers of his life, Leon has been able to mostly avoid crossing paths with any of the Marners, especially the treasured son. He stuck to the edges of the grounds, rotating across the hedges in parallel to Mother Marner’s daily walks or the children kicking a ball around. Just the way he liked it.

But. Recently, he’s felt eyes following him as he makes the rounds and, when he looks up, Leon finds himself meeting those wide blue eyes, sitting pretty over flushed cheeks and that mouth that seemed to always be hanging open. Marner’s eyes would usually dart away first and he’d walk away quickly but Leon, day in and day out, would feel him on the periphery, following him around. At first, Leon is angry – his family has served the Marners faithfully for generations and he wouldn’t let a pampered, spoiled child doubt his loyalty to that legacy, if not to the family itself.

Then, the Marner kid gets bolder, eventually getting into his business everyday and asking inane questions about lawn maintenance and the different scientific names for the flowers scattered across the grounds. Leon watches Marner’s tongue trip over the word ‘scientific’ with a sceptical eye and wonders what the fuck the kid is up to.

Kid. Hm. Logically, Leon knew Marner could only be a couple of years younger than him but something about those eyes made him seem so much younger than he was, like he’d never had a care in the world. And really, Leon should have known that was the beginning of it all, or perhaps the end of it. He can never resist a wide-eyed creature too shy and sweet for its own good.

-

So, Leon didn’t think it would end up this way. These pretty, young things, they always look, taught to view things not theirs as things to want. Leon’s not an idiot – it’s been weeks of this, and he knows how to read the heavy-lidded looks Marner keeps sending him across the fucking topiary, what it means when Marner’s mouth goes, somehow, even looser when Leon lifts his shirt to wipe off his brow. Also, no one is that fucking interested in lawn curation, not even Leon. But he didn’t think it would actually lead to this, Leon pressing the Marner heir into the wall, calloused hands on slim wrists. Not knowing if it was the heat of the air or the heat of their bodies pressed tight that made sweat break of sickly-sweet over his skin.

Those shining eyes, staring up at him, the blue joy of them shadowed with something that intrigued Leon, God help him. The surprising strength of his whip-thin body. The unexpected thickness that Leon’s hands find when they skim across his thighs and arms and shoulders. And for all his sweetness, the way Marner gasps and claws his hands into Leon’s back, greedy in the way all rich boys were born to be. He’s pressing Leon so tight against him – Leon’s rough work shirt and his beard turning Marner’s exposed skin red, looking so tender that Leon’s mouth waters.

It’s the sting of his nails in Leon’s shoulder, the clamp of his teeth in Leon’s neck, that prompts him to get a little mean about it. Another thing about Leon: he can only handle so much sweetness before he reaches into the core of it and twists, see if can tease the worst out of someone in a race for pleasure.

Leon pushes his body even tighter into Marner, pinning his wrists against hips. Marner’s head shoots up, eyes wide, and his mouth slackens around a soft little sound of want.

“What do you need?” murmurs Leon, feeling the rumble of his voice against Marner’s chest.

Marner whines. “Anything, please, anything.” So eager for it. Leon kisses his neck and Marner’s head shoots back so abruptly it hits the wall, his desperate breaths fanning across Leon’s forehead.

Leon smirks. “Do you even know what you need? Has anyone ever shown you?” Marner’s cheeks flush, not out of arousal but embarrassment, and his eyes cast down. “I bet you don’t. I bet you’ve been good, kept your hands to yourself. But –” Here Leon takes Marner’s chin into his hand and firmly guides his face up until he’s looking at him again. “Those eyes. You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you. You can’t hide from me.”

Then, surprising Leon, Marner’s eyes harden into a steely look of determination. “So, show me what I need.” Marner leans up, capturing Leon’s mouth in a breath-taking kiss that he feels down to knees. “Make it good for me.”

[ballsballsbowls]

Slate recently published a relatively short interview with Holly Black and I just...

I cannot stress enough, here where you can see it, that I don't have strong feelings about Holly Black specifically. I've read just enough of one of her books to be pretty confident that it's not for me and I doubt I will read anything else. Holly Black just happens to be the person they interviewed and the person who said these things specifically. I have no quarrel with her.

What really drew my attention was this, which unfortunately I suspect is hardly unique to her.

Q: In The Prisoner’s Throne, there’s a scene early on that I thought was going to go in the way many romantasy books would go these days, but it didn’t. A lot of readers are here for the smut, but some authors, like yourself, will go the “behind closed doors” route, where the sex isn’t explicit or it’s assumed to have happened off the page. Are you at all interested in exploring the smuttier aspect of fantasy? 

A: I think that I certainly could push myself a bit more out of my comfort zone, but I don’t know how much I would want to explore it. Mostly because, as a reader, I find long sex scenes to be paced strangely—you’re moving through everything else at a certain pace, and then the pace just drops off, like, OK, now we’re spending, like, two chapters like this. I know there are people who enjoy it, obviously. I recognize that readers wish I could make the scenes a little longer. I had a reader ask me, with the Folk of the Air series, if my editor had made me cut down the scenes, and I said, “No, actually, my editor told me to expand the scene.” And she said, “Well, why didn’t you?” Friend, I did.

I also had somebody talk to me recently about how, in a certain kind of book, what you have is levels of physical intimacy being symbolic of the characters achieving a greater amount of emotional intimacy. That’s just not something I’ve ever thought of as being equivalent. I’ve been like, Oh, I have to get them closer here, but I never really thought that people often are using physical intimacy as a stand-in or as a way to communicate emotional intimacy. Building up into a greater and greater level of physical intimacy is doing work that I’m just not thinking about doing in that way.

~

Paragraph 1 of her answer is interesting in its own way. I'd always wondered why people feel compelled to write 2-paragraph sex scenes because they are my least favorite way to convey that information. I'd much rather a fully closed door OR a 2-page treatment with no in between, but you can't generalize her answer to authors generally.

