#and of course the woodcutter

[may12324]

I love how the characters winning my poll at the moment are my sexy butch and/or muscular characters of the bunch. Gotta love the love for a beefy woman 😌

[luckylunatix]

GHS spinoff/AU idea: Gregory's Twisted Tales

It's Gregory telling James various fairy tales as bedtime stories but of course since it's GHS they're all kinda fucked up. But like in a silly way. And the other characters in the hotel play the characters in the stories.

So far I only really have two ideas for specific stories: the Cactus Siblings as Hansel and Gretel (with Hell's Chef as the witch that wants to eat them) and Alice in Wonderland but with Alice in the Box (which is a no-brainer). But I still think it would be an interesting idea.

[lordkingsmith]

I see we have entered into a new phase of aesthetics. Which comes with the addition of my pointing at the background boys thinking "COTTAGE CORE!!!!" while lying on the floor pointing at the girlies in your icon whispering "babies...precious babies..."

Which really all just amounts to:

the background is cottagecore handsome boys that are both unbelievably pro-murder and then my icon are sweeties who are trying to be far tougher than they are but should still be handled carefully. in short, I am ushering in my 'I am kind, I am good, but I am not nice and don't mix those up :)'

thank you ^-^

half the reason I wanna make a movie; so I can promptly crossover everyone and make them queer af. and then marah and kapri are just a mood. gotta combine the moods somehow lolololol

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Love

Synopsis: Emotions run high after you and your knight were attacked, and though it was the most unfortunate of events, you would have to thank it for all that would transpire after. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Secret Relationship, Fluff, Mentions of Violence PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: I have decided and we shall all expect the addition of canon characters in the next coming chapters!

“I— I saw them on their way to the hill, her seated on a white stallion and her knight holding the reigns. She was wearing a… a pink dress, and there were flowers and ribbons in her hair, and she even bid me ‘good morrow,’ but that was all, I swear! I never told anyone that I saw the princess by the grove; please, you must believe me!” The prince looked upon the woodcutter, who was one of the last persons who had seen his sister and her knight. You and Ser Aemond had left early in the morning two days before for you wanted to have a picnic on the hill, they granted you permission, thinking the two of you would return by midday, but two days had passed, and naught a word nor sign appeared to tell them the whereabouts of the princess and Ser Aemond. 

The prince gritted his jaw and nodded, the testament of the woodcutter believable. He turned to his father, who was growing impatient and was consumed by his nerves. They had no idea what had happened to you. They had sent out search parties since the afternoon you had left, but none still had seen you. “Next!” A voice announced as another witness stepped towards the throne where your father sat and your brother stood next to. “Your Highness, your Majesty; I—I have not seen the princess, but I have found this,” The prince paled as the man raised the eye patch of your knight. “I have seen the princess’ sworn protector a couple of times in the city, and I believe it to be his— his initials are carved on the leather.” A squire brought the found eye patch to the king, and they witnessed the ‘A.T.’ engraved on the strap, signifying that it was truly your knight’s.

The prince gave a hesitant nod for the next witness to come and hoped it would give them the answers they were desperate for. However, it was just the same information given— you were seen near the grove with your knight. “This cannot be. Double—no, triple the search parties, and extend their territory. I want my daughter found!” The king almost yelled as he was with his son and the council in the privacy of his study. “Of course, my king,” A council member bowed and hurriedly left the council room to do the king’s order, and in exchange for him came a knight. 

“My king, the princess, and Ser Aemond had been spotted by the gate,” He said, almost out of breath. The prince immediately stood and went to the window and witnessed that it was truly you. The prince ran out of the room to meet his sister, pushing away all the members of the court who had flocked as they were worried out of their minds about the disappearance of their princess. The prince felt further dread pool in his stomach as he saw the state you two were in. Your dress was torn, your hair disheveled, and a speck of dried blood by your temple; the cloak of your knight draped over your shoulders to keep a part of your torn dress concealed. Ser Aemond, on the other hand, had dried blood trickling from his thigh and arm, pieces of his cloak to bandage his wounds— and what was most shocking was the lack of his constant eye cover which revealed more of his scar and a gemstone in his eye-socket. The prince looked away, fearing he would offend your knight if he continued to stare. 

“Oh gods, sister…” The prince’s voice was barely above a whisper as he could not believe the state you were in. “He needs a maester— Ser Aemond needs a Maester,” You fretted as your brother enveloped you in a hug, though you found comfort, you could not be calm as your knight still held his injuries. “I’m fine, princess,” Aemond interjected, more concerned about your well-being than his, but you parted from your brother and shook your head furiously. “His wounds, it might grow infected— a maester, please!” You pleaded, and before anyone could do your plea, your father came and immediately took you in your arms, your mother following behind him. “Oh my darling, you’re alive— you’re safe,” Your father finally breathed out a breath of relief, but you quickly parted from his arms as you turned to a squire and urged him to fetch a maester. 

“Why are you hurt? Where’s your injury?” The king began to fret once more, but you shook your head, unable to answer him until a maester came for Ser Aemond. “Princess, truly, I am fine,” Aemond said quietly, fearing your anxiousness would catch the attention of the court who still circled around you. He feared your understanding would be found out by the way you fretted over him. “Bu—“ You were cut off as your brother spoke, “Here’s the maester now— sister, come, we must get you inside, Ser Aemond will be fine,” Your brother said and gently pulled you to guide you inside. You gave one last look towards your knight, his eye imploring you that he would be fine before you reluctantly followed your family inside the castle. 

After the events of the two days were cleansed from your skin, you sat in the sitting room of your chambers with the whole of your family before you. All of them were cautious as to how to question you on what had happened, so all of you sat in silence. You stared at the fire, your mind still consumed by Aemond, fearing that his injuries would grow worse after days of being unable to treat them properly, but the faint yet distinct sound of his armor from the other side of the door made you quickly look up. “Is that Ser Aemond?” Your brother questioned as he noticed your attention was turned to the door. You did not know, so your brother went to confirm, and indeed, it was your knight standing by his post bathed, with clean bandages, and wearing his eye patch. You followed your brother and grew confused as your knight was in his post, your eyes silently imploring him that he must rest, but your father called upon both of you. 

You went back to your seat, and your knight stood behind it, stance straight and ready to answer any query. “What has happened?” Your father asked the simple question. “We were attacked.” You answered, surprising the king because he aimed the question at your knight. “We were ambushed on our way back to the castle. They placed a felled tree upon our path as a distraction— it was too heavy and wide to be moved or be lept by the horse, and in consequence, we had to take the road less traveled.” Aemond explained, and you rested your back on the cushion of your chair to see your knight better from your peripheral vision. “They… had shot arrows at the princess’s horse, making her fall, and before I could make my way to her, three men attacked me while the other two took hold of the princess…” Aemond paused as he felt the familiar dread he felt as he heard your desperate cries as two men took hold of your frame. 

“And then?” Your brother dared ask. “When I had killed the three, I found them in a distance. They tied the princess upon a tree and…” He trailed, having difficulty to utter the words before your kin. “And?!” Your father roared, his mind imagining the worst in the few seconds of Ser Aemond’s pause. The knight straightened his stance, his eye growing darker. “And they had torn her dress and attempted to sully her— but before they could lay another finger on the princess, I had cut their hands and taken their lives.” He said coldly, finding an odd sense of calm as he recalled their lifeless bodies falling upon the dirt ground, the fitting retribution for what they dared to do to you. The king let out an exasperated sigh, his hand running along his face as he felt rage consume him with just a retelling of what had happened. “Did they suffer?” The king gritted, surprising you and your brother with his question. “The three had rather swift deaths…. But I had made certain that the two would endure each minute of their death.” Aemond answered, the king giving a satisfied nod.

 You traced the embroidery of your dress as you glanced towards your knight. Aemond glanced towards your fingers, your nervous habit of tracing the delicate stitching of your gowns. He was itching to have somewhat a hold of you for fear you were still traumatized at the scenes you had witnessed. He remembered your scream; it still echoed in his mind, as well as the horror on your face as you begged him not to kill another bandit, but how could he not? When all of them threatened your life, and all had the goal to harm you and take you from them— from him? 

“Well, Ser Aemond, you have proven to us once again how well you take your duty— thank you. We… we are not certain what will befall our daughter if it was not you who was with her,” The king commended, and Aemond nodded. You sat still for a moment, waiting for your family to leave, for you wanted a moment alone with your knight, and when they did, you immediately went to Ser Aemond’s side, dissolving the damned gap that had to return each moment any other presence accompanied you two. 

