#cw: fantasy racism

[puckpatti-and-co]

A lead by the harbor? What, like an investigation? Or are you trying to be some sort of dock hand now? A pirate?! Puckpatti piracy?!

“Like, a job lead! I overheard some folk talking about it the other day. It sounded interesting, so.. You lose all the chances you don’t take, right? Plus, they’ll hire any race!”

“Sailing jobs tend to be dangerous for half-foots.. A lot of ships are required to have one aboard in case of sirens. It’s a one way trip, going overboard- but it warns everyone else because we’d hear the song first.”

“As much as I’d like to go sailing someday, it just isn’t safe with current regulations. Most dwarven ships use song birds though!”

“Imagine if I got to sail with dwarven pirates.. That’d be so cool!! I bet it’d make Fler jealous! Hehe.”

[sharyrazade]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World, Tales of Series Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Colette Brunel/Genis Sage, Sheena Fujibayashi/Lloyd Irving (referenced) Characters: Genis Sage, Colette Brunel Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Awkwardness, Awkward Crush, First Kiss, Childhood Friends, Romantic Friendship, Puberty, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Fantastic Racism, Fantasizing, Unrequited Lust, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Genis' language is a little salty but he's a teenage boy what do you expect?, Colette is 20, Genis is a late 15 Summary:

Being a teenage boy is never exactly easy. But being a fifteen-year old boy while gradually coming to see the innocently-charming girl you grew up with as a stunning angel of a woman however, can be an absolute nightmare, only complicated by the lingering resentment you feel for humans.

This was actually written as an exploration of a concept I’d been wondering about for a while, but was genuinely disappointed by the fandom’s lack of interest in: Namely, Genis as an (older) teenage boy, doing what teenage boys do, feeling what teenage boys feel.

The assorted...complications in his life are what makes the idea really interesting IMHO. Also it’s been damn near five years since I wrote this and only realized that given who Colette’s family is, it would basically be a coin toss whether their son would look like dear old dad/aunt Raine/grandma or, well...

[anghraine]

Disney-era Lucasfilm has given me essentially one film I adored (Rogue One, which also has my favorite SW ship and two of my favorite SW characters in Cassian and Jyn). It's also produced two more films that I very much liked (though only one of those still remains high in my estimation tbh), and a bunch of SW material that is not really the SW that plays in my mind, but at least fun and interesting to think about with the very glaring exception of TROS. I never had any investment in Legends, either, so for me the Disney era is not some huge loss.

I say all of this to emphasize that I'm not a kneejerk Disney SW hater. Nevertheless, I'm actually very disappointed with DLF's tendency to emphasize how ground-breaking and diverse and ~challenging some new SW media thing is without doing much to support the people involved or appearing to foresee that a fanbase prone to bigotry, nostalgia, and throwing screaming temper tantrums for decades on end is not going to react well. This is in no way an excuse for those fans, but DLF does not seem to ever predict how SW fans will respond despite their well-documented history of responding really badly to anything that remotely challenges them.

I love SW and I love my personal friends in SW fandom, but there have always been a significant number of vocally hateful and reactionary SW fans who manage to shape the discourse around basically everything in it. This is completely predictable. The fact that DLF seems completely unprepared for this reaction every time they give central roles behind and in front of the camera to women and/or POC, and also appears to do very little to support the actual RL marginalized people they hire when not just cravenly giving in to the worst elements of the SW fanbase (*cough*TROS*cough*) is incredibly frustrating.

Yeah, this is about DLF's poor handling of eminently predictable fan tantrums over The Acolyte which has just culminated in cancelling it after a bare eight episodes, but it's happened so many times at this point. The Acolyte was far from perfect but after how visibly unprepared DLF were for the raging bigotry directed at Kelly Marie Tran, John Boyega, and Daisy Ridley, or how weird people were about Solo, or the misogynoir surrounding the response to Reva in Obi-Wan Kenobi, or or or—they absolutely could and should have known that something like The Acolyte was going to need a lot of higher-level support to have any chance of success. At the very least there's no excuse for being surprised at this point.

And it feels a bit like it, and the actual people involved in it, were never really given a fair shot and the real higher investment is going to be in, like, Baby Yoda 4: Now With More Ewoks.