But Paragraph 2 was actually kind of illuminating and, I think, is actually a notion that can be spun out and applied to other authors rather than being specific to her. I like category romance a lot (among other genres, the difference is that I never shut up about romance because nobody is spending a lot of energy being dismissive and shitty about fantasy or sci-fi as a genre anymore), but I have struggled with basically every new romance-esque genre out there that should be appealing! It's romance AND something else! But I didn't vibe with any of the rom-coms I read, which I forgave because 'rom-com' isn't a real genre, it's basically just a marketing thing.

But I also didn't like any why chooses/RH; I didn't like any 'romantasy' (despite liking both romance AND fantasy!) —even Paladin's Grace was pretty much a spite finish for me and that's the work of an immensely skilled tradpub author—not to mention, I have no idea whether she considers that series 'romantasy' or not (I doubt it). Hell, I'd dump shifter romance/urban fantasy romance in here too and it's been around longer than any of these upstart new romance-adjacent sub-genres.

But I think Paragraph 2 of Holly's answer maybe gets to some of it. She's either saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in general (which is all well and good but maybe romance-adjacent author is not the career for you?)

Or she's saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in romance writing, which was a lightbulb moment for me. At the risk of perhaps overgeneralizing:

A lot of these authors are writing romance-adjacent books because they think romance is a cool thing to have in a book but they don't understand why category romance does what it does, and what it signifies, and why it works, so they just...throw everything out because they are Too Cool For Category Romance because it's Grandma Porn or whatever, so they write something that's marketed as a romance that doesn't comprehend how to write or discuss emotional intimacy at all, and typically can't juggle it under the weight of the rest of the plot even if they do.

So you end up with between 2 and 7 leads with the emotional depth and chemistry of smooshing two barbies together to kiss because they don't have a clue what chemistry between leads should look like because they're Too Cool For Category Romance. And a lot of them that I have read have had sex scenes, so they're not afraid of smut, but they can't integrate emotional vulnerability or chemistry into it at all.

I think this is where her complaint about the 'pacing' of sex scenes comes in. This newer, ultra-lean writing style where everything is first person present and paced oddly and every dialogue is sparse and lacking dialogue tags and every two-page spread is mostly white space is here to stay, unfortunately, and in a world where you're trying to reduce word count and have an additional entire plot besides the romance, who has space for intimacy or whimsy or anything but maybe 2 crude indicators that they trust each other?

[siegecraft]

Patreons I Support

Between the impending Twitter collapse, the growth of unethical AI applications in creative spaces, and [gestures broadly at the world], I’m trying to more regularly uplift the art and artists I admire—and in this case, materially support. 

Many folks are familiar with Patreon. If you’re not, Patreon is a membership platform that allows creatives to earn a monthly income and deliver rewards to their subscribers. Ko-fi, Buy Me a Coffee, and Memberful are similar alternatives. 

A lot of Patreon creators offer tangible perks but personally, even if they didn’t, I would still patronize them! Below are the Patreons I currently back:

Kelly Turnbull

https://www.patreon.com/coelasquid/

I’ve been a fan of Kelly Turnbull’s work for over a decade, starting with her webcomic Manly Guys Doing Manly Things and then everything I’ve seen from her since. Turnbull is an animation director, cartoonist, and remarkable storyteller. I’m not familiar with most of the media she makes fan comics for and I still adore all of it; her capacity to convey complex character relationships is a masterclass in dialogue writing and visual narrative. If I ran a major animation studio I would give her an absurd amount of money and tell her to do literally whatever she wanted, that is how strongly I feel about her work.  

Marlowe Lune’s Merry Blackbird Postcard Society

https://www.patreon.com/marlowelune/

Marlowe Lune is an illustrator of very trans historical and fantasy subjects. Their art style is stunning, unique, and thoughtfully researched, and subscribing to their Patreon comes with the perk of regular postcards of their prints. My partner and I have a lot of Lune’s art up around our house, and though we cannot put up anymore lest our abode just become a Marlowe Lune tribute gallery, I remain subscribed because I’m a big fan of what they do and the postcards make great gifts. 

max graves

https://www.patreon.com/maximumgraves/

I read the webcomic What Happens Next earlier this year and immediately went and subscribed to graves’ Patreon because it’s that fucking brilliant. It's an ingenious exploration of queer victim culture and (absence of) accountability and true crime and so much more. One of the main characters is a trans guy who was an accomplice to a murder but won’t delete his My Little Pony tumblr. There’s actually no explanation I can give of WHN that will convey how remarkable it is so you should just go read it. This comic is really special and I’m really looking forward to seeing where graves goes with it and what he creates in the future. 

Possum Creek Games

https://www.patreon.com/possumcreek/

If you’re a fan of even one Possum Creek Games title (I am a fan of many) or indie tabletop roleplaying games writ large, supporting the Possum Creek Games Patreon is some of the best money you could possibly spend. It gets you access to the wonderful community that is the PCG discord, some behind the scenes stuff, first looks/early access to games, and some really thoughtful more academic-type writing about ttrpgs and storytelling from their Editorial Director, Jay Dragon. Possum Creek is a strong positive force in the indie ttrpg scene and I really appreciate their generative, nuanced, and people-first approach to everything. 

Snake Discovery

https://www.patreon.com/snakediscovery/

Snake Discovery is an educational reptile YouTube channel (and now zoo). There are a lot of deeply unethical animal content creators and so I appreciate that the people behind the channel, Ed and Emily, are thoughtful, transparent, and very specific about standards of care. I really love reptiles but do not presently have one or plan to have one in my care any time soon, so I enjoy living vicariously through the dozens of videos of baby snakes they share each year.  

