#fuck up the story and miss shit

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[obrienpolycule]

.

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[starswallowingsea]

sorry but if you're writing a "retelling" of a fairy tale and decide to change like. several fundamental characters to make it hot incest erotica i think you need to reevaluate why you are doing a retelling and not just writing something original other than trying to capitalize on people knowing who cinderella is. some questions to consider: what is the original plot of cinderella, or at least what is the plot of the disney movie version of her story? what is the importance of her having ugly step sisters rather than your retelling's "four hot step brothers"? where is the prince in your retelling, or did you leave that plot out entirely because you just wanted to write incest erotica?

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[syrupbitee]

their dinamic is messy but caring but idfa about you all at same time it makes me want to explode i want to see more of them siu pls

[hauntingblue]

Oh now the villagers know..... and arlong burned the town to punish her..... for some reason

[gobullworth]

i haven’t thought about life is strange in years but i wanna draw something because it defined my life about 4-5 years ago. i love remembering things

[rambles-on-dragon-age]

Varric doesn't give you the nickname Rook, your whole faction calls you Rook. It makes no sense to give you a faction specific last name and then your faction doesn't even use it, but yeah.

Hi hi!

This will be a bit of a ramble, sorry.

Varric, as a character, gives nicknames to those he's around for any length of time. (Solas is Chuckles, Merrill is Daisy, Vivi is Iron Lady, etc. Very few people in close contact with him will escape earning a moniker. I can go on about how I think it's one of his ways of telling people he sees them, but I digress.) The player character has been traveling with him for a year/the better part of a year. Varric would have definitely given them a nickname in that time. (Honestly it shocks me Harding doesn't have one by now but maybe he tried and she shut that down like Aveline once did lol) When you're putting out your things in the Lighthouse one of them is his shaving mirror and you have a moment of reflection about what he said when he hands it to you. There's also the whole time where he's giving you advice and guides you (IYKYK) and it's clear he means a lot to a Rook and they're close.

That is to say, no matter what faction you were with, you left in disgrace. You broke some code the higher ups held dear, messed up well laid plan, ignored orders to save people, etc. You didn't "fit the bill" for your faction and were summarily "adopted" by Varric to help in his hunt for Solas. Those things that made you a bad fit for your original faction? Made you perfect for what he's doing. A good person that doesn't let the potential costs stop them; they see what needs to happen to help people and will run head first into it and manage to figure a way through the most fucked up situations possible.

When you first meet Neve, you're introduced as Rook. "Like the chess piece?" Yes! One of the most powerful pieces on the board, "but tends to think in straight lines". Which becomes evident in all our shenanigans as Rook through the game. Rook's ability to claw their way through the worst situations and be flexible and creative means that Solas wouldn't be able to predict them or what they'll do. Which turns out to be right; he doesn't expect you to drop a statue on him in the middle of a massive ritual. Rook saw only "this ritual needs to stop NOW" and found a way, no matter the consequences.

I didn't hear that dialogue my first game, though, because I did my first run as a Shadow Dragon. Neve doesn't comment on the naming convention because instead Varric says you both do work with the Shadow Dragons and she just skims past the naming convention to say "Oh, what a coincidence." You are still introduced as Rook at first; it's not until later when you're in the Lighthouse where you can have the conversation that you've heard of each other even though you've never worked together.

Because even if I've worked in the group beside you under the same boss for 20 years, if you're introduced to me as "Rook" instead of "_____ Mercar" I'm not going to know who you are. It's not until later, probably while you're unconscious and she has a chance to speak to Harding, that she says she knows who you are. (Based on what Bellara says when you find her in the forest, you've been out cold for two or three days. Can you imagine what our detective figured out in two or three days?)

All that to say, if "Rook" was given to you by the Shadow Dragons, Neve would have said "Oh! I heard of a Rook." instead of just "Oh! What a coincidence we're both Shadow Dragons." She doesn't comment on who you are and what you've done until later when you have a chance to talk to her in the Lighthouse.

And throughout the game, you continue to be introduced as Rook. Even if you started as another faction, if you're written a letter about "Rook" and not your real name, why would anyone know who Rook is until they meet and go "Oh this lil shit right here. I know this asshole."