My friends and I just finished our first run of Jedi: Survivor, which we really, really liked, but there is definitely a tragic white boy protagonist propped up by POC and/or women (many now dead!) aspect to the whole thing that feels essential to its popularity. And it is frustrating and disappointing and all the more so because it's so eminently foreseeable at this point.

[nekropsii]

One of the weakest Homestuck criticisms I see pop up every now and then is that the Hemoloyalty system is bad because “it’s not a clear-cut metaphor for any one specific real-world bigotry.” Acting as if it is a poorly made example of Sci-Fi/Fantasy Racism since it’s used to cover and express Racism, Classism, Xenophobia, Misogyny, etc.

It always makes me wonder if they’re new to fiction that contains Fantasy Racism, because Fantasy Racism systems covering multiple bigotries is entirely normal. It’s the standard, even.

You know.

Because that’s how actual real world bigotry operates?

For example… Racism does not stop at a judgment of skin color. It never just affects how your race is perceived and then stops before it dips into any other bigotry. Racism is almost never “Oh, ew, you’re brown,” with no other follow up. It’s a long series of assumptions and judgments made on your (perceived) race. Racism is deeply entangled with- you guessed it!- Classism, Xenophobia, Misogyny, all kinds of things.

Classic examples of Racism include:

Having your expressions of femininity and womanhood denied or fetishized based on your race, which happens quite regularly to Black and East Asian women in particular,

Suspicions towards Black people in middle class-rich suburban neighborhoods/gated communities, based on the assumption that “they could never legitimately afford to live there” so they “must be trespassing and/or a criminal”,

… And nutjobs screaming at people who are Latino or Arabic, or they perceive as Latino or Arabic, to “go back to their country” whether or not they were actually born there.

Are these all derived from Racism? Yes! But are they also combining forces with a different bigotry to help strengthen that racism? Yes! This is how it works! Fantasy Racism often has their fictional bigotry cast a wide net of judgments and assumptions that wind up making it all look very messy and unclear and containing multiple bigotries because that’s how it works in real life! You cannot in earnest say that a fictionalized bigotry system is bad because it “isn’t one clear cut thing” without looking like a moron. Are you sheltered? Have you only put one lone dying brain cell into this? Have you never experienced bigotry before, or thought about how it operates? I fear that you may need to do some reflecting!

[avoidcrowdraws]

Rysif is one of the nicest people you'll meet, she's incredibly friendly, but don't be fooled - she also has the world record for how many microaggressions she can drop on a person per second

She cannot be normal about an 'exotic' person like Tora

[splat20]

Another part of Icewind Dale that's been fucking grueling so far though... Ngl a part of me is actually fascinated by the historical fantasy worldbuilding done by A Certain Kind Of History Dude who clearly has no idea how history has ever actually worked. The hoops they jump through to convince you that history has never been what might be called "political" is, in its own way, kind of impressive.

Conflict has never been about stuff like colonialism, it's all about nebulous human themes like Tradition. Conflict is about Economy and Economy never involves anything like class or culture. Only trout. The entire machinations of this society revolves ONLY around trout. (I'm now genuinely harping about the trout, it's just really dumb ok.) Conflict is about different groups just being fundamentally different, usually with a clear evil one. Conflict is about all groups being greedy about THEIR FUCKING TROUT because it's just a nebulous human condition to be greedy. Racist also. And poor people are just poor because they aren't ambitious, as a little aside.

It's so...... ashistorical but also deeply uncurious about our own actual real life world right now.

So many "high" fantasy books are like this. The Certain Kind Of History Dudes have too much power in this genre. They get praised for their worldbuilding and it's just the most shallow understanding of how anything works ever.