There are other wonderful creators out there whose work I greatly admire but unfortunately I cannot support infinite Patreons. If you love an artist’s work and you have the means, I strongly encourage you to find a way to regularly support what they do, whether that’s via Patreon or some other means.

[bartoonist]

PS5 Screenshots 5-24-2023: This is the most scary mysterious and beautiful Open World game I ever got as a birthday present and started playing, in hindsight: I probably should’ve taken screenshots of those wonderful Magic Parkour moves I’ve been using to explore the medieval fantasy planet: Athia which takes place in the Athian 39th century where Athia never transitioned from it’s Medieval Time Period like how Earth and Remnant have, since our real life earth’s current century in the Post Modern Age is the 21st century, while the Advanced Fairytale Planet: Remnant of the RWBY anime influenced media franchise takes place in an alternate 21st century present timeline twice more advanced than our Earth and Far more advanced than that Rustic and Hank Hill esque Narrow minded medieval country bumpkin of a planet that is Athia, and I’ve seen just how much Frey has expressed such foul disdain towards the very medieval planet she didn’t even wanna have anything to do with from the start of her story nor did she ever wanna be a part of in the first place either, and judging that medieval fantasy planet’s narrow minded and toxic periodical mashup personality of the Black Plague Era Medieval Times meets the Paranoid Salem Witch Hunt era, I bet in retrospect if Frey Holland ever happened to be a RWBY fan that grew up living in a Meta Earth timeline that shares same real life pop cultural franchises like our real world-earth does already, I bet Frey had wished she had been transported to a more advanced and multicultural fairytale world such as Remnant of the RWBYverse instead of in athia’s Black Death-Salem Witch Hunt esque batshit crazy crystalian pandemic known as The Break (by Athia’s Disease Terms of course), I know I’d prefer being reborn on Planet Remnant rather than Athia, and I hope you folks like these PS5 of this Japanese American Isekai dark fantasy themed PS5 game: Forspoken (Isekai means another world in Japanese, just so y'know.) I’m now currently playing through both it’s story & exploring it’s open world today, I tell ya' folks what. By The Way, this open world Action RPG game: Forspoken was made both in Japan by design, and in animation physics using the Luminous Engine made by the very Squere Enix developer team that made Final Fantasy XV/15, and in America by story concept written by American Game Writer: Amy Hennig, and the Forspoken characters were Mocap created and voiced by American mocap-voice actors too whose names I can’t remember honestly, especially since I’m now just theorizing if Amy Hennig must’ve possibly drawn inspiration from light novel sourced Isekai Manga, Anime, & Video Game Media franchises that boomed from the 2010's, or maybe just the Another World Japanese Translated Isekai Genre in general I wonder.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

If You Have No Imagination, You Can’t

Imagine

Stephen Jay Morris

3/15/2024

©Scientific Morality

            The late John Lennon was one of many voices of a generation, though many of those voices didn’t want the job. I think I wrote about this song some time ago. Well, recently, I saw a video posted by a Catholic bishop, denouncing the song, “Imagine,” by John Lennon. The name of the video is, “Why I hate the song, Imagine.” Hate, you say? Now that is a pretty strong word for a bishop of the Church. He initially gave faint praise to John Lennon and then proceeded to criticize the song, reciting it line by line, and explaining how each one was inspiring a rebellion of God, which is a sin.  He declared the song a “secular anthem.”

Okay, Boomer! But it’s not. What it is, is a wishful fantasy about the uniting of humanity. Can you imagine if he had written a line like, “Imagine no priests molesting little boys?” In that case, the bishop would have a reason to complain.

            John Lennon was the voice of a generation whether he wanted to be or not. This issue is similar to the Taylor Swift controversy today. In the early 70’s, the government, oil companies, and protestant churches were shitting bricks over John Lennon. So, like MLK, they spied on him and tried to extradite him from the USA.

            I remember the hatred and anger that spewed over this song in 1971. I was listening to a Top 40’s station when—I forget who the disk-jockey was—after playing the song, the guy went on a tirade about how John was a hypocrite because he was rich. It seems American conservatives have this misconception that, if you have leftist views, you must take a vow of poverty. Wrong! I’d rather be among rich communists that piss poor conservatives. So, am I to believe that if you are a conservative, you must be rich, otherwise you can’t be one? The anfractuous folly of the political right is endless.

            The song is a soft, wistful ballad that seems to have been written from a spiritual state of mind. Lyrically, it is suggesting the listener consider the propositions; ruminate over them. This type of fancible idealism started in the late 50’s to the mid 60’s.  The pacifist movement merged with the folk music era. Afterward came the Flower Children with their visions of world peace, and then the New Age movement in the 70’s. Lennon wanted to captivate the Boomer generation with this ballad, and he did.

Conservatives are afraid of artistic influence over the younger generations, for they are proponents of masculinity. Anything sensitive targets their accusations of inofficiousness to the Christian state. Femininity is evil and masculinity is godly.

John Lennon offered a great and novel proposition when he wrote:

Imagine there's no heaven.

It's easy if you try.

No hell below us

Above us only sky.

Imagine all the people living for today!

A well-said proposition. Most adherents to the three main religions look forward to death. They feel the earth is Satan’s property and that Heaven will be like Disney World. Suckers! Why not live for now?

Now for the political portion of the piece:

Imagine there's no countries.

It isn't hard to do.

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion, too.

Imagine all the people living life in peace.

Yeah, the conservatives are always preaching about small government. And yet if you say “do away with it” they lose their lunch. Good introduction for newbies to anarchism.

Now the line that pissed off conservatives:

Imagine no possessions.

I wonder if you can?

No need for greed or hunger.

A brotherhood of man.

Imagine all the people sharing all the world.

You may say I'm a dreamer.

But I'm not the only one.

I hope someday you’ll join us,

And the world will be as one.

