#if any small folk can have a dragon than he really isn’t above any of them

[witchlingcirce]

Okay I’m sorry but I feel like people are missing the point of Jace’s speech!!! The whole point of this conversation is about his insecurities and how he views his bastardy.

Do I think he should be insulting the small folk? No. But I don’t think you guys understand- people viewing Jace and his siblings as bastards and unworthy of the throne is quite literally now where introduced to Joffrey and him.

The topic of being a bastard is so prominent to his character! Throughout the first season Jace is constantly reminded that he’s a bastard and how ‘strong’ he is. Him being a bastard has caused problems in the past as well.

—> During the fight with Aemond, he’s reminded of Harwin being dead and also Aemond calling Jace a bastard (fight inevitable led to Luke cutting out Aemonds eye —> Aemond killing Luke).

—> During the aftermath of this fight, the topic of Luke and Jace being bastard is really prominent and it’s being thrown around the room for everyone to see and hear. I can’t imagine how embarrassing it must be for your cousins to be like “just look at them, everyone already knows”.

—> having to watch his brother fight for his legitimacy in front of the entire court room. Seeing a man call your mother a whore, and than watching that same man be beheaded (and he’s legally ur uncle too lol).

—> Him asking Rhaenyra with so much contempt if he was a bastard.

There is more examples of his, Luke and Joffs parentage being consistently mentioned throughout the show but those are some examples.

So, here is Jace who has quite literally watched his, his family and especially his mothers claim be put in question and almost taken away because of his existence- and than here he is seeing other Targaryen bastards being able to claim a dragon.

He even says it during the argument, that him having a dragon makes his claim legitimate. But seeing all these other people claim a dragon, well what does it mean?? This is backed up in season one when Alicent mentions to Viserys (or maybe Cole? My memories a bit foggy) that she’s surprised his dragon even hatched. Why?? Because he’s a bastard

I don’t think argument comes from hatred towards the small folk (although he used some colourful language…), I think it comes from so much built up resentment all coming out. I mean, what claim does he even have??? Wouldn’t everyone else also have a claim???

For so long he’s been so insecure about himself, about his future and about how others view him. This is really just him releasing his pent up anger towards a situation that’s never been able to leave him alone.

To those who have read Fire & Blood, than you understand that these words will quite literally come back to haunt the actions of the end of the dance.

Anyways that’s just my pov on this fight- Jace you will always be loved by me.

[suspiciouscatastrophe]

The Forgotten Folk: All Things Gnome (3)

A few Dungeons and Dragons species inspire so much interest in me as gnomes. They’re small, secretive, seen as universally annoying – relatable, really. I’ve been daydreaming about the gnomekind for some time now and I want to write down my views on it in details!

This series of loredump + headcanon posts will both incorporate and discard lore bits taken from all editions of DnD. When the Forgotten Realms Wiki can do it, so can I. (Forgotten Realms Wiki, unironically my beloved) Speaking of Forgotten Realms, that is the setting I have most in mind while writing this but I’m sure you can modify it for usage with any gnomes in your mind!

In this post I will only cover surface gnomes in traditional communities. No svirfneblin (yet!), no Feydark gnomes (yet!), no Lantan (although most of this will probably apply to them, too).

For additional flavor, I’ve decided to try to write this series in character. I have a gnome wizard OC named Glim Waywocket, who grew up in a traditional gnome commune. At the time he’s writing this, he’s a young apprentice at the Blackstaff Academy in Waterdeep.

Part 3: Gnomes and other species

Author’s note: After my paper on the gnomish cultural stance on authority, I was made aware of a number of questions about more gnome-related issues from the public. They told me to publish my answers, to which I replied, “No, thank you. I’m not trying to become the new Volo.” But they begged! “Glim, if an overburdened stressed-out student doesn’t grace the common folk with the gnome knowledge, who will?”

You know what? They had a point.

Gnomes and their neighbors

Question 1: What is the general relationship between gnomes and other humanoid cultures? Are there any common prejudices against others?

First of all, let me object to the word “humanoid”. Didn’t you mean “elfoid”? After all, they were here first. But! To actually answer your question, the general gnomish philosophy is to assume the worst but to treat potential adversity with kindness, so anyone whom we don’t hide from tends to be treated as a friend.