“You must rest,” you said, inspecting the bandages of his wounds. “I am fine; you must not worry so much,” Aemond said softly, his heart warming at how concerned you were of him. “No, you are just saying that! Please, you must rest, at least for a few days— let your wounds settle,” You murmured, gently caressing his arm. “And leave you in the protection of another? No. Princess.” Aemond said, no longer trusting another to watch over you now that he had come to the full realization that there are more dangers that may come to you than he had previously thought. Aemond sighed and cupped your fretting face with his calloused, stained hands, but you found no care, you only leaned closer to his touch. “Thank you.” He whispered, confusing you. 

“Why are you thanking me? You are the one who saved my life; I should be thanking you,” You murmured, placing your hand atop his. Aemond smiled and shook his head. “Yes, but you are the one who nursed me back to health— the one who cleaned and bandaged my wounds; if you were not there, I might have bled to death.” Aemond smiled even though the subject was grim. You, however, frowned greatly, “Do not say such a thing,” You said, not even able to grasp the idea of such a proposition. Aemond smiled wider as he attested to how much you truly cared about him. He placed a kiss on your forehead and let his arms wrap around your frame. “I don’t think anyone has cared for me as much as you do,” Aemond murmured, confessing the truth. You felt a twinge in your heart as he said such a thing. How can someone not care for him when it came so easily for you? You sighed and only held him tighter as you had no words of reply. 

“I still think you need to rest,” you say after an intimate moment of silence, making Aemond laugh. “Stop fretting, I am fine.” He insisted as he tried to wipe away the furrow between your brows with his thumb, just as how you had done for him before. “Very well— but swear to me if you feel any discomfort, you will tell me, yes?” Aemond sighed and nodded as he knew that was the only way to calm your fretting self. “Promise?” You asked, not completely believing him as he does have a tendency to keep what he feels inside. Aemond did not answer but instead kissed your lips as he always believed that actions do speak louder than words. You sighed, finally feeling some relief after the few days that had passed. You felt more secure and safe now that it was just you and Aemond in the privacy of your chambers, and you could only hope and pray that it would always be like this. 

Days passed, and the whole of the kingdom had been privy to the fact of how you were ambushed and how your knight bravely and gallantly protected you from the five ambushers— proclaiming him as a hero for he was the reason why their beloved princess was saved from further harm. Aemond did not like the attention; he had noticed whispers regarding him were quick to grow, and usually, the eyes of the court were most pointed at you, but now it was as well directed on him; he did not like that. You, however, appreciated how the kingdom was starting to take notice of your knight’s effort and how much he had taken his duty incredibly.

“Stop scowling, you’re scaring them.” You say quietly as you walk through the gardens with Aemond and your two cats trailing behind you two, the passersby taking a double look at your heroic knight. “Good.” He answered, glancing behind to see the commotion your two cats were creating as they practically fought each other. “Sapphira, do not bite your brother,” Aemond then scolded, making you bite your lip as you wanted to laugh because you had never heard him refer to or speak to your cats, but it would seem his frustrations with the attention of the kingdom upon him was affecting his usual behavior. “They mean well, Aemond— they see you as a hero; nothing to be upset about,” You say quietly, but he only shakes his head. “I am no hero. I was simply doing my duty.” You sighed at his stubbornness. “Duty or not, if it were not you who was by my side, we would not know what would befall me— and for that, you are a hero.” Aemond restrained himself from answering as his frustrations were getting the better of him.

“Well, I hope your mood will improve, the Knights’ ball is fast approaching— you are aware that you have to be part of the reception, yes? You’ll have to be presented before the kingdom to receive the Medal of Valor.” You informed, and that only severed the frown on Aemond’s face. “Do not remind me,” he drawled, as he took the bouquet of flowers in your hands as it was getting quite hefty. “That reminds me, have you heard from your family? Are they to come so we can prepare their rooms,” You say, and Aemond stilled, as he had not sent out a letter to his family informing them that he was to receive a medal and that they were invited to the banquet but he had told you he had. 

You turned to your knight, but he was silent and was avoiding your gaze. “You did not send the invitation, didn’t you?” You sighed, in a way already expecting this. “No matter, I shall send the letter myself,” You say, making your way back to your chambers to draft a letter for Aemond’s family. “Princess, I— please, I—“ You shook your head. He followed you to your desk beside himself, not knowing how to hinder you. “I do not understand you— other knights have waited a lifetime to be presented with such recognition, yet you hold it with such animosity,” You were starting to grow frustrated with Aemond’s attitude, a deep furrow in your brows as you drafted an invitation to House Targaryen. 

Aemond sighed and crutched down to the side of your chair so you would meet him at eye level, his hand gently resting on your arm that furiously scribbled the words. “I am honored that you shall bestow upon me such recognition, but I do not think it is needed. I was doing my job— I was only fulfilling my oath to protect you,” Aemond said softly, his voice immediately making you forget your frustrations upon his actions. “I do not need all this pageantry and frills— I am not after recognition… I only wish for you to be safe.” You sighed and cupped his cheek as he said such words, not thinking you could fall for him further, but apparently, there were still uncharted dimensions where your affections for Aemond could still reach. 

You captured his lips in a quick kiss. “I know you do not like attention, but I’m afraid it is custom— you have naught a choice,” You say delicately, biting on your inner cheeks as a slight pout appeared on Aemond’s thin lips as he thought he had convinced you to hinder all these frills. “I’m beyond all of this, my love. I cannot make them cease with their curious gazes and wants to celebrate you,” You laughed as you found the small pout in his lips amusing. Aemond, however, froze as he realized the endearment you called him. “My love…?” He questioned with uncertainty if he had heard you correctly. 

Your eyes widened as you realized that the words had slipped your lips— instead of brushing it off and making some excuse, you breathed in a deep breath and smiled, taking another risk. “I… I love you,” you confessed, hoping your emotions would not be too much for him and scare him off. 

Aemond was rendered in shock. You love him—him! He was speechless, something that he had never experienced, but he realized he best get used to it because you often managed to dismantle and stun him. 

You sat in quiet fear as Aemond made no reaction, horror starting to settle in you as his silence was making you believe he felt no strong emotions towards you. That you perhaps said the words too quickly, or worse, he saw you as a passing fancy when you yourself believed him to be the one. You began to trace the embroidery of your dress again, removing your gaze from his lilac eye. Your hands were clammy, and you were starting to regret your confession as it would seem you would be scorned. But Aemond took hold of your cheek and guided your face to look upon his. “I—It’s fine if you do not feel the same,” You lied, trying to save face, hoping no more wounds be afflicted to your pride. 

Aemond shook his head, realizing he had taken too long to reply, and doubts quickly festered inside you. “You… love… me?” He said slowly, trying to confirm what he had heard because he doubted it might be a cruel joke. You licked your lips as your hands fisted the fabric of your gown. “I do.” You repeated. “But I am not forcing you to feel the same way— I understand if you don—“ Aemond kissed your lips shut, not wanting you to utter such words. 

“You love me,” He repeated again, voice holding thrill and disbelief. “You, love me.” He said for the third time, and you could not help but be amused. “Yes. I love you.” You repeated, letting go of the potential wound that would be inflicted on your pride if he did not feel the same. But as you stared into his eye, the amazed look on his face, you could not believe that you had let yourself doubt him— though no words were said, you had your answer. He loved you. And his actions were proof enough. 

[fancygremlin]

I absolutely adore how the themes in Malevolent are introduced so subtly at the very start of each season. I feel that each season has distinct ones that could foreshadow how Arthur and John's relationship progresses throughout the show.

I will be rambling about it below (sorry if it's a but messy, I wrote it all in one sitting and didn't proof read it very thoroughly).

The first season is introductory, so we are shown right away how the characters struggle to come to terms with their condition and how to make the best of it to actually accomplish their goals.

This theme is introduced when we learn right at the start of episode one that Arthur is a pianist, as well as a private investigator. The piano requires two hands to play a song. The right hand plays the main melody, the one everyone recognises by ear and is more likely to hum when recalling the song. The left hand plays the accompaniment, the melody that is perhaps not as nice to hear on its own, but makes the song being played that much more complete.

It's not a coincidence that Arthur keep the control of his right hand, while John gains control of the left hand. Arthur is the one that has to interact with the world around him, he is the one that people see and hear and talk to, he is the one that ultimately controls where to go and how to move about a space. He is the main melody, the one people recognise and hear and remember. John is instead stuck in the background, unseen and unheard... limited to just relaying visual information to Arthur. However, without John's aid, Arthur would be incapable to do anything at all. John is the accompaniment: the trained ear can't hear it well, but without it, the main melody would not be as complete, or as rich, or pleasant to hear.