Oh, gee! How fucking blasphemous!

So, in my confabulatory take of the religious shit, there are no such things as good and evil. God floods the earth and Satan talks about world peace. Forget about it!

This song is fantastic and if you don’t like it, fuck you! And fuck your material property’ too!

[handelplayssims]

Hello! Been awhile for me writing this sort of thing down. We’re finally back and I’m going to attempt to shake things up around here. Firstly, even I’m bored with how my blog posts are going. Turns out, just writing everything that happens in the Sims game makes for extremely dry reading. And it makes for slow playing of my personal file as well and I don’t really want that. So I’m going to try something a little different. I’m going to do a sort of bullet point journaling of what’s happening over the course of my game and then write out what happens in general. Because the important bits and bobs, of aspirations gained and relationships changing are still there! The story is important but most is bogged down in the everyday day-to-day life. ...quite in in reality I suppose. We’ll see how that shakes out.

Time to introduce our next household then!

Literally 2B and 9S! So I finally get to explain something. This personal file of mine is a spin-off of sorts. I initially started the Sims playing with video game characters and rotating between a few of those households every time I played. Eventually however, I got bored of doing that thing constantly and decided to play my randomized rotations with all of the households across the game. A lot of those households have been utterly decimated since Neighborhood Stories has been introduced, as only the slight few that have been played are truly safe from the hand of death. Naturally this means I am getting de-sensitized to death of my crafted video games bros.

...nah, I am not. But I feel like it’s a good approximation of what happens to people at times. Sometimes, they just suddenly die! And we must mourn the losses for what they are. -sniff-

Anyway, 2B and 9S! Nier Automata isn’t particularly a favorite game of mine but the characters are fun! 2B is Unflirty, Gloomy and a Loner, stoic as she is. She’s already finished the fitness aspiration so has moved onto the Inner Peace one of the Wellness aspirations. 9S has completed the computer aspiration as is on to the Soulmate one. He’s a genius, a geek, and jealous. So I’ve played a bit with these guys.

Also ageing is turned off while I’m in this household. They’re androids. They will stay young while the world gets old around them. They also have several reward traits, such as Forever Full, Steel Bladder and Hardly Sleepy on them to help sell they idea of their andriod-ness.

So we load into this lot and already, the electrical outlet is sparking. 19 Culpepper might be my personal favorite apartment in game but man does it have it’s utility issues. And bugs. And pests. But two beds though. I have 9S attempt to repair it and when that fails, have them call the landlord. Who mysteriously, actually repairs the issue in a timely manor. Truly, the Sims is quite a fantasy game.

Both 2B and 9S are apart of the military career. Just continuing on with what their previous life in Sims world. Hmm. Wonder what other patterns will hold. Anyway, military has work-from-home opportunities so I’ll rotate between 2B and 9S for who remains home. Today is 2B’s and...she’s gonna run at a treadmill. We have one already at home. -shrug- Easily done I suppose.

2B’s actual whim is to chat with someone. She’s been found by quite a few outgoing folks. For example, a celebrity comedian named Majore De La Cruz. How? I think I vageuly remember finding her when playing as Majore. They chat and I also do a thing for 2B’s aspiration. So she’s doing a Spa Day centered one, the one that focuses on wellness and emotional control. And now I just have to farm using insence and listening to music and finding relaxing enviroments. And I got to farm them. A lot. It’s riveting gameplay. So I listen to some tunes while I chat and also talk about her fears to clear them out. And then, after said chat, she heads to bed, in need of a recharge. (Because I didn’t make them immune to sleep, just very resistant to doing sleep)

9S is back home! And with a promotion to his next stage! Don’t worry, 2B will be right behind him once the wfh rolls over. He wishes to play some video games and so we do so. And gain a sedentary lifestyle out of it. That’ll be interesting because he’s in a super active career and you do get penalties if your lifestyle doesn’t quite match your career. We’ll see how that’ll affect him.

Decided to pop into CAS to edit 2B’s clothing options to see if I have any more frilly dresses. Not really so alas. Could try CC because I’m aboslutely sure someone would have made a 2B dress but eh, I like limiting myself to what’s in-game. Also don’t want to mess with CC until the game is “finished” because for me, the effort to update mods is eeeeeeeh. But also-

What 2B’s muscle definition would be like if designers weren’t COWARDS!

2B’s whims are to be sad and alone so, we’ll just go and focus on those enviroments and perhaps meditate in her room alone. Miko Ojo, the peppy politican who’s our neighbor, wants to hang out! She’s got a good relationship with 9S so she wants to drop in frequently. I set her and 9S to play some chess together for a bit.

After those two hang out and 2B vibes alone a bit, 9S asks 2B on a date. He’s got the Soulmate aspiration and that’s needed for him. To go on dates! We’re off to the nightclub! Those are trendy places for young folks to hang out with yeah? So it’s time to chat a little and...oh. Both of the second requirements needed moodlets. Moodlets I can’t easily get thanks to the Meaningful Stories mod making their confident moodlet deeply entrenched in their minds! Ehhhh. Alright then.

Somehow I got these two outside the club, just stargazing and having private chats outside. This would be a horrible spot for such stargazing, just think of the Del Sol Valley light pollution! Perhaps next time, we go to a park or some such. Much better for chats and stargazes.

Oh and we got the alert that 2B got promoted in the midst of this date. Now both of them need to go into work but I have plans...so both shall take days off! And hey! With all that chatting, they are now best friends. Alas, this is just a moderate by dating standards so no additional moodlets. Other than the Deeply Connected one for being best friends! And with that, it’s time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Nothing happened recently. Check back tomorrow.

[spikewriter]

Buckle up, folks, because I'm going to bitch about Diana Gabaldon for a moment. I've watched this series of book and how it's been marketed--by both her publisher and her-- since I first got online back in 1991, shortly after Outlander was published.