And more nefarious is the way this seemingly innocent ignorance so quickly and easily justifies stuff like "well, it's totally chill for good guys to kill bad guys... because they're from a bad guy society." Drizzt will tie himself in knots if he has to kill the worst human you can possibly imagine, but swats down random orcs no problem. The way that seemingly creates no cognitive dissonace at all for these writers needs to be studied in a lab. It's all fun and games when we're talking about monsters, but then you think about how that translates into the real world using the exact same mechanisms and that isn't fun at all is it? The ways racist men can tell themselves they are good people follows similar mental gymnastics. Why are "humans" deserving of infinite grace and forgiveness even at their most evil but "orcs" are understood to be inherently a lost cause? Why really? What is that mechanism really? It's been particularly egregious as I'm trying to slog my way through The Crystal Shard because, like, we can generously say that the "barbarians" are based on vikings, but ngl all I'm getting from this dynamic is Salvatore playing "cowboys and indians" but with white people. The general underlying vibes... And maybe that's what I'm trying to get at with what I'm describing in the fantasy races too. If you take off the mask, it all just feels like "cowboys and indians." A trope so deeply embedded in American genre fiction which has always just been incredibly racist this whole time.

These books are such whiplash because unfortunately I do love the characters but boy I wish I could save them from these books sometimes. The Crystal Shard has been soooo much worse than the other books so far imo, so I'm hoping the series chills tf out again generally.

[leresq]

Orcs being inherently evil and savage and stupid is just as racist as goblins being greedy and cruel but none of you are ready for that conversation

[queenaeducan]

Var Shiral'vhen - Chapter Seven: Mission of Mercy

Ian accompanies the Thora on a journey to the Fallow Mire. As they struggle through a deluge of rain and hordes of undead, he comes to better understand the nature of the woman they call Herald.

Thora comes to stand at Ian's shoulder, hesitating before she kneels beside him.

“You’re her.” The scout’s words rasp in his throat, dark hair plastered to his forehead with fever-sweat. One hand protects the stained bandage that wraps his middle, but the other extends to reach for her. “The Herald.”

“My name’s Thora. What’s yours?” She catches his fingers in her own, folding both of her hands around them to squeeze with the same gentleness that Ian hears in her voice. While she speaks, he reaches into his satchel, tugging free a small bowl and waterskin, along with a bundle of clean–and, miraculously, dry–cloth. He sets the bowl at his side, filling it only half-way before passing his hand over its surface, first pulling heat until bubbles rise, then frost to force away the burn, leaving the liquid tepid.

The scout struggles in his answer, voice aching with blood loss and pain, though his Antivan accent is impossible to mistake.

“Emir, your worship.”

“It’s good to meet you, Emir.”

“I need to remove your bandage.” Ian’s bare hands hover over where Emir guards his hurt, yielding until permission is granted. “I’ll be gentle.”

(Read the rest on AO3!)

[kitabasis]

I’ve hardly seen anyone mention it, so. I think we need to acknowledge that the portrayal of the Gur is. Kinda racist.

and as much as I wish it wasn’t, GAW (game as written), Astarion is, charitably speaking, kinda racist.

Edit: just want to make it clear that I am of the opinion that BG3 itself is less racist than, for instance, Curse of Strahd. However it really grinds my gears to see that very few people acknowledge that tumblr's favorite companion is racist (and frankly, as far as I know, you can only tell him off once which is. Frankly I feel like the game should treat it like a bigger deal than it does). I can understand why you would not want to, because he is a very compelling character and it feels icky for a character you like to be racist so of course you just want to pretend that didn't happen, ignoring it feels. Not great to me.

Especially because only one of the companions is a poc and he's probably the most complained about one which I'm sure have nothing to do with each other

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

copying anon over here because i went to save the ask to my drafts and tumblr sent it directly to the shadow realm, welp:

I dug through your rambles about Hermes, so I'm looking forward to thoughts on Erich with the ancient world's everything lol ~

ahhhh thank you, i'm glad you've enjoyed my rambles so far!! i've been taking the second half of the pandaemonium arc more slowly, partly because i'm been Out of It the last few days and partly because the direction the plotline with erich and lahabrea has taken a turn for has been leaving a really bad taste in my mouth. i've been making my way through it, though, and percolating Deeply on the He and how he and pandaemonium as a whole fit into all this. spoiler alert i love him even more now

(on the one hand, it finally helped me articulate some points that imo make or break an 'abusive parent sees the error of their ways and apologizes up and down and swears to do better, and both that and the context in which the abuse happened leave their victim feeling conflicted about it' arc. so there's that! on the other hand it, uh. it did so by very much being the goofus here lmao, and erich deserved better.)