In season two we have them transported in the Dreamlands and this is an environment that John is more familiar with. This is not a safe place to stay, anything or anyone could bring harm. We see the characters pushing their boundaries, learning how to survive... but is it fair to respond to a harsh environment with more harshness? In about episode two (I think, I am writing this all from memory, so sorry if I am misremembering), Arthur mentions Aesop's fable of "The Woodcutter and the Trees". The quote that is being repeated multiple times over the course of the season is "at least the handle is one of us".

If we want to apply the fable to Arthur and John, it could be possible to infer that Arthur might be the axe, while John is the handle. Arthur is the one that is foreign to the place, that does not understand it and is more often than not ready to resort to more violent or extreme methods to escape or resolve issues. On the other hand, John mentions that he has faint memories of the Dreamlands, he is part of them and he remembers he had some sort of control/dominance over them when he was part of the King in Yellow. It's because of John that Arthur is even able to access the Dreamlands in the first place, so maybe John did betray in some way his nature and bringing harm to the place that he once called home.

In season three, the main theme was the (1) loss of humanity and (2) identity. In this case, this was communicated, respectively, (1) by removing a thing that was at the core of the characters' personality, and (2) by offering a narrative foil to the characters.

Loss of humanity for Arthur was symbolised by the destruction of Faroe's music box, which sent him down a very dangerous and dark path of self-vendetta fuelled by murderous rage. On the other hand, Arthur's narrative foil was Larson. Both characters experienced a great loss, but the motivations and (in particular) emotional response to the event was what made them become very different people. Arthur's loss of his daughter haunts him constantly, drags him down with the gravitational pull of a black hole. He cannot forgive himself, to the point of considering himself a monster that does not deserve redemption or forgiveness. On the other hand, Larson willingly sacrificed his daughter for power and money and never experiences any remorse or guilt for his deplorable actions.

Loss of humanity for John was shown by having Arthur strike a deal with Kayne: John is back, but with none of the memories or experiences he lived with Arthur. He is back as a manipulative fragment of the King in Yellow. It's interesting how he regains all his memories when Arthur plays Faroe's music box. Of course, John's narrative foil is... another version of himself... Yellow. I could write an entire essay comparing the two and their respective journeys on how they wanted to try so hard to form their own identities... but I'd go off on a very long tangent. This is already long enough and I am blabbering too much.

I've JUST started season four today and I am two episodes in and I am suspecting that this season's theme is fractures... Just in episode one I heard Arthur choosing a story about a broken relationship between two friends, then the multiple mentions between Arthur and his father in law, and then in episode two there was also the broken window in the room they are renting in Mary's apartment... I am honestly so scared that by the end of this season something very big will happen that will push Arthur and John apart and fracture their relationship almost irremediably.

I know John is hiding something very big from Arthur and it's very possibly something regarding Kayne. I also have a sneaky suspicion that Arthur had a real chance to get some answers about Kayne from Yellow, but of course he just decided to NOT DO THAT!

Can't wait to have this show mess me up once more.

[Season 5 theme analysis]

[martsonmars]

Thanks for the tags @monbons @hushed-chorus and @whatevertheweather. I'm back and it's pick a WIP Sunday!

I really want to get back into writing Snowbaz and participating actively in the fandom. I don't exactly have more free time but I did graduate and I am technically on holiday until October, so let's try.

So I'm sharing snippets from 6 WIPs and maybe I'll be inspired to finish one of them. Help me out!!!!

1. Where Baz is a different blood sucking creature than usual. Prince and the frog but the prince is just a guy and the frog is trying to steal your blood.

The heat would be more than sufficient to make Simon reconsider all of his life choices. Give up on meat. Never touch plastic again. He'd do anything.

But no, clearly whatever sin he's committed—was it writing Jesus/Judas fanfiction when he was 15? It wasn't even explicit!—was enough to condemn him to this.

2. Holiday with the Grimms, where Simon and Baz share a bed in the same room as Malcolm and Daphne.

“Sorry I haven't delivered to my father an updated list of all the cocks I've sucked.” He wasn't smiling, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. The fake smugness. I know he's sucked half a cock (half sucked one cock?) and it was quite a disaster. “He doesn't know how deeply my virtue has already been fucked.”

I still snort at the thought. (The answer is not deeply at all.)

3. TA Simon and Baz showing up to class in a slutty Blackbeard cosplay.

I don't need a complaint for assault (let alone sexual assault) to drive my doctorate even farther away from my grasp.

I just need Grimm-Pitch to leave my classroom and come back wearing proper trousers before my overworked brain cells decide to go on permanent strike. (I'm not sure they haven't deserted me already.)

More snippets and tags under the cut!

4. Where Baz is a dryad and Simon is a woodcutter.

Simon didn't know many things, but he was pretty sure that pines weren't pretty men with long dark hair and pouty lips. Of course, Simon had never seen a man with dark green skin before, either, but he resembled a man more than a pine.

“You are not a pine. You're a man,” Simon voiced his scepticism, and he was rewarded with one more pine cone hitting his forehead. If nothing, the tree man had an impeccable aim.

5. Secret concept for this one.

Tucked in a corner as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller, yet he's got my attention like the masterpiece in a museum. Even the dim light of the pizzeria is enough to imagine the shine of his bronze curls under the summer sun. He's pale and freckled, broad and solid. Sturdy like the old table in my living room. I can perfectly see how he'd fit there, between a stack of Spinoza's complete works and the cabinet where my grandmother's Capodimonte porcelain sits unused. His back to the floor-to-ceiling window that opens on the terrace, surrounded by the bright halo of the hours before sunset. Bright like a Michelangelo in a room that's all Caravaggio.

6. This one I'm going to continue for sure when inspiration strikes, so it's not part of pick a WIP Sunday. It's maybe guess the WIP Sunday in this case.

“Sounds like you could use a break,” his deep voice says from a corner of the hall, as if he's read my mind. I see a pair of long legs first—legs for miles—crossing the room towards me, wrapped in a pair of trousers so tight I can't help but wonder how he'll take them off. (Not that I'm thinking of Baz without trousers.) (I mean, I've seen him without trousers. He wears chitons most of the time.) (He also wears really short shorts.) (I just mean I'm not thinking about taking his trousers off.) (Just. I mean.)

Tags!! No pressure just saying hi because I miss you all!!!

@facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @onepintobean @shrekgogurt @wellbelesbian @palimpsessed @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @orange-peony @larkral @raenestee @stitchyqueer @technetiumai @brilla-brilla-estrellita @thewholelemon @theimpossibledemon @j-nipper-95 @imagineacoolusername @blackberrysummerblog @theearlgreymage @rimeswithpurple @messofthejess @alexalexinii @nightimedreamersworld @captain-aralias @jbrrring @prettygoododds @youarenevertooold @best--dress @theotherhufflepuff @run-for-chamo-miles @valeffelees @dragoneggos @gekkoinapeartree @ionlydrinkhotwater @erzbethluna @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shemakesmeforget @basiltonbutliketheherb @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @aristocratic-otter @noblecorgi

[blueishspace]

Mercy of a god p8

*You are really lucky, you search for something and you find it... Even while searching for two different things. Wood is the first thing you find, a bunch of logs left by woodcutters are left in a clearing of the forest. As already stated, you are extremely lucky*

*Or you would be if you weren't immediately attacked by followers of the bishops*

*You are hit a bunch of times leaving you at 4hp, that is... not ideal...luckily the card you got allows you to regenerate some of it*

*Soon after you find someone tied to a rock, a cat hybrid, about to be sacrificed, you free them easily... Too easily... You are suddenly attacked by followers... Again. It is starting to get a bit annoying at this point.*

*You are also more ready this time around, managing to get by without an hit! The cat hybrid looks at you relieved*

Scar: Hello there, are you injured?

????: No! No! I'm ok, thank you! Who... are you?

Scar: Right, the name's Scar! What about you?

@nekoaxolotl

Neko: Oh... my name is Neko! Uh, can I come with you? I don't really have an home to come back to?

Scar: Uh... Sure! I'm going to teleport you to my place!

*You repeat the incantation Mumbo tought you, suddenly Neko is gone...teleported to your safe zone... You also heal another 2hp*

*After more walking you see Skizz again*

Scar: Skizz?

Skizz: Hello dude! Was waiting for you!

Scar: You were?

Skizz: Of course! Next room is going to be hard, so I tought, might as well give my blessing!

Scar: Blessing?

Skizz: Yep! What do you need most right now?