Yes, I probably shouldn't bitch about a fellow author, but Gabaldon's shown herself fairly immune to criticism and all of this has to do with how the book is officially marketed, the author's comments as to what genre it is, what many readers think it is, and how one of the largest genres in the business is leveraged for that sweet, sweet romance money and held in contempt at the same time.

I first encountered Outlander when I signed onto the Compuserve Romance Novel forum. The forum was almost exclusively focused on this book. Gabaldon was a presence on the forum, and interacted with folks. It felt, in some ways, as if you really could have called it the Outlander Forum at that point. A hardcover of Dragonfly in Amber was in the goodie back for my first RWA conference in 1992. So, it's a romance, right?

Some quotes from the article:

A romance is a courtship story. In the 19th century, the definition of the romance genre was an escape from daily life that included adventure and love and battle. But in the 20th century, that term changed, and now it’s deemed only a love story, specifically a courtship story. When I first wrote the books, we sold them to an editor who just loved the story. And then the publisher asked her, “Well, now what kind of book is it? We have to think about marketing.” And she stared at it and said, “Well, I really couldn’t tell you. There’s a wonderful love story …” And they’re like, “Oh! That’s romance. Bosoms. Fabio.” And she said, “Oh no, it’s also got time travel and it’s a historical novel …” The historical aspect is accurate, but you don’t want to market it like a Ken Follett novel. So the publisher sat on the book for 18 months. They were afraid that if they put it out as general fiction, no one would be able to understand what it is, and it would fall flat. So they very nearly came close to actually giving me back the book and canceling the contract. I didn’t learn this until much later, but they mostly didn’t cancel because my editor said she would quit if they did. [Laughs.] Finally, my agent called and he said, “Well, they finally decided what to do with your book! The hardcover will go out with the other hardcover fiction, but they’d like to try to sell the paperback as romance.” I had two objections. If you call it a romance, it will never be reviewed by the New York Times or any other respectable literary venue. And that’s okay. I can live with that. But more importantly, you will cut off the entire male half of my readership. They would say, “Oh, well, it’s probably not for me.” So my agent said, “Well, we could insist that they call it science-fiction or fantasy, because of the weird elements, but bear in mind that a bestseller in sci-fi is 50,000 in paperback. A bestseller in romance is 500,000.” And I said, “Well, you’ve got a point!”

:: Clears throat :: So, not a romance, but, hey, that romance money is nice. Remember, she was active on the Compuserve ROMANCE Forum.

So you agreed to sell the paperback as romance? Provided we had dignified covers — we wouldn’t have bosoms and Fabio and things like that — and also that if the books became visible, they would reposition them as fiction. Which they did. When Voyager, the third book of the series, hit the New York Times bestseller list, they very honorably redesigned the covers and started calling them fiction. Barnes & Noble, however, wasn’t having any of this. They just said, “The first book you wrote was called romance, so everything you write for the rest of your life is a romance as far as we’re concerned.” It took me eight years to disabuse them of this notion, but I finally won.  Whenever you’re dealing with something that’s difficult to describe, that you can’t get across to someone in a sound bite, it sounds like the normal default is to pick what’s easiest, and in the case of fiction written by women, fiction involving women, fiction involving any sort of relationship, the word that comes to mind is romance. It’s canned stuff: “It’s steamy, it’s stirring, it’s sizzling, it’s a bodice ripper.” And as I say, in romance novels, those are courtship stories. Once the couple is married, that’s the end of the story. And in our story, that means we would have stopped at episode seven.

Now, I would argue romance is at the heart of Outlander. With all the other crap that goes on, the core is the love story between Jamie and Claire. If that wasn't there, I don't readers would put up with a number of things. But that these two come from different worlds, different times, and keep fighting as hard as they can to be together despite everything that the world throws at them is amazing. I think Gabaldon's wrong, that a couple being married is not necessarily the end of the love story. Okay, back in 1991, the convention was that way, but even then there were books where the love story continued after the wedding, especially with historical.

But, as you can see, she doesn't want it classed as a romance. The first book is under three categories on Amazon: Time-Travel Romance (which seems absolutely appropriate), Historical Fantasy, and Romantic Fantasy. Guess which category has the highest ranking? Right. Time-Travel Romance. Where is it located in a bookstore? Romance. Barnes & Noble? Romance. In fact, the "Note From Your Bookseller" calls it a romance within the first five words.

So I agree anyone who picks up these books and is surprised that there is romance and sex hasn't been paying attention to the cultural zeitgeist around the series. But if you were to only read the blurb on Amazon, and not scroll all the way down to the categories, one could get the impression this was a historical novel and the romance wasn't the focus. (The Kindle version of Outlander does quote a review that mentions sex and romance; this is not on any of the other formats.)

So that's my beef. Yes, it's foolish to complain about a book that is largely regarded as a romance because you didn't bother to look at the reviews or comments. But it's disheartening to see the publisher and the author try to play both sides because romance is, well, Fabio, but, boy does it sell.

If I ever need a perfect bookish example of “Dead Dove — Do Not Eat,” it’s gonna be the people who complain that Outlander is filled with sex and romance.

Yes. People complain that a historical romance novel has too much romance in it. Because apparently they couldn’t be arsed to find out anything about the book they were reading before they started reading it.

[cadwhatalad]

alright I’ve been thinking about it all weekend and I’ve figured out that what I find so compelling about exu: calamity is how, for the first time in a critical role campaign, we’re working from the point of view of The Establishment.