(the way the whole thing is played off is also just, deeply deeply misogynistic. athena is top-tier nastywoman and i love her for it, and 'mothers--in particular white women, especially to their children of color--can be shitty and predatory and abusive and are accountable for it full stop,' is great abuse rep but fucking WOWZERS)

(which like, i will say that the overtones are not at all lost on me that athena repeatedly goes out of her way to prey on, abuse, and violate not just men of color but black men; dehumanizes them and treats them and their bodies as her property; and is strongly implied to have sexually abused erich in particular. and how the one who gets the brunt of it is her biracial, very VERY not white-passing son, who she isolated from the black side of his family to do whatever she wanted with. it is insanely fucking refreshing to see that shit not cushioned at ALL, and it really sucks that that had to come bundled in with the abuse apologia and misogyny.)

(i am also realizing that this is one of the reasons erich whitewashing, and how common it is in the fandom as well as official art, bothers me so much beyond the obvious. while it's uncertain how much of it was intentional, his narrative evokes not just real-world racism but colorism, and a specific brand of it and how it intersects with abuse. even if just on a doylist level erich was abused for being as dark-skinned as he is, and erasing that is even shittier than your run-of-the-mill whitewashing.)

(anyway. ANYWAY. anyway. all that is a post of its own and i haven't even gotten to the parts about ancient society yet. you see what i mean by having a lot of thoughts about him lmao)

i'm hoping to finish the last leg of the questline tonight so i can start fully putting my thoughts together because god there is SO MUCH, and i'm excited even if i foresee having to grit my teeth through the rest of the moments between him and lahabrea lmao

[inquisimer]

in the suffering

I fell behind yesterday, but I'm back with part 6 of the Avexis-as-Cole AU for @tranquilweek! As Haven falls and the Inquisition makes their escape, both Cadash and Avexis make sacrifices to save those they love.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 2260 words | cw: self-sacrifice, canon-typical violence, minor fantasy racism

-

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

Alarm bells rang out over Haven, giving Avexis such a fright that she spilled her half-drunk ale out onto the snow. The pleasant buzz it had given her faded away as she and Varric stared out beyond the wall in horror. She could just barely see the tiny specks that must be the attackers—but she did not need to see them to feel their agony through the Fade. A horribly familiar agony.

It’s them.

“Who would—“ Varric started.

“The Templars,” Avexis cut him off, grabbing her staff and standing to run. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save.”

Cadash was already at the gate when they arrived, listening to the commander’s assessment.

“Under what banner?”

“None—“

“It’s the Templars,” Avexis interrupted, breathless. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save at Therinfall.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Cullen asked the question with anger, but Avexis saw the grief and fear that it disguised. She pressed her palm to her chest.

“I know,” she said, answering his question, but looking imploringly at Cadash. “Trust me.”

Cadash nodded. “I do. Cullen, give me a plan.”

“Haven is no fortress…”

Avexis stared at the village gate. The song was stronger, sickly sweet and singing its siren call. At Therinfall, she’d been able to see it as a sickness, to follow the growth of it within and pull it out by the roots. Now, as the Templars crested over the hill, their presence in the Fade was indistinguishable from the red lyrium in their veins.

They're lost , she thought, regret and despair choking her throat. Well, maybe not. Maybe if—

“Avexis, go with Blackwall—“

She snapped back to attention. “No! Please—if you’re going out there, I want to go too.”

Despite the care she had for her companions, Cadash was a pragmatic leader, and she knew how to make hard decisions. Her face was like stone, now. “No. It’s dangerous, and you’re still recovering. We can’t be carrying you.”

“You won’t be,” Avexis insisted. “I can hear their pain—it’s overwhelming. Let me help.”

“We’re not going out there to help them.” Cadash’s words were blunt, but it was a tired hand that ran down the short length of her braid. “If that’s what you’re thinking—“

“It’s not, not like that. I know you’re going to kill them—but the lyrium is rooted so deep, at this point a quick death is the only help they’ll get.”

“Maker’s breath,” swore Cullen, “That’s—Herald, we don’t have time for this. You must decide.”

Cadash studied Avexis’ determined face for just another breath. “Fine. You’re with me—Sera, with Blackwall, get people to the Chantry. And Avexis—“ she added, tossing the words over her shoulder as she turned. “If I tell you to run, to leave, you do it. Heard?”