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[howtofightwrite]

I have character A whose born female, small in stature and well trained in hand to hand combat and character B whose born male, a few feet taller, fucking huge and has had to rely on strength his whole life. Realistically how can two people like this fight and for how long? what kind of qualifications could character A have to help her beat character B in hand to hand combat? at what point does strength win over strategy or vice versa in a fight? does any of this make sense lol

Nope.

Okay, so, how long can Character A fight? As long as she needs to, which based on your assessment, shouldn't be too long.

Character B cannot fight. Unless they have training that you're not disclosing, they won't be effective.

“My relies on strength to fight,” is a bit like saying, “my character drives their car via their sheer physical strength.” It's not how this works.

Unarmed combat isn't about strength, it's about a precise understanding of human physiology, and exploiting the limitations of it.

For example: You may have noticed your knees only bend in one direction, however, this is a lie, your knees can bend in any direction they want to, provided a small application of force in the correct point which will permanently expand your knee's ability to move in this new direction. It's not strength, or at least, not a meaningful amount, it's about looking at your opponent's body as a mechanical system, and then selectively breaking it until it stops trying to break yours. The funny thing about this is, if you don't know what to do humans are obnoxiously durable. Unless you get lucky, you can literally rip limbs off and still fail to kill them.

A lot of the philosophy of strength fighting is built off a misunderstanding. Force is important. However, when it comes to weapons, the weapon itself amplifies and delivers that force. For example: hammers are often portrayed as strength weapon. You'll see them being carried around by huge bulky bruiser types (when it's not played for laughs, anyway.) However, real sledges are not extremely heavy. A real sledge can get as heavy as ~20lbs (~9kg) (normal ones are less than half that), which is extraordinarily heavy for a weapon, but getting it swinging isn't that hard. It's designed to be swung. Once it's at speed, it will connect with a lot more force than you could generate based on raw physical strength. The basic physics are that you get the hammer's head moving significantly faster than the haft where you're holding it. The basic woodcutters strike where you start with one hand at the bottom of the haft and one near the head, then slide it down the haft as you swing makes it even easier to get it moving.

(Worth noting, there are sledgehammers designed for exercise, rather than as tools, and these get a lot heavier, but they're for building up muscles. Which, to be fair, there's nothing wrong with a character who's absolutely ripped, and there are ways they can use that to their advantage, but it doesn't help them fight, just like it doesn't help them drive.)

Beyond that, as we've mentioned a lot recently, swords really are not a strength weapon. It's a long razor blade, which needs to be carefully applied to your opponent's soft screamy parts, not their armor.

The one weapon that really is a strength weapon is the bow. If you're a professional archer (using historically authentic weapons, rather than mechanical compounds bows) there's a very real potential you'll be ripped. You're pulling a lot of weight in your shoulders. Of course, bows are also very high maintenance weapons, which isn't often reflected, but weapon maintenance is often an underrepresented in general.

When talking about unarmed combat, the amount of force necessary is shockingly low. Again, it's about exploiting the body's limitations. Knowing where to put pressure lets you use your opponent's body against them. Most people, “normal people,” don't look at other human beings as 100-200lbs of ambulatory meat stretched across a pulley system. When you start learning anatomy for the purposes of combat, the ability to break another human being starts to become frighteningly simple.

So what happens? She quickly neutralizes her opponent.

How long does that take? Depending on training? Could be less than five seconds. Certainly less than a minute.

What does neutralize mean in this context? I dunno. It could mean that he's subdued and gradually losing consciousness. It could mean that he'll never dance or play piano again. It could mean his next date is with the coroner. All of these are reasonable potential outcomes depending on who she is, and what she trained to do.

Remember what I said near the beginning. (Assuming she has a practical combat background) her job is to break his body before he does the same to hers. If he's a big bruiser type with no context of violence outside of John Wayne films and high school scuffles, she could kill him. In a lot of cases, she needs to, because she doesn't know what his background is, and the faster he is permanently scratched off her threats column the better. From her perspective, leaving him on the board poses an immediate and critical threat to her life.

This is the other thing about violence, you don't know what your opponent can or will do. When you're assessing a threat like this, you need to have a plan to remove them. “Do unto them before they can do unto you.” That doesn't always mean, “kill them,” but we're talking about a walking mountain who's at least seven feet tall. At that point, life altering injuries start to sound a lot like reasonable force, and justifiable lethal force is just around the corner. Depending on his behavior, it may already have arrived.

So, how long does this take? Not long.

Strength only wins out over strategy if the strategies are poor or poorly implemented, if she has combat training, that shouldn't be a consideration. Beyond that, people are far more predictable than we like to see ourselves as. Good combat training includes a surprising amount of practical insight into how people behave. Realistically, he's not going to be able to do anything she hasn't trained to counter, at least not if he doesn't have some training of his own. And, again, even if he was to have training, his strength wouldn't be the deciding factor, his training would be the important consideration.

-Starke

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[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 2

Part 1

They stopped in the capital city, able to find an inn that was still open. Steve had been determined to really pound the pavement all night just to get as far as possible before anyone realized he was gone. Robin was the sensible one, telling them it made no sense to burn the midnight oil just to be groggy and lost in the woods come morning.

He had to admit it was a good idea once he got a good look at himself through a mirror. He’d really just chopped his hair without any real thought to it. He thought he had kept the scissors even but looking now showed there were consequences. So he sat on a stool while Robin evened it out, combing it to something leagues more fashionable.

It still curled around his ears and came off his nape, but it was still a big change from the waves of brown that ran down his back from before. He’d miss them, for sure. But it was necessary to keep his identity a secret.

They savored their last night in a real bed and the next morning they officially set out. The night before they had gone over their plan. They’d go south. While they’d be moving closer to Prince Edwin’s homeland, something Steve had been against at first, they’d also have an easier time blending in. 

To the west was a land where Steve didn’t know the language (Robin did, the show off) and to the east was the shore. So to the south it was, to use the money they had to settle into a house. The trail they were on was well traveled. They’d keep to the main roads when they could. 

They got into talking about their future lives and Robin figured she could make a living doing a number of things - woodcutter, printer, butcher, baker, candlestick maker.

“You really want to do all that?”, Steve asked.

“It’s not like I’ll do them all. I’m trying to have options. Didn’t you think you’d have to get a job?”

Steve scoffed. “Of course I did.”

…. “And what are you gonna be?”

“Well I have options, don’t I? Apparently.”

“So tell me one.”

“Why are you nagging me, I’ll get a job when we get there”, Steve said.

“I want you to admit that you had no plan!”, Robin badgered, slapping his arm.

“I had a plan! I just didn’t plan for you!”

Robin huffed. “Well you should.” She crossed her arms. “You should always plan for me. If I had woken up this morning and you weren’t there I would’ve-”

Steve stopped walking. “You would’ve what?”

Robin had walked a few steps ahead and turned back to face him. “I don’t know! Taken our armies out to search for you? Drag you back home myself?!”

Steve hadn’t thought about it. Or rather, he’d been trying not to. It had nearly shattered his heart, thinking he had to leave his sister behind. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he was over the moon now that she was here.

“You’re not doing a very good job of it”, Steve said as he continued to walk on.

“I just know you’re stubborn as a mule”, Robin groused. “And you smell like one too.”

She twisted his ear and then ran ahead, laughing as he shrieked and chased after her. Their chase took them a considerable length before they stopped as the path started to steepen.

“It’s not fair…that you’re so fast…when you run like that”, Steve panted.

Robin was still laughing while she leaned against a boulder, also trying to catch her breath. Steve put himself against tree and they could only hear their panting and the wind rustling the trees. Then they heard another sound. This one coming from the forest around them. They both tensed up. Robin slowly reached for the dagger at her hip.

The moment she did, they were ambushed. Just as Steve saw rope come around Robin, he felt arms come around him. He struggled in their hold until he felt something cold against his neck. He froze and saw that Robin’s arms were tied to her torso, a sword pressed to her stomach.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!”, he growled. That was his sister, his littermate, they had gone through their entire lives together. If anyone hurt her-

“Simmer down, you.”

Steve turned his head to see a man appear from the trees, more coming around them. Steve knew a band of thieves when he saw them. But they were still on the main road. The only one bold enough to ambush travelers like this was…but it couldn’t be…

The Bandit King

“Cute little fillies like you shouldn’t be out on the road alone”, the man said. He had wide, dark eyes, filled with mirth. “Let’s see what you’ve got”, he said, moving towards Steve.

Robin screamed for him and Steve wanted to thrash but the knife at his neck kept him still. The man, alpha now that Steve could smell him, ignored her. His scent filled Steve’s nose and then traveled through his body in a way no other scent ever had. The alpha got close enough to reach into Steve’s pockets and rumbled as the omega’s scent hit his nose.