Forest gnomes share spaces with elven communities and often engage in trade and socialization since their lifestyles intersect. Rock gnomes share spaces with dwarves, and even though some would think that there would be a rivalry going on, there usually isn’t. According to some theories, dwarves are also genetically closest to gnomes, so as you can imagine, there’s a lot of “cousin” jokes going on there. All Forgotten Folk share some spaces with halflings, as our traditional lifestyles have similarities, and we tend to be routinely mistaken for one another. There are no reasons for conflicts to arise there.

We obviously share spaces with humans, like everybody else. It’s hard to comment on the relations since there’s nothing like “mainstream human culture” comparable to peoples of much sparser population and geographical spread. But! Most human cultures I know of treat their gnomish neighbors fine (if they even know about them). That is, in fact, the origin of “garden gnomes”, the must-have decoration of every noble house with the excess lawn and the deficit of taste! Those clay figures of gnomes were first made in human villages that had beneficial relationships with a nearby burrow, signaling both their gratitude for our help and their willingness to cooperate more. The little clay statues were so the cautious gnomes could tell a safe settlement from a potentially hostile one. Now, in front of mansions, their function seems to be the exact opposite.

With regards to races your average gnomish commune has even less chance of contact than above mentioned, nor people of orcish nor goblinoid origin are treated any different from humans. If there are no signs of hostility, trade may be established, and same goes for planetouched folk. We don’t share the elven and dwarven feud with our Underdark-dwelling brethren either. Communes of surface gnomes are often on very friendly terms with svirfneblin villages.

As for preconceptions and prejudices among gnomes against our closest neighbors… There’s one a tad bit rude saying that goes, “Make an elf laugh and come back.” I think it speaks for itself. Some gnomes associate (and joke about) dwarves with a short temper and with getting too worked up for little. There are quips passed down about the saccharine outlook of the Hin, but let’s be honest, that’s just the kettle calling the pot black.

You may be disappointed if you expected some in-depth or revolting examples of inter-species tension. The Forgotten Folk tends to patronize others with obnoxious jokes at worst since both the sparsity of contact that we have and the cultural value of open-mindedness don’t let more malicious sentiments fester. That’s not to say that those “silly” prejudices can’t be harmful, just that you will hardly find yourself facing violence or discrimination on the racial basis from gnomish hands.

Except for if you have a “garden gnome” in front of your fancy house. Then I will discriminate against you personally.

And lastly, I can’t really answer this question without touching on the tarrasque in the room. Kobolds. The relationship between our peoples has been problematique ever since both our respective creation myths. There are gnomish groups who answer with violence they call “defensive” to kobold presence in their spaces (while most gnomes simply run at the sight of a kobold scale), and to my knowledge, gnomes are met with “kill on sight” treatment in most kobold tribes. So, there you have the capital P Prejudice: “They’re murderers.” This issue is very sensitive and would take a much more eloquent scholar than yours truly to handle with the care it deserves. Suffice to say that it’s our duty as the new generation to build bridges and end the violence.

Question 2: How does the gnome culture view interracial relationships and marriages?

Inter-species relationships are not a subject of contention to gnomes in theory. There is no judgement or discouragement, at least not from the standpoint of viewing such unions as something wrong. In practice, however, expressing attraction to a non-gnome could net you concerned looks and comments from your gnomish kin, especially in communities that aren’t isolationist.

That’s because of a pervasive fear that such affection may never be reciprocated simply on the basis of you being a gnome. Our traits hardly meet most beauty standards, after all. In popular stories, gnomish characters are rarely portrayed as romantic/sexual prospects and if they are, it’s often the punchline of a joke. When this manifestation of stupidity meets gnomish caution, it becomes a warning sign.

In traditional communes, however, these fears tend not to even exist. The most popular approach is, “Bring home whoever, as long as they treat you gently.” I personally haven’t experienced that with my own eyes, and neither have nor will most gnomes, since interracial partnerships with gnomes involved are that rare. Thanks, isolationism politics.

Question 3: Are half-gnomes possible?

Yes! Sincerely, thank you, anonymous seeker, for asking. There’s the popular myth that gnomes can’t produce offspring with other anatomically similar species. It’s going around in both multicultural and gnomish settlements, spreading as a part of the common knowledge.