It’s weird because the thing that really set cr apart for me in the grand scheme of high fantasy media is that in the mainstream campaigns so far, they’ve been incredibly dedicated to playing the underdog. One of the things I really like about Matt and the cast is that they don’t generally go in for the Star Wars/Harry Potter bullshit of “oh it seems like this character comes from nothing but they’re actually secretly special because [insert weird theme of genealogy as an indicator of good character]”. In a wide sprawling world of Lost Princesses and One True Kings, critical role gives us genuine, bona fide nobodies. I’m so in love with the fact that Orym was only ever supposed to be a random bodyguard standing in the corner, that Nott’s big backstory reveal was that she used to be a housewife, that Launda’s character is literally meant to embody the idea of collateral damage.

Even Vox Machina, to date our most respectable party with connections/claims to power from the outset of their arcs (as opposed to clawing their way to legitimacy through adversity Mighty Nein style), only have that to a very limited extent. Percy is an aristocrat, yes, but in a place so small and isolated that it could be seized and ruled by necromancers for a solid half-decade without the neighbouring royal power noticing. Vax and Vex are the children of a high-level ambassador but they’re outcast, bastards, literally illegitimate. Pike is a respected cleric of a god nobody follows. Grog would have led his herd, but was first ousted by his uncle and then willingly ceded the position of power to his cousin. Keyleth was in the same position as Percy, royalty in a way that didn’t matter to anyone outside her civilisation before the conclave arc dragged them into relevance. As a party they spent a pretty big chunk of their early arc half-fighting with Sovereign Uriel in their quest for respect. Compared to our new exu folks they’re still very definitely underdogs. And, y’know, there’s a reason for that – underdogs make for some of the most compelling stories. It’s immensely satisfying watching maligned people gain respect, unloved people become loved, weak people become strong, disempowered people become powerful, etc.

So then I was thinking about all that and wondering why I find these new six so interesting, especially because. It really cannot be overstated how much power they have. We’re shown up front how competent and respected they all are, but more than that, we get all these hints in the build-up to the gala – Nydus being confronted with an NPC whose concerns are “too low” for him as if that’s ever been a thing at the cr table before now; that comment about Laerryn being so fundamental to the workings of the city that most people don’t recognise her on sight because they straight up don’t understand what it is she does; Patia’s exchange with Eldemir the wise – this guy is supposed to be one of the city’s seven highest government officials, and he’s senile. The way as we meet them we bounce from public to secret, statesman to merchant, the very guts of the city to its absolute peak. By the time they all converge at the party and Brennan says that thing about these being the six people who actually get shit done, it’s like. Oh. These are the people who are physically keeping the city afloat. They control infrastructure, information, public opinion. In a room full of the most powerful people in the most powerful city on Exandria, these are the ones who direct it all.

And then it’s hammered home by Purvan’s entrance, because in any other story, he’d be the audience-surrogate character. He walks into this glittering party with his muddy boots and his wolf pal, brings a message from the gods into this monument to arcane hubris, gets laughed at for his trouble by a roomful of wizards in fancy robes. The contrast between this young low-ish level ranger and the ring of brass is so fucking strong. And then even more, by the time he gets done asking to meet with the septarium, we already know that wouldn’t do him any good. We’ve seen what those guys are like already, we know that if he wants to get anywhere he’ll have to speak to our six. They’re the ones who are gonna be able to fix it.

And then I was like, oh. Wait. Calamity.

The reason we like underdogs is because we like watching them rise up, but these folks have already risen as high as it’s possible to go. And we already know how this story ends.  

We’re not just gonna see them fall. We’re gonna see them fall further and harder and faster than any other group of people possibly could.

Not to be too dark about it, but. I’m quite excited.  

[mythicamagic]

Sukuna's Roommate (a Sukuna x reader fic)

Summary: The rent is cheap, that's the only reason you're moving into apartment 167 on such short notice. The rent is cheap, you remind yourself again, staring up at the four-armed monster you would be living with. (Female reader x Sukuna)

Warnings: some dubcon moments and general Sukuna stuff i.e: murder. Will eventually feature smut.

AN: I can't seem to write seriously these days so by writing this for @nebuchadnezzar and having fun with it/not taking it too seriously, I hope to ease back into writing. This AU is just dumb roommate fun.

~Chapter One~

Living with a roommate for the first time involved a lot of waiting and wondering. Imaginations could run wild. Would they be messy or anally tidy? Would they go so far as to label their own food items in the fridge? Would they invite friends over and obnoxiously party until the early hours of the morning?

I didn’t know. Frankly the whole thing was a pain in the ass, but rent didn’t come cheap these days. To top off my long list of reservations though, I’d be living with a guy, rather than a girl like I would’ve preferred. That just added an extra layer to the whole trifle of suckage going on.

‘He better put the toilet seat down. I refuse to break my tailbone just because he ‘forgot’ or something.’

Being completely honest, I found It incredibly odd he’d accepted me without any kind of interview and were it not for my being in desperate of housing, I’d be slamming the breaks on this whole thing.

As previously mentioned, my imagination had begun to run wild. If he needed a roommate in this part of town, I pictured he'd be a guy around my age who was getting by fairly okay. We’d be sharing an apartment on the top floor, so I wondered if that meant he was the private type. I’d started picturing a dark-haired man with glasses. Bookish, cute. Maybe he’d blessedly keep to himself, and I’d barely see him. Yeah- I could be living with a complete recluse!

Emboldened, I finally stopped at an apartment, double-checking the numbers above the peephole. Taking a breath, I shifted one of my college folders to hug it beneath my arm, knocking firmly on the door.

“Enter.”

The voice was deep and low. I automatically raised a brow, finding the term weirdly archaic. Okay, maybe I wasn’t that far off the mark with the whole ‘bookish’ prediction. Grasping the doorknob, I gave it a twist, using my shoulder to push the door of apartment 167 open.

I’d been prepared for many scenarios. My tall dark and handsome nerdy recluse wasn’t the only guy I’d imagined as my roommate. There had been methheads, punks, artists, gamers, trust-fund babies looking to slum it with the normal folk for a year- or just your simple average joe. Any type of guy really, other than the sight currently standing before me.