Then, very quickly, Steve squirmed, Robin shouted and broke free, the person holding Steve said “Eddie what the fuck?”, and Robin had her dagger against the alpha’s neck.

“Alright…wow”, Eddie held his hands up. “How’s about we all slow down and talk about this?”

“You’re gonna let my brother go and you’re gonna let us free!”, Robin nearly roared.

“Hey, Jeff buddy, maybe let him go?”

Steve was released and the moment he was, Robin pushed Eddie away. She and Steve walked closer to each other, then back to back.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot”, Eddie said. His hair was dark and curly, brushing his shoulders. Everything about him seemed inviting to Steve. He couldn’t articulate why, but he wanted to believe him.

“Yeah, you really fucked up your first impression”, Robin frowned.

“Then let me make a good second impression. You guys are probably hungry after all that walking, right?”

“Have you been stalking us?”, Steve asked, fists raised.

“Wouldn’t be a good pack of robbers if we didn’t know how to hunt. But you two don’t seem like average rubes. Some come, eat with us, our camp isn’t too far off.”

Without waiting for an answer, Eddie walked off, his followers falling into step behind him as he went into the trees.

“We’re not, really going with him right?”, Robin asked.

Steve thought it over, denying the little voice that said he simply wanted to scent that alpha, this Eddie because that was an absolutely stupid reason to go with a thieving alpha.

“If he wanted our belongings, he could’ve taken them”, Steve reasoned. He had a whole pack. Robin may have caught them off guard, but it wouldn’t have been hard to regain the upper hand simply by having strength in numbers. Steve followed the group and Robin only hesitated for a second before going after him.

“This is stupid. This is stupid. This is stupid”, she muttered.

“Noted”, Steve hissed under his breath. “Look, free meal. And we need to save as much money as we can.”

“Shushsshshhh! Don’t let them know we have money!”, Robin whispered harshly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I think they know.”

They came to a camp ground and saw that the pack was about a dozen strong. But something they also noticed was the youth of the group. Even the Bandit King himself seemed younger than he should be.

“The Bandit King has been a terror since my father’s time. You can’t be him”, Steve accused.

Eddie smirked at him. “You’ve got it. You’ve discovered my secret…I’m….actually…the Bandit Prince!”

“Prince?”, Robin cringed.

“This was my old man’s title before it became mine. And I intend to honor his legacy. In all my roguish glory. And you might be just who we’re looking for.”

Robin gulped and Steve tried to figure out how the news could have traveled that quickly. They’d only been gone a couple of days. Then Eddie snapped his fingers.

“Do you wanna join our pack?”

Part 3

[katatty]

Year 1 - Summer - Harwood (Peasant Woodcutters)

Things at the Harwoods were quite calm, overall. They did good business! Especially as in the summer time, they're able to harvest and sell sapling trees (while planting a few for themselves).

They've also enjoyed fresh plums every morning!

(Lady Primrose actually helped water the baby trees. She can be snooty, but seems to enjoy helping out the peasants every once in a while).

Joshua grew up into a fine young man, with an interest in arts & crafts. Perfect - he can be the settlement's painter!

Of course, the good fortune couldn't last forever. A burglar showed up and stole a whole bunch of their stuff!

That's the second robery in Driftwood. We've unlocked "burglar alarms" to call down the men at arms, but these guys didn't have one :( so the burglar remains at large!!

To end the round, the brothers spent some time at the village well, where Joshua met Rose Rudhall. He took quite a liking to her and she him, although she seemed to slightly prefer his older brother!

Josh also spent a lot of time hanging out with Hilda Glanndour, the settlement's problem child. Normally visitors always seem to leave is the business is closed, but she spent hours talking to him and kept interupting his painting session! No actual bolts, though.

Earlier in the round, Hilda showed up in the forrest, swooned over Alexander, then attacked his girlfriend, Helen. She's an absolute menace, lol, but very cute imo!

[dewitty1]

Carey ‘W’Recs Wednesday(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ presents:

we have heard on high

oflights @oflights

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger,Madam Rosmerta/George Weasley, Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Getting Together, Dating, Chocolatier Draco Malfoy, Woodcutter Harry Potter, Chocolate, Trees, Flowers, Singing, Ferret Draco Malfoy, Tree Sex, Drinking, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, H/D Erised 2023, Christmas Carols, Tattooed Harry Potter, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)Language: English Collections: H/D Erised 2023 Words: 34,734

Summary:

Reeling from the fallout of a bad breakup, Harry decides to find out who his soulmate is. The bad news: it's Draco Malfoy. The good news: Malfoy doesn't seem to know they're soulmates. The worst news: Harry might be falling for him anyway.

(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*⁺˚. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆

Excerpt:

“You really are cute as a ferret,” Harry says later. The shop is closed for the night, poor Benjamin has finally been sent home, and Draco has let Harry into the back kitchen, where he’s putting trays of chocolate in the cold cupboard to chill for the night.

Draco gives him a glare, but it seems perfunctory, and after a moment where Harry realizes he’s assessing whether he means it, he tips his nose in the air with a sniff. “Of course I am. Much cuter than that weasel.”

“Well—”

“I can quite easily throw you out of here, you know.”

“There’s no question that you’re cuter than weasel George,” Harry says, finding he means it as he says it. Draco looks assessing again, before turning back to spelling a few molds clean, and Harry watches with delight as a flush crawls up the back of his neck.

He sidles up to the counter, leaning his hip against it and crowding in close. Draco hastily brings out a stack of chocolate bars, shiny and crisp, fanning them across a marble cutting board, concentrating very hard on that as Harry leans in further.

“I’m a bit biased, of course,” Harry says, voice lowered carefully. That back-of-the-neck flush is so close now, and Harry can see it spreading up to Draco’s cheeks.

“Oh?” Draco asks, just the tiniest bit of a shake in his voice. Harry nods, and he thinks Draco can feel it; a particularly unruly lock of his hair brushes the side of Draco’s face.

“Right. Because we’re—well, I’d like—you’re my boyfriend, aren’t you? So of course I think you’re cuter.”

Draco sucks in a breath, and Harry feels that. He watches Draco carefully, can see the smallest twitches in his face at this distance, the way he bites his bottom lip. His hand has the slightest tremor as he picks up a nearby knife and begins chopping up the chocolate bars one by one, steadying as he goes.

“Am I your boyfriend, then?” he asks, eyes rapt on the chocolate. Harry finds himself following his gaze for a moment, watching the chocolate break into shards, listening to the satisfying snaps of the pieces and taps of the knife.

“I’d like you to be,” Harry says, and he looks back at Draco’s face when the knife pauses. Still careful, he adds, “Do you want to be?”

At this point, Draco has kissed him, snogged him, held his hand; he’s dated him rather thoroughly. He’s agreed to all of Harry’s suggestions and propositions and he’s offered some of his own. But he hasn’t outright said how he feels about Harry, and while it’s clear he’s been enjoying himself, Harry finds he needs to hear something real.

Harry knows what he’s asking—are you here with me? He doesn’t want to fall on his own again, not for the one person meant to fall for him in return.

Draco looks down at his chopped-up chocolate pieces. He sets the knife down, and Harry’s nearly disappointed; he loves watching Draco work, will treasure this extended look at it.

But the disappointment clears quickly when Draco twists to the side a bit, facing Harry. He lifts his chin almost defiantly when he says, “Yes. I think I’d like that.”

“Oh, I know you will,” Harry says, and he cups Draco’s cheek and brings his face lower so he can kiss him.

Draco moves his whole body into the kiss, pressing against Harry head to toe. Harry’s back digs into the counter a bit but he can’t possibly mind the position, sandwiched as he is by Draco’s warmth, his lovely scent and the soft, plush press of his mouth on his. He’s open and inviting, and Harry’s almost giddy when they break apart a moment, his smile uncontrollable.

“You’re my boyfriend, then?”

Draco nods, swallowing hard a moment, before saying, “I am. And you’re mine.”

“I am. Merlin, that’s terrific.”

Harry can feel the heat that spreads over Draco’s face at that; he absolutely treasures it. He kisses along the tops of Draco’s pink cheeks, plants something particularly wet and loud on Draco’s jaw, and feels like he’s got Felix Felicis running through his veins when Draco lets out a soft little laugh.

“You’re absurd,” Draco tells him, and Harry just grins back at him until Draco leans in and starts the kiss up again.

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

DF Posting: KingChannels - Year 3

Here we are again. Much belated on account of me having an awful head cold for most of the past two weeks.