It has become so popular that even scholars claiming to be knowledgeable on the topic of lust and sexuality perpetuate it. Don’t trust everything you read in the Book of Erotic Fantasy. You shouldn’t even be reading it in the first place! What are you, a degenerate? Anyway, I found the gnome chapter quite satisfactory otherwise, except for a few additional minor misinformation.

Nevertheless, the correct scientific answer is yes, similarly to many other fey-blooded creatures, gnomes can interbreed with humans, elves, and orcs, and thanks to our genetic similarities with dwarves, too.

Now, are hybrids common? That’s a completely different question. They’re obviously not, but why?

1) In case I wasn’t clear enough in the paragraphs above (or you skipped right to the interbreeding section for personal reasons), unions that could theoretically produce them aren’t that common to begin with, both because of cultural nuances and the low frequency of contact.

2) The Forgotten Folk are long-lived people and as such, our birth-rates are low in general. Not only do we tend not to want a dozen children each, but our natural fertility levels are also closer to elven than human or orcish. The odds of a conception with a gnome parent involved are low, but they are there.

3) Some interspecies pregnancies unfortunately have a high risk of complications that could be fatal both to the fetus and the parent carrying it. Those are the cases of unions where the birthing parent is the gnomish half of the pair. Unfortunately, due to the low number of interspecies pairings with gnomes involved in general, this issue has not been studied and the means of preventing this danger are not known yet. This knowledge often steers interspecies families in the direction of adopting instead.

Their low numbers aside, another factor in the extremely low visibility of half-gnomes is that they’re simply not easily distinguishable. A normal person who doesn’t go around asking strangers about their heritage will hardly know the difference between a half-gnome half-elf and a short elf, a half-gnome half-dwarf and a slightly malnourished dwarf, a half-gnome half-human and a, well, human. If you live in a very cosmopolitan area, you’ve likely at least seen a half-gnome before, you just didn’t know.

As for the traits of half-gnomes, it’s difficult to sum it up inclusively. Their size tends to be in between of the parent species, their lifespan generally ¾ of a full gnome’s (with the exception of elven half-gnomes, obviously), the resistance to being manipulated with magic and darkvision is passed down in most cases, but these broad generalizations are about all I can say.

Anyway, if there’s anything I want you to take from this, if you are a gnome or have a gnomish partner, for the love of Garl Glittergold, be safe and use protection.

The next 3 questions shall be answered in the next publication, since I’m running out of paper and patience.

Disclaimer: The Blackstaff Academy of Waterdeep doesn’t take any responsibility for Mr. Waywocket’s words, nor does it co-sign them. He’s just some guy.

[fic-request-blog]

Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To

This is a request by an anon here on Tumblr for a “Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To.” It really is what’s on the lid. Oh, and they fall in love while we’re at it.

Fluff, angst, humor, rated T for non-explicit violence and mentions of sexual content, ~3K.

Read it here on AO3 instead.

Five Times Hanzo's Dragons Protect McCree and One Time They Didn’t Have To

  Chapter 1

Jesse places his hand on the payload, sighing in relief, “Alright folks, we’re at the-“

Something clicks on the payload, a trigger slipping into place as Jesse checks inside. It’s empty except for a small bundle in the center. A tiny, almost translucent wire settles against the inner side of the payload and Jesse closes his eyes. Maybe he can save them from some damage on the off chance he survives this.

He knows what comes next, of course. The whole mission had been suspiciously easy. He shoulda figured.

The blast is strong enough that he’s blown clear over the wall behind him and dropped thirty some feet into the roiling sea below. From there, Jesse loses track of what’s happening. It’s a damn shame his boots and gear are so heavy, he muses, or he’d maybe be able to float up, or even swim up.

But his head is fuzzy, his ears are ringing, and it’s not like he coulda figured out which way was up anyhow. The world turns to blue around him, deep and quiet. His mind swirls around in his head as much as the water around him.

Peaceful. The blue around him is nice, and he doesn’t feel cold or any of the pain that he’s sure he should. He’d always thought he’d go down fightin’ it to the end, but this…this ain’t a bad way to go.

The blue gets brighter and brighter as he continues to slide through the water, which don’t make much sense, but he ain’t really thinking well anyhow, so maybe that’s just how death works. He watches pretty, sparkling circles drift away in the light and finally closes his eyes.