Heart beating frantically against her ribcage, Avexis withdrew her dagger and nodded. “Heard.”

-

The dragon’s breath was still hot on the back of their necks as they ran through the gates. Haven was burning. Her people were dying.

“We have to help them,” Cadash shouted, running to a cabin nearly engulfed in flames. “Dorian—“

A well placed bolt cleared the debris, and Seggrit fled to safety as they faced a wave of red Templars that had broken through the outer wall. Bull broke through the tavern door and they rushed in to help Flissa—but Avexis froze. She cocked her head and caught the faintest, sobbing cry. She knew that voice.

“Minaeve,” she whispered. Fear gripped her, and she bolted, ignoring Cadash’s shout as she took the steps to the apothecary’s cabin two at a time.

Both the researcher and Adan were laid out prone, too injured to stand under their own power. In the middle of the clearing sat a number of clay pots that Avexis immediately recognized—explosives, ostensibly for Haven’s defense.

“The pots—“ Adan wheezed.

“I know,” Avexis knelt by Minaeve and pulled her arm over her shoulders so that they could stand. “But as long as—“

As long as there’s no active fire, she was about to say. But before she could get the words out, the dragon swooped above them with a vicious screech and with one horrible breath, set the cabins aflame.

“Andraste’s bloody tits,” Avexis hissed. Minaeve pushed at her shoulder.

“Leave me! You have to get to Adan, he’s too close to the pots, he’ll die!”

Avexis shook her head, clinging stubbornly to Minaeve’s hip and shuffling them closer to the Chantry. “I’m not leaving you. You—you—“

How could she explain? They were hardly the closest of friends—Avexis’ magic was too volatile for Minaeve to really trust her. But the researcher had done something no one else had bothered to do.

“You saved them,” Avexis managed, panting as her muscles groaned under Minaeve’s weight. “Saw them, when no one else did. Someone should save you, this time.”

Minaeve’s eyes flitted to the brand that still marred Avexis’ forehead, though it no longer kept her from the Fade. “I—thank you.”

“We’re far enough, I think,” Avexis said after a few more paces. She lowered Minaeve into a snowbank and looked back. Adan was still struggling, trying fruitlessly to move his broken legs and escape the blast radius.

“He’ll never make it—“ Minaeve began, but Avexis was already gone. She ignored the protest of her lungs as she sprinted back to Adan. But where it had been easy to support Minaeve, Adan was broader and heavier than both of the elves. To boot, he could offer no assistance with his legs as they were. The fire was spreading perilously close to the explosive barrels.

“Get out, girl,” Adan snapped. “Don’t both of us need to die!”

“No, no, we can make it—“

“We can’t—“

Their bickering had given the flames just enough time. Time that seemed to slow as Avexis watched in horror, unable to close her eyes the way Adan had. The trail of fire licked at the open lid of the nearest pot—

And extinguished with a hiss. An arrow, shot into the ground, sprayed up snow that doused the flame. Avexis blinked, mind not quite caught up to her eyes. She looked up and saw Cadash at the top of the stairs, bow at her side and murder in her eyes.

The fire was still coming, though—they needed to move. The dwarf came ‘round to Adan’s other side and between the two of them they carried the apothecary toward Minaeve.

“If we’re both alive in a few hours,” Cadash grunted, taking Adan’s full weight so that Avexis could help Minaeve the rest of the way to the Chantry, “we will have words.”

The mood inside the Chantry was dark, but so powerful was the holy atmosphere that everyone’s terror took on hushed tones. By the time Avexis saw Minaeve to the healers and returned, Cadash and the commander were locked in an irate stare. Then, Cadash caught sight of Avexis, who winced.

“That was the stupidest thing you could have done—“

“It was for a good reason!”

“It was still stupid,” Cadash scowled. “And it’s only the lack of time that’s keeping me from ripping you a new one.”

That was as good as forgiven, Avexis knew, though she couldn’t quite summon a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Cadash’s gaze darted to the commander and Avexis nearly missed the barest shake of her head. Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Roderick knows a way out,” Cadash said, gesturing to the brother who had been such a pest. There was a sister with him, wiping his clammy brow, but his skin was pale as only a dying man’s was. “He’s hurt, but he’s the only one who knows. I need you—” she caught Avexis firmly by the elbows “—to go with him. Help him lead the way. It’s the only chance anyone has of surviving this.”