The beginning of the defensive layer, which, as time has gone on, has only gotten less solid. Regardless I think having room to retreat behind corners when archers come a knocking will be helpful.

We left last year with the trade depot Almost complete, and the defensive layer, starting up. Happy to say we made a lot of progress on both, but a lot happened so we'll start from the top.

Early on the elven caravan arrived; I personally have no abnormal distaste for the elves (even if selecting everything in a bin except the bin is obnoxious), but we didn't have any trade goods because I'd not decided to, you know, make any, on account of sheets being wanted next year. So we didn't really get anything, not that they brought much. Not even very many animals. Very dissapointing honestly. Didn't even get a screenshot.

Our starter library. We probably won't need it anymore after we start getting the tower constructed but that could be a while. I set a scholar to work here after I made it as well, and installed a table later on.

In the meantime we made a starter library for our scholarly pursuits to begin in earnest, rather then waiting for the tower to start construction. It's small, but it'll work. We assigned Ingish Arzesidan as scholar, our old woodcutter. She honestly loves it and is constantly getting good thoughts from debating and pondering, though these are somewhat offset by her bad thoughts from not practicing a craft. Thems the breaks. Around this time I also started making clothes from our pig tail fiber, to ensure our in fort child would have clothing. Also so anyone whose clothes rot off can get a new set.

Our first scholar.

After all that hubbub we almost immediately got a migrant wave; 9 dwarves, 2 melee dwarves for the military, and a High Master Surgeon, very nice. This reminded me we needed to make a hospital. My idea is to build it on the ground floor, likely near the cistern, hopefully out of the way of any trouble in the event anyone needs to be brought to it during combat. It'll also make getting the water from the cistern to the nearly required hospital well less of a pain in the butt.

The first two are our melee dwarves and the last is the surgeon.

Around the time of the migrant wave we got another Child Strange Mood; it finished around the time we finished sorting otu the migrant wave as Ablel Regezar only grabbed two apple wood logs. He made, adorably, a toy axe, Desiszisang. During the course of this year I caught several dwarf children playing with it so at least it's getting use!

The fort's most popular toy. And... only toy, now that I'm thinking about it.

Of note; all this happened in Early Spring. This was a very rapid fire series of events, but things slow down a bit henceforth. Not before finding a mysterious vomit trail from the trade depot to the first floor of the fortress entrance. Probably a dwarf that'd been underground long enough to get cave adapted. I didn't see any sign of combat, anyway, so it's not an injury at least. Regardless the fort now has its first streak of green mess. There will be many more.

Every fort, by the end of the run, is usually just covered in blood and puke. This is small potatoes.

Taking up the next large swathe of time was mostly me digging to find ores, rather then for fortress construction, with the completion of a stockpile I was digging near the metal processing area to store ore and coal. During this time I'd noticed unhappy dwarves were looking pretty intimidating, I think it hit a high of 16 which is more then a third of our fort. You've gotta nip this in the bud so in a mostly ineffectual attempt to do that I made some meals. Mostly quarry bush leaves, but higher food quality = happier dwarf. Unfortunately we don't really have a lot of edible wildlife, I've only seen ravens and they're too small to butcher and a pain to catch besides. Maybe one day we'll be eating raven eggs, but it seems like a bit too much trouble for now.

all of my mining floors start like this. I want people to be able to move through them well in the event I use them for something more important then burial site.

We hit Lignite and Iron shortly below where I started digging exploratorily. Very good sign; if we can find flux we've got steel, which is fantastic. That'll handily take care of most of our fortress defense needs, at least as far as we can hope for. We also found kaolinite which will make us some high quality ceramic stuff when I set it up. I also intend to use the exploratory digging tunnels for most of our burial slabs; it just feels appropriate to me.

During all this, the work on the defensive layer was moving along. The windows on the left are Gem windows, and we'll be layering some fortifications over hte front of them to ensure noone just breaks in through those windows. Eventually patrols or watch animals will keep an eye out through there to let us know when goblins or kobolds are skulking around. Hopefully, anyway.

It was around this time I realized my military squads had Never Stopped Training. I looked into a bit of stuff regarding the new UI and it turns out they've been on manual training, never stop mode, for like a year now. That's probably why everyone's so pissed off. I fix that and indeed the bad moods at the fort start dropping, thankfully. THe summer migrant wave also hit, 8 dwarves. A high master metalcrafter, a high master furnace operator, and a middling papermaker. Normally the papermaker would be on hauling duty, but given we're making a library... hmm. Two randos from the wave got drafted into our military squad making an even 10. Training can Really start now. Especially now that they're doing advanced training and teaching and sparring and such. They don't do that on manual evidently.

Once more, oru new Local Celebrities. I also assigned another dwarf to scholarship around this time I believe; Kadol Usenvabok. We'll probably worry more about the scholars when the tower goes up because if I keep posting dwarf thoughts we're gonna hit the image cap.

Seconds after this migrant wave the high master metalcrafter enters a secretive mood. Looks like we're getting a legendary metalcrafter. Honestly sort've stinks; he was allmost there anyway. Regardless, he goes to work. After some livestock butchery, he makes an Artifact Silver Chain out of Horse Leather, Chert Blocks, a Silver Bar, and cut bloodstones. Pretty nice sounding, and we can definitely find a use for it somewhere. Probably put it in a well, but maybe we can find some sort've novel use for it in the tower. It Is silver after all.

Pretty Good.

As we moved into autumn, I realized we were running out of food for some reason. Had the realization we weren't growing any plump helmets in autumn for some reason, so I fixed that. Also set about to making another still, as the population was getting quite hefty and a single still probably wouldn't be cutting it for much longer. As time went on it stabilized, and later in the year restocked itself so we're good again. Crisis Averted.

Shortly before the caravan arrived there were officially enough farmers in the fort to qualify for a farmer's guild. I immediately set about making one of the rooms I Dug out for specifically this purpose into a farmer's guild, and everyone was happy about it. Farmer dwarves will talk about farming in there, along with just generally socializing. It'll slowly increase their skills in various farming aptitudes. It's great.

The Dwarven caravan arrives annnnnd I forgot to make trade goods. God damn. I quickly hammer out some rock rings and buy some iron bars, using them to make a weapon for the militia. Need stuff sooner then later, and we're not exactly short on iron. The liason requested Amulets, which is great for us and I Immediately set on that to avoid this problem next year. I make our standard selection of military grade metals and silver.

Around this time enough work on the cistern got done for me to be comfortable draining the pond, finally. I wanted to get constructed stuff in there sooner rather then later because... I like constructed stuff. No dirty hole water here.

the top floor hadn't been walled in yet but I did take care of that over the rest of the year.

I love a bit of fluid mechanics in DF so this excited me. I've actually not done a lot of it, but I love the concept. We'll probably need another pool or two before it'll have enough loaded in to make its way to the hospital well, but it rains all the time here, so it shouldn't be too long. Since we've got enough standing water in the cistern too (about a full z level), we can just dump in whatever we can get and it'll be stored too, so that's nice.

Anyway the autumn migrant wave hits annnnnnd we got two dwarves. I forgot I had the migrant cap lowered to a pitiful 50 due to a previous fort I ran, so that's my bad, Yet Again. I raise it to 100. The two dwarves were not notable in any way. I also assign a scribe to our library to copy the books we do have.

As we trundle on towards winter, a child is posessed, which has become a commonplace enough occurrence that I honestly wasn't particularly interested. More livestock died to feed the leather requirement, and he got wood, bones and leather.

Before he finished his artifact, however, a werehare broke into the depot. He immediately bites down on Logem Urvaddatan, our freshly recruited high master surgeon, and shakes him to bits.

So much for that hospital. KingChannelses first fatality. Brutal.

There were two militadwarves nearby at the time so they immediately set to attacking the werehare (with picks?? why do you people have picks equipped you're not miners), and he goes down pretty unceremoniously, being an unarmored, roughly human size, enemy.

During the scuffle however, a militadwarf was bitten. This means they are now a werehare, and they Will be hostile to their fellow dwarves when they turn.

The bitten militiadwarf on the left, Iden Eshtanmubun and more competent combat on the right.

Me, not willing to create isolation chambers for bitten dwarves, and not wanting to have to deal with this guy popping off every quarter of a year, elect to banish him. Iden Eshtanmubun has no family in the fort, so nobody is going with him. He's upset, but what's he gonna do, come back as a werehare to take revenge? Hopefully not. He was actually also a aprt of the wave the surgeon came in on, so I guess the wave was just cursed. We'll have to keep an eye on Ablel Dumatdeleth, I Suppose.

After all of the drama and our first death, the child finishes his artifact, a horse bone pick. Maybe someone will actually use it. I kind've don't care right now kid I'm sorry.