No, in all my wildest fantasies, I’d never been fanciful enough to conjure up the image of a tall, four armed man standing naked in nothing but an apron- bare ass out as he rolled a lint roller over the wall, painting it sunset red.

Languid crimson eyes slid to the door, awakening into something that made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.

“So you’re the woman, huh?”

He grinned at me with a smile that had too much teeth. Bold black tattoos hugging his body shifted as he turned to face me fully, gesturing with all four of his arms spread wide.

“Don’t loiter in the doorway like a moron. Come here. Let me take a closer look at you…” that wolfish smile deepened as his voice rose into a lifting purr “…roomie.”

tbc

Chapter two: here

[writingwithcolor]

Gingerbread man as golem

@yaronata asked:

I would like to write a character who is Jewish and uses a Golem. She's based on the D&D class of the artificer which looks magic but isn't, because they produce all their effects with inventions, like the "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic" quote. Her story is that her very Jewish town was under attack from a terrible monster when she was little. Her Rabbis made a Golem to protect the town, and it succeeded but was torn to pieces in the process. She was fascinated by the Golem and as a kid didn't see a big difference between it's sentience and person's so was really thankful for its sacrifice like you would a person's sacrificing their life for you. They thought all the pieces had been devoured by the monster before it died, but she went looking and found the piece used to animate the Golem, which she, kinda misunderstanding called its "heart". She kept the piece and grew up to be an incredibly skilled cook, specialising as a baker in the town. I imagine she would make a lot of really good food for the Jewish holidays, or to break fasts on ones like Yom Kippur or Tish'abav. But she also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice and the town still being alive, because I feel "we are not dead woo" is a big theme for Jewish holidays from my research, so it could fit, for which she invented ginger bread men to be the golem, and gave them little "hearts" of fruit or honey, and you're meant to eat them limb by limb like the beast did before eating the heart. This would be the inspiration for using the "heart" piece later to make her own giant gingerbread Golem to help her save the world.

These are my questions 1) would it be considered bad or disrespectful for someone who isn't a Rabbi to make a Golem, or is this method of taking an animating piece someone else made disrespectful? 2) Her journey will take her far from her town and her Jewish family and friends and she will likely travel with gentiles. Would it be disrespectful for a Golem to be used to protect a lot of gentiles and one Jew in the course of saving the world? I don't want to fall into the stereotype of someone putting all their effort into valuing and protecting very specifically the group that in real life is oppressive to them. 3) While she is not using magic and is actually mimicking its effects with technology she invents, is this drawing too close to the line of "magical Jew"? 4) I like to "play test" my characters in ttrpgs to really get a feel for them before I write. Would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character when I am a gentile, and would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character in a setting where there are demonstrably real gods other than the one of Judaism?

I really like this character idea and I think it's cute and fun and rooted in Jewish culture but I really want to make sure it's respectful and as good as I, a gentile researching on the internet, thinks it is. Thanks so much! Have a nice day!

My answer to this is very complicated because there are things I both like and do not like about this premise. First of all, I love the idea of a cookie golem, and I'm even imagining the magic word that brings him to life (EMET/truth) would be written in icing. And I'm okay with the part about how she found a piece of the old golem and used it to build a new golem, because that makes sense for a golem made from a baked good when you think about how people use sourdough starter to make a new batch of sourdough.

However, here are the thing that make me cock my head to the side like my little sister's German shepherd:

1. re: "magical Jew" - that's not a trope I've ever heard of. Remember, marginalized groups don't receive identical disrespect across the board. It is indeed a trope to use Black people or disabled people as supernatural plot devices who exist only to further the stories of white main characters or able-bodied main characters. But I can't say as I've ever seen anyone using Jewishness that way. Usually if we are someone's one-dimensional plot device it's as someone's lawyer, fixer, "money guy", etc, not a supernatural force. So this isn't something you have to worry about.

2. I have a certain level of discomfort with you playing as a Jewish character just because playacting as a marginalized culture you're not part of strikes me as off, but I understand that that's how you gain insight into a character you're about to write so it's more of a writing exercise than anything else. (I wonder if D&D regulars from marginalized groups have written about this -- I've only played a few times casually with family so if I did run into this type of discussion in my social justice reading I wouldn't have absorbed it. If anyone is curious I played first as Captain Werewolf, and then switched to playing as Cinnamon Blade because lawful good was too hard. :P )

3. I would prefer you omit the detail about eating the cookies piece by piece symbolically, for two reasons: a. it unintentionally evokes Communion by having appreciative people consume a baked good symbolic of an entity who sacrificed his life for theirs, and b. focusing on the details of flesh consumption reminds me too much of Blood Libel (yes, a gingerbread man is in the shape of a person but how many of us actually think about it literally, the way this act would cause?)

As to your first question: I'm fine with her making a golem even though she's just a rando. Second question: I see what you're saying and maybe it could be more okay if it's really clear how well these gentile folks are treating her? And questions three and four are answered above.

I really do love the idea of a giant gingerbread man golem. Cookie golem T_T <3

--Shira

I would like to second Shira’s point about not ripping apart the gingerbread cookies. I honestly would prefer they were used as decoration, and other cookies eaten instead, since that part just feels so not-Jewish to me, but I don’t have golem-specific issues other than that. It seems like you have already been doing a lot of research, which is appreciated.

As far as the ttrpg/DnD aspect… I bounce back and forth on the topic of playing characters that are so very different from our experiences, other than in fantasy-related ways. However, I am aware that a lot of people will play with, and experiment with gender in game, and learn something about themselves in the process (the number of trans players of ttrpgs who tried out their gender in game before they were out is high). It’s different with Judaism, and even more significantly different when it comes to things you can’t convert into, like various actual, real-world races. But because people do sometimes experience growth from experiences like this, I’m hesitant to dissuade players completely. I do urge you to, at a minimum, bring the same care, research, and willingness to learn, that you brought to this question.