[okitanoniisan]

new rgg fans will never know what they missed back in ye olden days of the fandom (like, 2019), doubly so now that scott strichart's deleted his twitter and jon riesenbach's privated. twitter was so fucking fun and then whatever-the-hell at sega of america happened and caused a fucking snowball effect and now we have shitass localization and resulting discourse that makes every release nigh unbearable, misinformation, confusion, people complaining about "bad writing/mischaracterization" not realizing it's because of the shitass english loc, i'm sitting here like jesus christ these loc bitches massacred saejima's character voice, people will never see him as he was intended, as original yakuza 5 localization Correctly painted him, and now they're coming for kiryu. god help us. we used to be a proper fandom. before everyone was subjected to the remastered localizations and shaky eng characterization. no one had even played yakuza 3-5, people still called morning glory "sunshine" orphanage, kiryu was our only protagonist and people still called him "boring", it was beautiful...

anyway gaiden uses affective instead of effective because the current localization team is full of careless dumbasses who don't give a fuck about ensuring they're using correct english grammar and this is not an isolated incident

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[revasserium]

the unofficial ultimate bungo stray dogs reading list

this is mainly for myself bc i rly do want to read most if not all of these and i'm sure it's already been done by someone somewhere. but, i thought why not post it lmao; most if not all of these can be found on anna's archive, z-library, or project gutenberg! (also, consider buying from your local bookstore!) for those that are a bit harder to find, i've included links, though some are from j-stor and would require login to access.

detective agency:

osamu dazai:

no longer human (novel)

the setting sun (novel)

nakajima atsushi:

the moon over the mountain: stories (short story collection)

light, wind and dreams (short story)

fukuzawa yukichi:

an encouragement of learning (17 volume collections of writings)

all the countries of the world, for children written in verse (textbook)

yosano akiko:

kimi shinitamou koto nakare (poem)

midaregami (poetry collection)

edogawa ranpo:

the boy detectives club (book series)

japanese tales of mystery and imagination (short story collection)

the early cases of akechi kogoro (novel)

kunikida doppo:

river mist and other stories (short story collection)

izumi kyouka:

demon lake (play)

spirits of another sort: the plays of izumi kyoka (play collection)

tanizaki junichirou:

the makioka sisters (novel)

the red roof and other stories (short story collection)

miyazawa kenji:

ame ni mo makezu; be not defeated by the rain (poem)

night on the galactic railroad (novel)

strong in the rain (poetry collection)

port mafia:

mori ougai:

vita sexualis (novel)

the dancing girl (novel)

nakahara chuuya:

poems of nakahara chuya (poetry collection)

akutagawa ryuunosuke:

rashoumon (short story)

the spider's thread (short story)

rashoumon and other stories (short story collection)

ozaki kyouyou:

the gold demon (novel)

higuchi ichiyou:

in the shade of spring leaves (biography and short stories)

hirotsu ryuurou:

falling camellia (novel)

tachihara michizou:

in mourning for the summer (poem)

midwinter momento (poem)

from the country of eight islands: an anthology of japanese poetry (poetry collection)

kajii motojirou:

lemon (short story)

yumeno kyuusaku:

dogra magra (novel)

oda sakunosuke:

flawless/immaculate (short story)

sakaguchi ango:

darakuron (essay)

the guild:

f. scott fitzgerald:

the great gatsby (novel)

the beautiful and the damned (novel)

edgar allen poe:

the raven (poem)

the black cat (short story)

the murders in the rue morgue (short story)

herman melville:

moby dick (novel)

h.p. lovecraft:

the call of cthulhu (short story)

the shadow out of time (novella)

john steinbeck:

the grapes of wrath (novel)

of mice and men (novel)

lucy maud montgomery:

anne of green gables (novel)

the blue castle (novel)

chronicles of avonlea (short story collection)

louisa may alcott:

little women (novel)

the brownie and the princess (short story collection)

margaret mitchell:

gone with the wind (novel)

mark twain:

the adventures of tom sawyer (novel)

adventures of huckleberry finn (novel)

nathaniel hawthorn:

the scarlet letter (novel)

rats in the house of the dead:

fyodor dostoevsky:

crime and punishment (novel)

the brothers karamozov (novel)

notes from the underground (short story collection)

alexander pushkin:

eugene onegin (novel)

a feast in time of plague (play)

ivan goncharov:

the precipice (novel)

oguri mushitarou:

the perfect crime (novel)

decay of the angel:

fukuchi ouchi:

the mirror lion, a spring diversion (kabuki play)

bram stoker:

dracula (novel)

dracula's guest and other weird stories (short story collection)

nikolai gogol:

the overcoat (short story)

dead souls (novel)