I am normally quite happy about equippable artifacts, even if they're shit, but a pick is pretty hard to equip on purpose and they all behave the same regardless of material.

After processing all this I realized our defensive layer is pretty much done, our wall is done, our trade depot is done, it's time to build that overhang. I don't think the werehare climbed in over the wall but better safe then sorry. Unfortunaetly, while trying to do this, I realize my wall is too close to the edge of the map to build an overhang. So we have to rebuild half of it. Ugh.

In the shadow of death we find.... more menial labor. As usual, I guess.

I immediately stat making another layer of the wall on the relevant sides inside the fort. We'll worry about tearing down the outside layer later. I'd rather have a wall people can climb over then no wall at all. This in and of itself takes about til the end of the season, so we'll carry on with other stuff, though the death was the last major event of the year.

Other then some boring logistical stuff (we ran out of chert I can't color coordinate until I mine more rarrrr), the rest of the year was pretty quiet. We found some Green Jade, a 20 value gem, which is Very nice, we found more iron on the living floor, while expanding it for future waves, which I mined out, and our scribe made a copy of our one book, The Way of the Path of the Moon. Or whatever. It was something like that.

As the year drew to a close, the baby born in fort grew to a child and learned to walk on his own. He is no longer at risk of being used as a shield by his mother, and they ran out into the snow and immediately got pissed off about being snowed on. Thanks kid. She can now harvest and haul stuff, so she'll be a minor help for the next.... 15 years. Frankly if we see her grow to be an adult that alone is a fantastic run.

Baby Lolor Rimtarilir, like all dwarves, immediately knows where the clothes are upon gaining locomotion. She's also pissed off because of the snow. Get in line Lolor.

Along with the baby becoming independent, our initial Scholar, Ingish, became an astronomor. He's officially studied the book about the moon's path enough to gain a title. Our mental pursuits are looking up.

A monumentous occasion given the goal of our fort. We need more eggheads. They're chopping a tree right now but rest assured they are very intelligent.

And that's that. A death, a lot of construction and a working cistern; that will continue, but we are pulling up on the end of Surface construction not involving the tower, at least, maybe another couple of years? Hopefully we'll have sterling silver production in hand by then.

Next years goals are finally get that cistern loaded up with water and giving our dwarves an indoor well, Finish The Damn Wall, and hopefully find flux and start steel production. Also hopefully we find silver. I guess if we can't find any silver on site a ceramic tower might be good. And very silly. Same color anyway. We'll see.

Until Next Year. Our fortunes rise and fall together.

[titanium-and-bone]

Liminal States in Over the Garden Wall

It's October which means it's time to talk about one of my favorite pieces of media in the entire world. If I was ever going to write a thesis (god forbid) it would be this. And forgive me if some of this stuff has been covered or talked about by the creators before. So, a liminal state is "of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : in-between, transitional" The most important (imo) liminal state is that between life and death. There is the implication that the entire land over the garden wall is a near death experience for Wirt and Greg as we see them almost hit by a train and fall into the water. And of course we see the dead rising at the harvest festival as well. Another liminal state is that between childhood and adulthood. Wirt is a teenager and this is a coming of age story for him, learning to have agency and take responsibility for his actions. (side note: Is this why he finds a kindred spirit in Lorna? They both feel a lack of agency in their own life?) We also see the slow transition over the course of the series from fall to winter. The vibrant leaves and celebrations fade to somber winter as Wirt grows more hopeless. Another liminal state is pointed out by the people in the tavern. They call Wirt a pilgrim, a traveler on a sacred journey. And what is a journey if not a liminal state? Perhaps the woodcutter is also on a journey, a perpetual wanderer in his quest to keep his daughter's soul alive. Beatrice too is on a quest. Throughout all this, Greg remains unchanging. He's the rock (lol) of the show, keeping his positivity through the darkest times. His brush with a liminal state is his dream, a space between waking and sleep, where he goes on his own mini hero's journey. Anyway, those are just my disorganized thoughts. If you can think of anything I missed, I'd love to hear it.

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Art pt. 10 - The Wild Woods

By request, I’m gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we’d have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole “we’re playing an oldschool turn based RPG” vibe that Fabula Ultima’s system is going for.

In this part, we’re gonna look at the many NPCs introduced in the campaign’s penultimate arc, the Wild Woods.

At the end of the first arc, while traveling from Hansand to Peralt, our heroes heard a strange and terrible cry, and were promptly set upon by a vast and terrifying lupine monster, one that they primarily knew from rumors up to that point: The Ravening Beast. And every time they traveled between towns since, they had to roll a dice to see whether or not they'd encounter the monster again - and the more crown jewels they had, the more likely the beast would appear. Well, with two currently in hand and three taken by the Big Bad, our heroes knew they'd have to encounter the beast again, and decided to do it on their terms this time. So they tracked it to its den.

Of course, no woods in Midgaheim has only one monster in it, as the presence of one often attracts others. The Ravening Beast being a wolf (of a sort), it probably wasn't surprising that Barghests (big magic wolves) and Fenrisbroods (bigger magic wolves who have a bit of Jotunn in their DNA thanks to their progenitor, Loki) lurked in its den.

And there were others - a troll lurked under a bridge in one area, but was easily dissuaded when it say how capable the PCs were of dealing with it. Three large Cthonic Boars provided some valuable intelligence when questioned by our heroes, while the cathaneg lyon gave them a chance to prove their heroism to the wolves by saving one of the barghests from its jaws. The manticore looked like it might provide some menace for a short period, but compliments given to his singing voice quickly swayed him from foe to friend. As for the bark-skinned, branch-horned Herlewin, he was just a poor lost fairy looking for his missing lantern to find his way back home.

There were two more strange creatures waiting for the party before they could see the Ravening Beast. The first was a wolf with an oddly intelligent gaze who was oddly protective of Edmund in particular, while the second was woodcutter with a dark secret: not only was he a werewolf (and a garwolf specifically, capable of keeping conscious control of himself while in wolf form), but he was the father of the Ravening Beast, having concieved the monster with a Fenrisbrood while stalking the woods. The mix of lycanthropic blood and the fenrisbrood's own potent Jotunn and wolf genes created a massive and unstable monster, one whose overactive metabolism meant its hunger could never be sated - an enormous predator who was doomed to starve no matter how much it ate till the day it died.

After slaying its dad, our heroes confronted the beast, and realized that its already unstable body had been pushed to a deadly extreme by swallowing one of the crown jewels. As the beast tried to devour them in a vain attempt to keep its body from eating itself, our heroes did the best they could to put it down gently, and comforted the monster that had chased them for so long as it passed out of this world and into the next.

[balrogballs]

Coming from Cast in Stone, I would love to read the part you said you cut out, about Maedhros musing about history. These insights are the best part of the fic imo, so if you're happy to share on Tumblr like you said, I'd love to read

Of course! Just a note to literally anyone else seeing this, this references my Silm fanfic Cast in Stone which has MaeMags in TA 2900s realising that Elrond has built a massive, rather fuck ugly, statue glorifying their redemption, but have fully omitted all their (less redeemable) deeds from the histories he wrote as loremaster. Basically I mentioned in the chapter that I cut some sections out because it made it too 'academic' but had said people could ask to read them here, hence...

_________

Maedhros didn't think that 'chopping wood in the Shire' was necessarily the task most suited to a re-embodied prince with one hand, but he had to admit that the dull thunk-thunk cutting across the Tooks' barking sheepdog brought to him a sense of stability that he had missed for - well - most of his life. Like the thunk-bark-thunk-bark was a heartbeat, like it was saying he was integral, important, and constant. 

He thought again about what the boy, Legolas, had asked: what would a history written by the Fëanorians look like? What silenced stories would be spoken, what unknown truths would be brought to light, and what explanations would he be allowed? And the implied, though not directly asked, what branches would be chopped off and what stories would he silence?

Maedhros was impressed that the boy even implied it, that he had looked Maedhros in the face and insinuated that if Elrond would bury histories he could not bear to face, then what would he, Maedhros, have buried? As if silencing and burial came hand in hand with the writing of history, like it was a knack that the Eldar had, for brushing over and cleaning up their worst memories - a sort of survival weapon, like a waterskein in the depths of Rhun. 

What would he write about his father? What would he write about the boys? 

(Not his boys, but the blonde boys in the woods - the ones he remembered only some weeks ago).

The two volumes of Histories of the First Age written by Elrond did not make a single reference to those boys, and Maedhros had spent two weeks furious about the arms-length whitewashing. But as he stood here in the Shire, detached from who he was and will be, with sweat soaking into his tunic from his inexpert wielding of a woodcutter's axe, the question turns on its head. 