Avexis nodded, already moving to take the sister’s place at Roderick’s side. “And what about you?”

Torchlight glinted off Cadash’s silver tooth as she grinned. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Just go.”

The pilgrimage path was meant to be walked in the summer for a reason, and it was hard going. But Roderick’s eye was keen, even as his life drained away with each step. He pointed out the landmarks, leaning heavily on Avexis as they went. She held out a potion—it would do little more than ease his pain, but the less pain he felt, the farther he could go before his body gave up completely.

Eventually, the last of the refugees—for what else could they be called, now—were out of the Chantry. Roderick, Avexis, and the advance group of scouts were high up on the mountainside when the call came from the commander.

“We’re clear! Fire the signal!”

An archer drew back his bow and a mage set the tip of his arrow ablaze. As it streaked up into the inky blackness, Avexis caught the commander’s eye.

“Where is she?” she asked, adjusting her grip around Roderick. Cullen just stared at her with pity, and grief, and shame. Realization sank cold over Avexis.

“No—no—“ she cried. She struggled for her tenuous control, biting hard on her tongue to keep her mind her own. But the Fade around them bent beneath her anguish—her anger—and she knew that she would not be able to hold on. Blood-spattered gauntlets caught her by the shoulders.

“She didn’t want to—but it was the only way,” Cullen said grimly, and Avexis appreciated the attempt at soothing, even as it failed to work. “I’m sorry.”

There was a whistling in the air, growing louder, and then a giant boulder struck the mountainside below them. The Frostbacks rumbled and belched forth an avalanche; snow and ice and rocks thundered down to bury Haven.

To bury Cadash.

“No!” Avexis cried again. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was undoubtedly jarring Roderick’s injury with her sobs, but she couldn’t help it. “She can’t—“

“Maker,” Cullen murmured. “Seat her by Your side in death.”

She wouldn’t want that, Avexis thought, bitter through her sorrow. Cadash would have wanted to be returned to the Stone. But the Chantry didn’t care about that. The Inquisition didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about her.

They never had.

“We need to move!” The commander was saying, striding forward decisively. “Clear these rocks, cut back that brush! We can’t stay here.”

“I’m sorry, child.” Roderick coughed, ragged and wet from the blood in his lungs. “She was…well. Her heart was true, and whoever sent her to us knew exactly what we needed.”

Avexis ground her teeth together. It had been Cadash’s last wish for her to keep Roderick alive long enough to save everyone else. That meant she absolutely could not stab him for his asinine comforts.

She stared down at the snow-covered village. What if she had survived? Cadash had stupid luck—if anyone could live through an avalanche, it was her. But she would be injured, surely, and alone. Alone, she would die as surely as if she’d been buried like Haven.

Avexis closed her eyes.

When they weren’t in the Fade, she couldn’t talk to Cole directly. She felt his presence in her soul, or around her heart, particularly when stress and emotion overtook her mind. But she knew that he could hear her, in a way, or at least understand her intention.

You could go to her, help her.

Hesitation, but no denial. And Avexis knew what gave him pause.

You would have to go as you. You would have to leave me.

Affirmation seeped through her. Avexis took a long, slow breath.

The cure for Tranquility was still shrouded in mystery; they knew so little about the specifics of Pharamond’s ritual, or how to apply it safely. But what they did know was that the spirit wasn’t meant to stay with the mage once Tranquility was reversed. In theory, they would touch the mage’s mind, and with the spirit healer’s help, their connection to the Fade would be restored, and the spirit returned to their realm.

Whatever Cole had done, whatever Regalyan had done, it had been off the cuff. Not wrong, really, but not quite right, either. And it meant that Cole had to stay with her for it to stick.

Avexis swallowed. There was no choice, really. Cadash had been prepared to give her life to make sure they survived. She deserved at least one person who was willing to do the same.

Go to her.

The warm comfort that was Cole fretted within her, but Avexis doubled down, thinking her stern determination at him.

Go. To. Her. Find her, and save her. We’re already safe—she needs you now more than I do. So go.