Something wraps around him, warm and comfortable, and Jesse thinks death really ain’t as bad as people make it out to be. Feels a lot like flying.

  Chapter 2

There’s another roar of laughter from the bar and Hanzo rolls his eyes, safe in the darkness of his corner booth. The cowboy has certainly recovered well, as is evident by the amount of whiskey he has managed to drink this evening. There was…uncertainty for a short time. The near drowning had been a non-issue, but the burns and injuries to his face, torso, and arms had been far more critical, though Baptiste assured them all he would make a full recovery. Being blown over the wall and into the water had apparently been a far better outcome than being blown into the wall.

Frowning, Hanzo drops his gaze to the sake in his cup. He is perturbed by his own strong reaction to witnessing McCree in peril. They have only been on perhaps four missions together; they have not known one another for long. As another boisterous laugh erupts from the bar, he cannot resist watching McCree again. He is honest enough with himself to admit that the cowboy’s easy and honest personality appeals to him, and the man’s appearance, though crude, is…well-built. Hanzo knows what he likes, and McCree would be, as the American says, a cool drink of water. It does not hurt either that McCree seems to enjoy complementing Hanzo, especially regarding Hanzo’s skill with a bow. It takes more honesty with himself than he has while sober to admit that McCree is partially getting to him through his ego, but with a bottle of sake to nurse, Hanzo can swallow that truth this evening. There are few things he likes more than someone appreciating his skills.

Yet, it is rare for him to become so instantly attached, especially at work. He is usually firm about separating his professional and private lives. It seems McCree has wormed his way into Hanzo’s good graces.

Flexing his fingers, Hanzo sighs. It is not only Hanzo who is intrigued either; the dragons had reacted both swiftly and violently at the danger to the cowboy. If they intend to react like that again, Hanzo may need to be more careful in the future.

By the time the other Overwatch agents begin to trickle out of the bar, it is late, and Hanzo decides he too should find rest. That he leaves shortly after McCree is but a coincidence, he is sure.

There is a pleasant buzz under his skin and the night air is cool as he walks back to the compound. He does not rush, but it takes only a minute or so to catch sight of a familiar hat bobbing through the streets. McCree has one arm across Baptiste’s shoulders, but the other man must be drunk as well because they both weave haphazardly through the streets.

Smile quirking at his lips, Hanzo slows to maintain distance between them. While he did not mind McCree paying for his drinks this evening in thanks for saving his life, nor any of the other words of praise McCree lavished upon him, he does not intend to deal to with two drunks. He will simply follow to make sure they reach the compound.

Later, Hanzo will blame the noise McCree and Baptiste are making for his lapse of concentration, though the sake likely did not help either. He certainly will not admit to watching McCree too closely, the way his hips sway pleasingly as he tries to walk upright down the street.

The first bullet catches McCree in the shoulder, only missing the back of his head because Baptiste had stumbled, dragging the cowboy to the left at just the right moment. Even drunk, though, the two can react swiftly, and the second bullet finds only cobblestones.

Hanzo does not know if the shooter is aware of his position nor does he wait long enough to see if McCree or Baptiste are hit by the third shot. He simply pivots, leaping against the wall to his right and ricochets off to the left, onto the roof the shooter is likely using. Tracing the trajectory of the shots is child’s play.

He has no bow, no weapon at all in fact, but that will make little difference. The silence of the night is interrupted only by a fourth shot. Hanzo’s quiet footfalls as he flits across the roof and his tattoos flaring to life make no noise at all.

He cannot see precisely where the shooter is, but the dragons can taste the gunpowder on the air. They arc across the roof, blue light blinding in the still of the night.

There is not a fifth shot.

  Chapter 3

“Thanks Angel,” Jesse smiles as he dodges into an alcove, reloading, “glad ta have your eyes on me!”

Hanzo makes an affirmative noise over the comms and falls silent. Jesse’s not sure if the man minds him callin’ him angel. Hanzo’s hard to read. He’s more stoic than a brick wall. But the guy has saved Jesse’s life twice already, so he can’t hate Jesse too much. If Jesse thinks of Hanzo as his own personal guardian angel, well, Hanzo hasn’t stopped him callin’ him that yet. An’ Hanzo’s not exactly a shy guy. Jessie is sure he woulda spoken up if it bothered him.