hunting dogs: (i must caveat here that the hunting dogs are named after much more comparatively obscure jpn writers/playwrights so i was unable to find a lot of the specific pieces actually mentioned; but i still wanted to include them on the list because well -- it wouldn't be a bsd list without them)

okura teruko:

gasp of the soul (short story; i wasn't able to find an english translation)

devil woman (short story)

jouno saigiku:

priceless tears (kabuki play; no translation but at least we have a summary)

suehiro tetchou:

setchuubai/a political novel: plum blossoms in snow (novel)

division for unusual powers:

taneda santouka:

the santoka: versions by scott watson (poetry collection)

tsujimura mizuki:

lonely castle in the mirror (novel)

yesterday's shadow tag (short story collection; i was unable to find a translation)

order of the clock tower:

agatha christie:

and then there were none (novel)

murder on the orient express (novel)

she is the best selling fiction writer of all time there's too much to list here

mimic:

andre gide:

strait is the gate (novel)

trascendents:

arthur rimbaud:

illuminations (poetry collection)

the drunken boat (poem)

a season in hell (prose poem)

johann von goethe:

faust

the sorrows of young werther

paul verlaine:

clair de lune (poem, yes it did inspire the debussy piece, yes)

poems under saturn (poetry collection)

victor hugo:

the hunchback of notre-dame (novel)

les miserables (novel)

william shakespeare:

romeo and juliet (play)

a midsummer nights' dream (play)

sonnets (poetry collection)

the seven traitors:

jules verne:

around the world in 80 days (novel)

journey to the center of the earth (novel)

twenty thousand leagues under the seas (novel)

other:

natsume souseki:

i am a cat (novel)

kokoro (novel)

botchan (novel)

h.g. wells:

the time machine (novella)

the invisible man (novel)

the war of the worlds (novel)

shibusawa tatsuhiko:

the travels of prince takaoka (novel; unable to find translation)

dr. mary wollstonecraft godwin shelley

frankenstein (novel)

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Over the Edge (Pre-war)