--Dierdra

This sounds like a creative storyline that you could have lots of fun with 😊

At first I was confused by this part:

She also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice

But then you really got me thinking about different types of Jewish holidays and how they come about, so thank you for that!

Because it’s often the little details that either make a story super powerful or kind of nonsensical, I think it would be a good idea to decide what type of holiday is being created here:

A full-blown chag with restrictions on labour and halachic obligations? These are commanded in Torah and new ones can’t be added.

A minor yom tov with halachic obligations but no restrictions? These were instituted by the rabbis prior to the destruction of the Temple, so again new ones can’t be added.

A public holiday or equivalent? This would usually be declared by the Knesset in Israel, and filter to the rest of the Jewish world from there.

A community-based yom tov with specific customs only for people in the know, such as certain Chasidic groups celebrating the birthdays of their deceased leaders? I asked around, but no one can really tell me how these holidays get started, which is probably a good indication that they arise quite organically from a group of people who all just feel that it should be celebrated. Probably not created by a single person, as such.

Something she runs from her bakery, not religion-based, but more like a day of doing special products and deals the way many small businesses do on their anniversary?

Now, if the people of a modern-day town were actually saved by a real live Golem, that would arguably be the most overt miracle for many generations, so there would be a decent chance of options 3 and/or 4 happening. It’s entirely plausible that there could be special foods for this day that become a tradition, including Golem cookies. People who directly benefited might also return to the site where the Golem fought the monster and recite the prayer, ‘Blessed is Hashem, Master of the Universe, Who performed a miracle for me in this place.’

Alternatively, if it’s important that your MC created the holiday, something like option 5 might be the best. Hopefully this will still fulfil what you need: you describe her as incredibly skilled, so I can imagine the day when she goes all out on the Golem cookies being one of the most exciting events of the year for the townspeople, just because her baking is that good. Plus, they already have a personal stake in the Golem’s sacrifice, so I definitely think it could be a thing without being an official holiday. Also, if she is outside of an all-Jewish environment, don’t forget that she would have to decide whether to commemorate the anniversary in the Hebrew calendar or the local one.

Coming back to the cookies, sorry if we’re getting a little repetitive on this point! But I don’t see the cookies being torn limb from limb as part of a celebration. First of all, this doesn’t sound like a very celebratory thing to do, to say the least. Can you imagine explaining that to a three-year-old on their first Yom HaGolem? They would be terrified! (I don’t read this suggestion as accidental anti-Semitism so much as getting carried away with a metaphor, which I’m sure as writers we have all done!)

But also, it’s worth pointing out that our commemorative foods aren’t usually that literal. If you think about hamantaschen, maror, or apple in honey, they’re all symbols. That’s not to say that having Golem-shaped cookies is a problem, as this sounds like just a bit of fun that the MC is having and not something that is directly at odds with Judaism or Jewish culture. But it’s worth bearing in mind that the more literal you go from there in terms of tying the cookies to the event they commemorate, the less culturally aligned your holiday food becomes.

Finally, about the Golem protecting non-Jewish people: I like this idea! There’s a stereotype that we only use whatever is at our disposal to help ourselves and other Jewish people, so a Golem being created by Jews but helping others as well is a big plus for me. Of course, as has already been pointed out, this would be an odd choice if her Saving The World team were anti-Semitic or otherwise disrespectful to her/her community, but I don’t think you were headed that way!

-Shoshi

I have to come back in here just to squee over the phrase “Yom HaGolem.” Well done :D

--Shira

[codywanbingo]

Codywan Bingo: Winter Edition

Ah, December.

Aesthetically, a lovely month. A lovely season, winter. In reality, full of gross, slushy, ickiness. But we’re all about the aesthetic here in Bingo-land! We’re all about that cozy, hot cocoa, snow falling gently around you while you fall in love, ice skating and feeling like you can fly magic-ness of the winter months! (Even if mod Karma absolutely loathes the cold. Brrr.)

Since the mash-up themes were such a success last round, we’re going to keep on keeping on with them. Please continue to enjoy our wonderful themes! However, a quick note about our general mash-up theme for Round 3: The special theme (song lyrics) is a 4x4 card. So if you do a mash-up, you’ll be getting a 4x4 card. Karma tried, folks, the boards just didn’t align.

Some Round 3 housekeeping:

If you participated in Round 1 or Round 2, you cannot request a bingo card for Round 3 until you complete a Bingo for Round 1 or 2. If you sign up, and we don’t have a confirmed Bingo for you, you’ll get an email from us asking you to submit proof of Bingo (links to fills).

ONE fill per prompt, unless otherwise approved by a mod.

You cannot request multiple themes for the same pairing. 1 card until you hit Bingo.

Card themes are set. You can’t do an angst fic if your card theme is fluff (but hurt/comfort is totally acceptable). 

Free Spaces are still a fill! They just mean you get to choose whatever prompt you want, so long as it matches your card theme.

As a reminder, we are an open-ended event, where the themes rotate every 3 months. We’re a fun, low-pressure, low-stress event where you can focus on getting your creative on. Please read the event FAQs! And the extra FAQs! Also, as a reminder, our rules are really simple.

Round Three themes:

Winter

Song Lyrics (4x4 card)

Winter + Song Lyrics (4x4)

Love Languages

Fantasy/SciFi

Love Languages + Fantasy/SciFi

Request a bingo card here!

If you’re interested, we have other bingos:

Quinlan/Obi-Wan Bingo Rex/Obi-Wan Bingo Codexwan Bingo Cody/Obi-Wan Bingo

And our AO3 Collections:

Quin/Obi-Wan Rex/Obi-Wan Codexwan Cody/Obi-Wan