He knew she was right, but his apology was sorrow that lingered in her chest as he slipped through whatever avenue of the Fade only spirits could navigate.

And then it was gone.

She blinked, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, lest they give her a chill and set sickness in her bones. It would be impractical to fall ill when they all needed their strength to survive the mountains. The scouts had cleared the path as Roderick indicated, and Avexis straightened, adjusting her grip on his side for more security.

“Let us go, Chancellor,” she said flatly, voice utterly devoid of the agony from only a moment ago. His brow furrowed, confused. “We must see these people to safety.”

[marchingwithnoshoes]

Was struck by a thought while dragging myself through work today, and hey, just as an explicit heads up, content warning for discussion of underage relationships, sex, and unhealthy dynamics. Tangentially related to the actual Inkblade ship, but also exploring the really rough party dynamics that now i breathe flames each time i talk  by massivdisaster inspired in my brain. Just that horribly toxic environment spurring Ivy and Oisin into something...horrid, not even stress relief but just something bad for everyone involved. In a world where Oisin does actually nurse an attraction to Adaine, does Ivy use that against him? Does she try to twist her accent a bit to match Adaine's to get under his scales when they're alone? Sneering at him for being actually attracted to someone they know they'll need to tear down at some point? Hell, who WOULD love a monster, a loser, like him even after he tried to get fit? Who would see their relationship as anything other than monster and victim? In turn, how does someone in the throes of fiery rage react to either end of that? Oisin digging his teeth into her neck, each one coming out of any 'encounter' bruised and in an utterly-foul mood? Does he play the monster Ivy sees him as? Despite her prodding, does he give in and imagine it's the fiery Oracle that's caught his eye beneath him? Because anything is better than whatever they are, surely? Or they can just be platonic (and villainous) besties, I do love a good villain combo.

[the-unlucky-trevor]

Got bored at the airport and drew this

IT'S FOR WORLDBUILDING I SWEAR. THIS IS THE WOLF TRAPPER FLAG

Here's the alphabet for those who want to translate the Elf N@zis

[greaterstolenlandspolycule]

COOL COOL COOL COOL COOL. Great Jaethal. We're going to have to put some of our adventuring money toward a fund for your daughter's therapy.

Jaethal literally I can excuse being a serial killer, but I draw the line at fantasy racism.

[tadbitfooled]

I have briefly touched on Durante having an aversion to commitment, and I feel like I've gotten it sorted out in my head to type it out.

About 6 or 7 years ago, Durante was going to be married to a half-orc woman. They had everything ready, a party with some tiefling and orcish traditions, a good bit of fun.

But they lived in an area that they were both a minority group and looked down on due to their heritages. So on the day of the wedding, during the party, there was a raid on it. Most of the party was killed, including Durante's new wife. Durante managed to survive and fled, wounded and without anyone by his side.

During this time, he met the archfey Iggwilv, who offered to give him power to get justice for the death of his loved ones, if only he agreed to help her, as she needed someone who was of his heritage (being the grandson of an archdemon, he was not aware of that). He agreed, bound to the archfey and her bidding for eternity, in order to get revenge against the people who murdered from bigotry.

[queenaeducan]

❄️ :D

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

from the chapter i just finished last night! mostly unedited

The Chargers are, as Dorian put it, a motley crew: qunari, dwarf, elf, human, carving out a living with their blades and bows. Not unlike the company he finds himself in; although, he doubts they will find any noble’s sons or First Enchanters in their midst, the Chargers do count a Dalish elf among their numbers. Solas finds her eyes upon him, as he often does in the presence of elves surrounded by non-elven company, each party asking the other: why are you here? without speaking. “Ena’laia,” he speaks first, head bowing in greeting. “I did not expect to see one of the Dalish among the evening’s company. My name is Solas.” “You’d think there would be more Dalish mercenaries, wouldn’t you?” the elf muses in lilting tones, her voice high and tuned to mischief. “I’ve been told we make sport of killing humans. The least we could do is make some coin off it.” She laughs well enough at her own joke, well enough she likely misses the weak smile she receives in return. The woman in her shadow, another elf, barefaced and voice thick with an Orlesian accent, remarks, “That is why I joined.” Without so much as a smile. “Ah, that’s right, it was you, wasn’t it?”