(A/N: WIP title. It's not really abuse, but wanna say that there's a very very brief moment of rough-handling of a kid. No hitting, only a brief shake to a kid the size of, let's say a 7-8 year old human. Also, we get to see Islanzadí for the first time in pre-war, with this taking place probably a month or two before The Promise and Arya's oath with Brom. She's struggling with the turmoil after the Fall, the loss of Evandar and not really having the time to mourn him due to the sudden rush of responsibility and new duties {that sounds like a theme for this bloodline huh} and she is barely keeping her head above water. Because of that, she tries to tell herself that it's okay to focus solely on her duties as queen, because, through trickle down and big picture, her doing well as queen keeps Arya safe from Galbatorix and the Forsworn. That's what she tells herself. If she believes it is up to you as the reader at this point.)

~~~~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: OVER THE EDGE

Out of nowhere the door to the queen’s study slammed open with a horrendous bang. Däthedr, Fiolr and Islanzadí all jumped as one.

“What is the meaning of this int–” Islanzadí’s thunderous voice was immediately silenced by the equally stormy eyes that snapped to her. Despite his frail nature, Oromis’ presence filled the doorway, looming over them like a threatening anvil cloud. 

“Leave us.” The Rider’s voice held unmistakable steel. The two elf lords flicked their gazes to the queen, unsure of who was in control. Slighting one would be dangerous, though which was more threatening at the time was yet to be decided. “Leave!”

A great rumble shook the roots arrayed beneath their feet and a massive golden eye suddenly glinted outside the window overlooking the courtyard.

Däthedr and Fiolr were out of their seats and bowed just low enough to show apologetic respect before they fled, kicking up moss in their haste.

Silence but for the soft whooshing of Glaedr’s great lungs outside the walls filled the room. 

Islanzadí slowly settled back into her chair. “Can I help you, Oromis-elda?” The brittleness that accompanied her clenched teeth and the hard line of her shoulders was not masked in the slightest. Islanzadí was livid at the intrusion and far beyond angry at the subversion of her authority, in front of her advisor no less! 

“Do you have any,” Oromis paused to collect himself. His own rage was very close to boiling over. “Any inkling of just where your daughter is?” 

The queen blinked. Arya? When was the last time she had seen her? Surely not that long ago. Breakfast, probably, scampering out the door. Or did she see her in the Menoa tree while on a walk? No, that was yesterday, she had a meeting with the Council after that, so it had to be yesterday. 

A heavy stone of guilt dropped into Islanzadí’s stomach. Could she really not tell him when she last saw her own child? The days had been going by in a whirlwind, filled with meetings pushing for more resources for the border, more spellcasters to maintain the barriers, power struggles in Ceris–

Islanzadí had no earthly idea where her own daughter was.

“I…” 

Oromis reached behind him and marched into the room. “Spare me the attempt, Islanzadí.” 

A small yelp of indignation followed him, or rather, was dragged alongside him. Arya let out a half feral yowl at the Dragon Rider pulling her by one gangly arm, silverskin glowing a muted flush of pink anger at her cheeks at the unintentional roughness. 

The elfling’s hair was wild, though that was nothing new. Her braid was half undone, the tie at the base loosened. Knees scuffed, elbows bruised, knuckles scraped, pine needles stuck to her clothing with sap. Yes, that was her Arya, scowling up at her from where Oromis had planted the child in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Tell your mother.”

Arya’s scowl deepened. Stars. She looked so much like Evandar during combat when she did that. Her brows met with the same lightning pattern, jet streaks of midnight above endless emerald green. “Nothing happened.”

Another growl rattled the window hard enough to send it gliding inwards on hidden hinges. Glaedr snapped his massive jaws, a sharp crack loud enough to make the gathered elves flinch. Outside, a trio of pines juddered from the impact of his tail before he subdued the lashing.

‘Hatchling!’ His voice was thunderous in their minds. At the dragon’s mental touch Islanzadí felt the sensation of wind pushing against her body, a momentary inkling of confusion, then a fear of failure, fear of the outcome, and then…relief. And rage. ‘We have warned you!’

Against all odds, Arya snapped her own teeth, a defiant snarl rattling her thin chest. “I’m not scared of you, Glaedr!” 

The golden dragon audibly balked. That stung more than he cared to admit. Especially coming from one so small.

“What is this about?” Islanzadí snapped. That surge of fear felt through Glaedr’s memories twisted her stomach into knots. Besides the usual scrapes, though, Arya seemed unharmed. “I have work to do. You interrupted a meeting that was planned weeks in advance!”

Outside, Glaedr shifted. 

Arya bared her teeth. With a hollow mental wave of her hand to put it aside for later thought, Islanzadí noticed the girl’s canines had fallen out. When had that happened? Not too recently, it seemed. The tips of wickedly sharp ancestral teeth were already poking through, giving the child an almost comical appearance with both top canines barely coming in while the lower set were nearly level with her incisors. 

Oromis’ eyes flashed at Islanzadí’s words. His grip on Arya’s shoulders tightened. “We found your daughter after she leapt off the Crags, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí’s heart dropped, the wind knocked from her lungs. “What?” 

‘We were flying and caught the hatchling after she jumped off the Crags of Tel’naeír.’ 

Arya…jumped from the cliffs? 

Islanzadí was around the desk in an instant and seized her only child by the arms. “What were you thinking?” There was only panic thudding in her chest, the image of a small body crumpled in the beds of pine needles flashing to her mind. “Have you gone mad?! Answer me!” 

“Islanzadí!” Oromis’ bark was sharp and swift. It was only when Arya stifled a squeak did Islanzadí realize she was shaking her. 

The queen released the elfling as if stung, hands hovering an inch away from the pink blotches blooming on silvered skin. “Arya…?” 

Arya lifted her gaze from where she had dropped it to the ground. 

Was…was that fire in her eyes?

Defiant but calm. Determined. The lanky child squared her shoulders as best she could under Oromis’ grip and met her mother’s conflicted storm of golden lightning and locked them eye to eye.

Arya’s voice was soft, deadpan. “I wanted to fly.” 

Fly. Said as if it were entirely normal for elf children to take to the skies after a quick breakfast. Islanzadí stared at her child, unsure if this was some sort of elaborate ruse to hide a darker motive, some childish cry for help, or if her daughter genuinely had planned to leap off a thousand foot cliff and sprout wings.

The queen closed her mouth, suddenly aware that her jaw was hanging open a good half inch in dumbfounded bewilderment. 

“...Fly?” 

Arya nodded. Never broke eye contact. Never changed her expression. “I wanted to test the spells I made. The Crags are the highest and clearest launch point.”

A dull headache began to throb behind Islanzadí’s forehead.

Why? Why did it always have to be her child. Couldn’t she find something normal to do? Couldn’t she see that Islanzadí was struggling to keep the entire elven nation together just over a handful of years after the Fall? Arya was known to be remarkably observant but how could she not understand, after her father–