So, the real question is, does Hanzo like him callin’ him angel? Because if he does… Jesse certainly would like to know about that.

It takes some focus to shift his attention from thinking about Hanzo’s form when the man is pulling back that bow of his to the battle at hand. The way those tattoos wrap around Hanzo’s biceps as he knocks an arrow, almost like they’re alive, is real…distracting.

The man’s prettier than just about anyone Jesse has ever seen.

Something explodes behind their position and Hanzo’s voice crackles over the line, even more terse than usual.

“Move! All of you!”

Jesse jumps from their position, breaking cover with the rest of the team as the building behind them rumbles ominously. 

“They’ve destroyed the building’s supports!”

Cursing, Jesse breaks into a full sprint, watching as the building’s shadow continues to lengthen in front of the team, the ground shuddering beneath them. Things have gone from not great to shit real fast and Jesse’s not sure which direction will stop them all from getting squashed like bugs. There’s a lot of buildings all around them and the one they’d been sheltering behind was tall.

Probably no direction except up is safe.

And then there’s a bright blue light behind them, throwing the shadow of the building back, and Jesse is picked right up off the ground, something big rushing above him.

Gasping, Jesse wriggles, arms pinned to his sides, “What-!”

Similar noises of surprise over the comms from the rest of the team are drowned out as the building crashes into the ground, dust and the accompanying shockwave deafening and blinding Jesse to the ensuing chaos. Air continues to rush past him. He coughs but can’t hear it, can only feel the rattle of his lungs as he tries to clear the dust.

Jesse’s not sure how long they’re in the air. It coulda been seconds or minutes, he wasn’t keeping track. At some point, whatever’s got ahold of him slows down. He cracks an eye open, squinting in the sun as he continues to hack up a lung.

He’s dropped gently onto a roof, and there is, and Jesse ain’t a liar, two dragons dropping the rest of the team onto the roof as well. They are long and blue.

Jesse is freaking out a bit, trying to get a better look from where he lays on his stomach, but the coughing isn’t helping. With wide eyes, he watches Hanzo hop off the back of one of them, graceful as ever. The dragons begin to shrink, smaller and smaller, until they wrap around Hanzo’s arm, stilling as they bleed into his skin.

There ain’t a speck of dust on Hanzo as he turns towards Jesse and, as he walks over, Jesse’s not sure if it’s the dust’s fault that he can’t breathe right. The man is a sight to behold.

Lips quirking in amusement, Hanzo raises a brow, “you dropped this, cowboy,” he says, Jesse’s hat gripped lightly in in his hand.

If Jesse weren’t still winded and coughing, he’d swoon.

  Chapter 4

Whatever Hanzo and he have between them is new but so sweet and it feels like it could be goin’ somewhere real good. His thoughts are a little muddy though, swinging from their current predicament to maudlin anger. Life ain’t fair, Jesse knows that. He’s lived a life most people would consider pretty shit, but he’s never begged like this.

“Dunno what I gotta say,” he rasps, arms tightening around Hanzo’s limp form draped across his chest and down his legs, “but please, ‘m beggin ya ta get him outta here.”

It’s only been a month since they started taking dinner together, sitting in quiet spots around base and drinking long into the night. Jesse’s never considered himself a gifted conversationalist, but with Hanzo, words just come easier.

The wall behind him is cold and the alcove he’s dragged them both into is barely big enough to cover them, but with a bust leg and Hanzo’s dead weight, he isn’t going to get anywhere else. Still, the tattoos on Hanzo’s arm remain just that, tattoos.

“Please, please, I know you’re in there, please.”

With one hand, he presses against the sticky mess of Hanzo’s temple, using his chest as a better headrest than the wall, while the other hand shakily holds his poncho to the wound seeping at Hanzo’s side. This thing they’ve got going between them is still so new and the bitter reality that he’s probably not going to see where it goes is pulling pleas from his lips better than any torture he’s faced.

“Please,” he whispers, breath puffing across the crown of Hanzo’s head, disturbing the hairs escaped from the man’s usually perfect bun, “please.”