If Maedhros had written the Histories of the First Age, would he have written of it? He, who could barely think of their names without shaking? 

History was, at the end of the day, a kind of junglecraft — survival of the fittest. Version after version of the past contending for survival; new hybrids of truth and lies taking root as ancient violence faded, buried in obscurity. Only the strongest, most palatable narratives were allowed to live. The quiet, the defeated, the nameless left behind only fragments —  scattered pages, forgotten heroes, traces of lives lived under boots. History remembered only those who wrote it; the relationship between history and historian both a bond of power and a shared captivity.

Could he blame Elrond then, for not putting such violence on the page? Was Elrond, when asked to write the Histories of the First Age, not then being shackled to the book and told to pen down his greatest traumas, the unbearable truths of what his fathers — who loved him, whom he loved, loved, loved — were and had done? 

What would Maedhros have written of Fëanor? What would he have written of Aqualonde, or the moment stone touched flesh? Here, now, even the memory of it made him shake, brought tears to his eyes. But at the time, he had felt nothing whatsoever. 

[eveninglakehomeworld]

Zevran dialogues - part 2

I've returned to bring you a second part to my first zevran dialogues post!

as before, some conversations have been trimmed to contain only the most interesting/relevant tidbits to Crow lore, Antiva, Zevran's opinions/attitudes on being an assassin, etc.

this post contains another of Zevran's tales of past contracts, his account of what happened with Rinna and Taliesen, more about his childhood, and the dialogues you get when you give him his special gifts (dalish gloves + antivan leather boots). I also slid a piece of romance-related dialogue in at the end bc I thought it was telling of how he views himself & relationships in light of the life he's lived.

hope this is helpful! enjoy!

First, revisiting a previous conversation from the last post, prefaced with a little piece of additional dialogue that I missed before.

[after being asked specifically about his time in the Crows]

Zevran: You mean you want to hear about the grueling training? Being locked in an oubliette for weeks at a time? The slavery? The festering injuries? Or are we seeking something more glamorous?

Warden: "Was it really so terrible?"

Zevran: Oh, those things never happened to me. [he then continues with the same story in conversation 4 from this post. nothing else to be gleaned about the Crows follows.]

The Slaughter of Prince Azrin

Warden: "So tell me more about your adventures."

Zevran: Again? Well, now... what might interest you, I wonder? Shall I describe the stages involved with lanthrax poisoning? I watched a man go through all seven, once.

Warden: "If you like, certainly."

Zevran: (laughs) No, I'll not inflict that upon you just yet. Let's see. How about the largest battle I ever took part in? That would have been the slaughter of Prince Azrin. Did you hear of that down in these parts?

Warden: "You killed a prince?"

Zevran: Me? Not personally, but I did take part in the attack. Prince Azrin was fourth in line to the throne, you see. He started off as the eleventh, but worked his way up the old-fashioned method, by inheriting control of an entire Crow cell from his grandfather. After assassinating his way through the royal family, the king hired three other calls to take down Prince Azrin once and for all. I was in one of those cells.

Warden: "Is this sort of thing common in Antiva?"

Zevran: Antivan royalty is very much bound up in the Crows. You wouldn't want it run by a bunch of commoners, after all, would you? And this means they get involved in politics quite often. This particular fight nearly bankrupted the nation, I understand. It almost ended up putting a Crow on the throne, a commoner... but that's a whole different story. I played a very small part.

Warden: "Seems like an odd way to run the country."

Zevran: Antiva might seem a bit odd in that way to outsiders. We take it in stride, however. Assassins are simply part of the landscape, so to speak. My part in the entire battle was taken up trying to reach Princess Ferenna, who had thrown in with her brother. I killed about eleven of her guards personally before I got knocked out of a window. I landed in the river and nearly drowned. I was fished out by some urchins who robbed me blind. Made off with my boots, too. At least they didn't cut my throat. And that was my part in history.

Warden: "You got robbed? By urchins?"

Zevran: Hm. I had to find my way back to the safe house, bruised and naked. And thankful to be alive. But, there you go. Tale told. Let's take off before I tell more embarrassing stories, hm?

On the Dalish (and his mother, and his childhood)

Warden: "What is your opinion of the Dalish?"

Zevran: I know little enough of the Dalish other than the fact that my mother was one. Or so I was told. She had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book.

Warden: "Zevran, that's horrible!"

Zevran: Is it? It seemed normal enough a tale growing up, no different than the other elven boys in the whorehouse. I didn't know my mother, either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were. We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until eventually I was sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, so I hear.

Warden: "I'm so sorry for you, Zevran."

Zevran: Ah, compassion and beauty both in the same woman. It is a delight, truly, though what you say is unnecessary, even if it is appreciated. It could have been much worse. Shall I tell you about what happened to the other whorehouse boys who did not fetch a decent price with the Crows? Surely your life has not been so idyllic? People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all.

Warden: "You can say that again."

Zevran: My original point is that my mother's Dalish nature was always a point of fascination for me. Through all my years of Crow training, the one thing of my mother's that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were of Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again.

Warden: "But you don't think of yourself as Dalish."

Zevran: Not at all. I think of myself as Antivan. Still, that did not stop me from running off to join a clan when it drew near Antiva city, once. Naturally the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves. But such is life. Come... enough talk of the Dalish. Let us move on.

Special Gift Dialogues

Dalish Gloves

Zevran: Gloves? You are giving me gloves? What for?

Warden: "They're Dalish gloves. Like your mother's."

Zevran: I... Maker's breath, you're right. It is like my mother's. The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery... but these are very close. And quite handsome.

Warden: "It was nothing."

Zevran: Still, I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me. No one has simply... given me a gift before. Thank you.

Antivan Leather Boots

Zevran: (sniffs) Mmm. That smell... this is Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know that anywhere! (chuckles) I don't know how you found it, but thank you. [I just wanna note how utterly giddy he sounds when he says this, and how giggly w excitement he is through this whole convo. lol <3]

Warden: "What are you waiting for? Try them on."

Zevran: But I'm not finished admiring them yet! Can you smell that? (sniffs) Like rotting flesh. Just like back in Antiva City. Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home! (laughs) And they fit, as well! Marvelous!

About Rinna & Taliesen

Warden: "So tell me more about your adventures."

Zevran: Well, the only one that's really worth telling is the story of the mission right before I came to Ferelden. But... no, I... I would rather not. I shouldn't have said anything.

Warden: "Why not? What's the problem?"

Zevran: Nothing that I would prefer to speak of. Perhaps another day, I am sorry.

[later, during the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, while conversing with the guardian that you meet before entering the gauntlet]

Guardian: And the Antivan elf... Zevran: Oh, is it my turn now? Hurrah. I'm so excited. Guardian: Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of— Zevran: How do you know about that? Guardian: I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands however. Do you regret— Zevran: (crossing his arms) Yes. The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on. (turns away)

[some more time later...]

Warden: "Care to tell me about that last mission now?"

Zevran: Yes, I suppose it is time. You have been a good friend to me, after all. There is no reason to be silent. There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite an accident. My last mission before this one... did not end well.

Warden: "What happened?"

Zevran: You must realize that until that day I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often... both as an assassin and lover.

Warden: "And how have you changed?"

Zevran: (chuckles) I was often told I was insufferable... right before I ended up in bed with someone. Such is how it was. One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise: A wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna. She was... a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired.

Warden: "I sense a tragic ending."

Zevran: Rinna was special. I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It frightened me. When Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesen to kill her. Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn't care.

Warden: "But that wasn't true."

Zevran: I convinced myself it was. Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant we found the true source of his information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all.

Warden: "I'm so sorry."

Zevran: I... wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesen convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt. We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew... and they didn't care. And one day my turn would come.

Warden: "Why would he do that?"

Zevran: To rub it in my face, perhaps. That I was nothing. That she was nothing. You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? And then... this happened. And here I am.

Warden: "Do you still want to die?"

Zevran: No. What I want is to begin again. Whatever it is I sought by leaving Antiva, I think I have found it. I owe you a great deal.

Warden: "I'm glad to have you with me."

Zevran: Let us return to your mission, shall we? Suddenly I do not feel like standing about.

Discovering the bloody altar at Haven

Zevran: I wonder... the Crows often made sacrifices of blood, and it gave them uncanny abilities.

After sleeping together

Warden: "And what about love?"

Zevran: (pacing) I was born of a whore and bred as an assassin. All I know is of pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love, eh? At any rate, we should be on our way. A new day awaits us, or so the rumor goes.