The fear for her safety was quickly turning to white hot anger at the center of Islanzadí’s chest. Of all the foolish things….

The queen inhaled and held her breath for a long moment before letting it out in a tight huff. “Arya. You are far too old to be pretending you can fly, and far too young to be meddling with experimental magic!” Arya opened her mouth but Islanzadí cut her off. “No. Enough of this. You know how important the meetings today are.” Islanzadí rose from her kneeling position and knocked the knees of her dress free of dirt. “You and I will discuss this at length in the evening. Now go to your quarters.”

Again, Arya tried to speak. She even took half a step forward, something flashing and flaring bright in her emerald eyes. “I–”

“Enough!” Unmistakable. The voice she used in court. Commanding. The voice of a queen. “To your quarters!” Islanzadí threw an arm in the direction of the door, pointing sharply. “Now!” 

The elfling’s mouth snapped shut, jaw clenched.

Islanzadí couldn’t tell if it was horror, pain, or anger that surged to her throat when her daughter straightened into a smart attention, knocked her knuckles to a disheveled shoulder as she had seen countless times before, and bowed. 

“As you wish, my queen.”

Hollow, detached. Quietly and barely masking the seething underneath it all.

Arya was at the door when Oromis called out. “Arya.” She turned to him, never once looking back to her mother. “Lessons early tomorrow. Bring your books and your training blade.”

“Yes, ebrithil.” The murmur held more respect than anything she had said to Islanzadí. “I will be there.”

Once the door was closed, Islanzadí took a moment to rub her temples and just breathe. She could still feel Oromis staring at her, anger not yet gone, thunder still in his eyes. 

“What?” She didn’t mean to snap. She bit her tongue. The Dragon Rider merely shook his head. “Speak, Oromis! I do not have time for games! I have two more meetings, not counting the one you interrupted, and I have a stack of reports on attempted border incursions by Wyrdfell waiting for me.”

“You don’t have time?” The words stung hard against Islanzadí’s ears with flabbergasted accusations. Oromis must indeed be outraged if he was acting this emotional with her. “You do not have time for your own daughter?” 

The queen whirled back to her desk and stalked around it. “My daughter should know better than to jump off cliffs and think she will fly!” She shoved a stack of papers to the side roughly and sat. “She knows how important these weeks are. Arya is capable, she should be able to take care of herself.”

“That is not the matter at all, and you know this!” Oromis followed her, bracing slim hands on the back of one of the chairs. “Islanzadí, Arya is hurting! She is still trying to come to terms with Evandar’s death–”

“Get out.” 

“Islanzadí–”

“Get out! You will not lecture me on how to raise my child by invoking the name of my dead mate!”

For the first, and quite nearly the only time, Islanzadí witnessed Oromis Thrándurin in a true, uncontained rage. 

The unmistakable rumble of dragonfire swelled in the crippled Rider’s chest. Islanzadí shrank back instinctively as the elf seemed to grow before her, white teeth flashing, fingers cracking through the chair’s wood as if pierced by ivory claws. 

Oromis’ voice was harsh with crackling flame, roaring at her above the din. “Then raise your child, Islanzadí Dröttning!” His thin chest heaved, as if the effort of holding back true fire taxed him to the limit. “Arya needs her mother. Not a queen. Go to her. She is a child! She only wants to be held by her mother and told that it will all be alright while the world is falling apart!” 

The words had Islanzadí shooting to her feet yet again. “Yes! The world is falling apart! And right now, the only thing keeping us safe are magic barriers, far too few uninjured spellcasters, a handful of cities lending all the strength they can to fortify them, and spells that are millenia old and in desperate need of repair!” The queen threw an arm out, gesturing to the expanse of Du Weldenvarden mapped out on the wall of pine. “Everyone is hurting! And I am the queen of an entire race that is hurting! I do not have time to lie to my daughter that everything will be fine when we cannot know for sure! My time is spent endlessly fortifying our defenses, trying to make sure we last to the end of the month in case Galbatorix decides to send his entire collection of Wyrdfell to sweep the forest with dragonfire! Time not spent with her is time spent keeping her alive!

“Arya will just have to learn how to live with some sacrifices. I will not hold her hand when it means the possibility of losing this entire nation.” 

Oromis once again looked every year his age. 

“Are you finished?” He asked softly.

The queen lowered herself into her chair, hands shaking. “Get out. And take Glaedr with you.”

Oromis again shook his head, as if in sad disappointment. “You will lose her if you continue like this, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí did not look up from the piles of reports on her desk. 

When the door finally clicked closed behind him, the queen of the elves buried her face in her hands, and cried. 

Oromis was not halfway down the hall when the soft sound of sniffling caught his attention. A small droplet splashed on the back of his hand, warm like a spring rain in the dead of winter. 

He looked up. “Oh, little hatchling. Come down from there.” He gave a small, sad smile. “Please?”

Another quiet sniffle, the rustle of woven pine boughs, and the lanky elfling dropped from one of the skylights in the hall’s ceiling. Arya wiped her nose on the back of her arm, scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms and stifled a hiccup before squaring her shoulders as she had earlier. 

“Arya. Were you listening?”

She nodded. Blinked. 

“Oh, little hatchling. I’m so sorry you heard that.” Her eyes shone with tears when she met his gaze, throat convulsing as she swallowed another stuttered gasp of misery. Oromis opened his arms, chest aching. “None of that, now, Arya. It is okay to cry.”

Arya sniffed again. “F…fighters don’t cry.” 

“My dear girl, everyone cries.” But she was already in his arms, face pressed to his ribs and eyes squeezed shut. 

He let her sob out her frustration and pain there in the hall, tucked into his embrace and in a little sheltered bubble of silence where no one would be able to hear her tears. She pulled away when she was done, rubbing at her face, trying to hide the evidence again as the two of them retrieved her training blade and books before beginning the long walk to the Crags. She would sleep under the stars there, an unspoken agreement forged by the many times Glaedr had awoken to the elfling tucked against his paw, or curled under the roots of a tree at the edge of their cliffside dwelling. 

“I’m…” Oromis flicked his gaze to the child at his side. Arya heaved a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm fully. “I’m going to fix it.” 

“Fix what, little hatchling?” 

“The world.” Arya nodded in affirmation to herself. The Rider at her side couldn’t help the small grin that tilted his lips. Leave it to the youth to declare such things with so much confidence. “I’m going to fix the world. Then Mum won’t have to work so hard, and you and Glaedr won’t be so sad all the time.”

The matter of fact mentioning of his and Glaedr’s pain hit like a stone loosed from a sling. He pushed it back, did his best to keep the soft smile on his face. “Do you have a plan for this?” 

“Yeah.” 

Oromis nearly missed a step when he glanced down. Arya’s face had transformed from the light frown to a near frighteningly wild smile, teeth bared in fierce determination. Her eyes were alight with brilliant fire, brows lowered in challenge. 

“I’m gonna fight.”

~~~~~~~~

[toytulini]

I thought Ursula was pretty Biologist-core but in the end her arc was less Biologistcore than others. Levi was also pretty Biologistcore. maybe even Ghost Bird core?

[bg3smash-or-pass]

[sage-nebula]

I had my first therapy appointment in years today, and it was with my og therapist who I thought either ghosted me or died (turns out neither was true). It was so, so good to talk to her again and I'm looking forward to working on the stack of issues I have. But one goal I mentioned was I want to learn how to someday be content with the fact that there is something inherent about me that, while at first people might like me, inevitably people end up seeing me as annoying / hostile / aggressive / bad-tempered / awful / a monster even when I am calm emotionally and decide (within their rights) that they don't want to be around me anymore and the friendship ends. Like clearly there is something wrong with me, but I don't know how to fix it when it happens even when I feel that we're having a normal conversation, and it has happened enough times with enough people that clearly I'M the problem, so I'd just like to be able to accept and be content with being a monster instead of crying over it all the time.

She nodded and wrote it down but thinking on it now I do wonder if she really accepted "being okay with being a monster" as a goal. She also said "what I'm hearing is abandonment issues" which, okay, fair. I always thought it was RSD but she is the professional.

Anyway this is further down the road stuff. There's other stuff we have to work on first. (e.g. I couldn't protect my dog from abuse when I was an abused child myself and I have been carrying that guilt and punishing myself for it for over 20 years and I'm finally at a place where I think I need to learn how to stop self-flagellating for my perceived childhood failures. And if you're like "why only now" well that's because even as recently as two weeks ago I felt I deserved the guilt and pain, and even now it's like 75 / 25, but we move.)

Anyway! I am going to try really hard and work on things with her. I want to feel better, I want to heal, and most importantly, I want to stop crying all the time because crying fucking sucks. Literally one of the worst bodily functions. Why can't I just turn on my eyes like faucets, let the tears pour out, and then turn the eyes off when empty? Why do I have to deal with all the congestion and snot and swollen face and headache? Once again the human body is an inefficient mess. Smh.

anyway. therapy good. post over.