Hell, they’ve only kissed a couple times. The first had been messy with nerves and drink, but the second. Oh, the second had been slow as molasses and curled his toes right in his boots. Hanzo had backed him up against a door with a hand gripping possessively along his jaw. Just the smolder Hanzo left him with as the man sauntered away, bidding him goodnight, had made Jesse so hot under the collar a cold shower hadn’t done much.

There’s no glow from Hanzo’ arm still, no shiver of electricity in the air, and Jesse starts to lose the little bit of hope still scrabbling at the back of his mind.

“C’mon, you can’t leave him to die like this, please,” his voice just loud enough to hear over the pounding of blood in his ears as the stomp of boots echo off the walls not too far down the corridor, “please, ‘m beggin’ ya, please.”

Tears well hot and heavy at the corner of his eyes as his pleas continue, quieter and quieter as whoever is drawing near gets closer and closer. Damn it all, he’d only gotten the balls to ask Hanzo out on a real date days ago. They’re not going to get a chance to see where this will go, and he’s never hated this shit hand in life more.

A gun cocks at the entrance to their little alcove. Jesse doesn’t look up. Not because he’s too chicken shit to stare down a barrel, god knows he’s done that enough in his life, but because there’s a familiar blue glow spilling from Hanzo’s arm and he can’t look away. Relief steals the very breath from his lungs.

Well, maybe that’s partly the rib giving him a nasty poke to the lung too.

  Chapter 5

Someone makes a sound somewhere to his left, a whimper, and Hanzo struggles towards consciousness. His mind swirls. Time seems to waver. Eventually, or perhaps mere moments later, he cracks his eyes open. For long seconds, he is unable to place where he is, but slowly the shadows skulking about form into the familiar interior of the infirmary. He relaxes slightly. At least it is unlikely he is in danger here.

Again, a soft whimper draws his attention to the left. It takes far more energy to turn his head than Hanzo thinks it should, but he manages to nonetheless.

Tucked into the bed beside his own is McCree, fast asleep. The cowboy’s face is tight with pain, though perhaps in his dreams it is worry or fear. Hanzo breathes deep. It is good to see that McCree has survived, a miracle that they have both survived through their last mission. From what he can remember, it had not gone well.

McCree makes another pained sound and there is a tug, a pull from the dragons, against the skin of his arm.

This again. Tiredly, he tries to calm them, “He is not in danger, hush.”

They pull anyways, worried. It takes more energy to keep them there against his skin than to allow their thrashing, and Hanzo has precious little energy to spare.

“Fine,” he releases them, “but do not wake him. He must sleep.”

In the gloom, Hanzo watches them curl tentatively into the nooks of McCree’s body, nuzzling anywhere their little snouts can reach. As one of them snuggles into the rough bristles of McCree’s beard, the pinched expression on his face begins to smooth out.

With a deep warmth spreading through his chest, Hanzo lets sleep take him.

  Chapter 6

Hanzo dispatches two more of the talon mercenaries in quick succession, using his momentum to vault to the top of the building. While there are far more talon members than their intel had suggested, the mission so far is going smoothly. Jesse, and now Hanzo, have already reached the objective with little trouble. The rest of their team is not far behind.

Cresting the final set of stairs brings Hanzo in line of sight with Jesse, and time seems to slow around him, his senses sharpening. He breathes in. The scent of smoke sits acrid on his tongue. The sunlight is harsh in his eyes.

Too close. The cowboy is too close to the edge of the building. He watches as though in slow motion, watches as Jesse struggles with a talon agent against the lip of the roof, watches as the ridge they fight against begins to give way, watches as they start to fall.

“Jesse!”

His heart stops within his chest, throat closing around the word.

He breaks into a sprint, calling out to the dragons, their anger singing in tune with his own. There is still a chance he may yet catch Jesse.

But as he reaches the edge, all but prepared to leap, he spots Jesse. The man is not freefalling, but instead has somehow managed to drop into one of the talon helicopters prowling the skies. The helicopter gains height swiftly, pulling up to hover over the roof. Hanzo cannot help the smile tugging at his lips. The talon agents on the roof have yet to realize the danger they are in.

Jesse opens fire, catching the talon agents entirely off guard, clearing the roof in seconds.

The rest of the team arrives as Jesse turns the helicopter, opening fire on the two other talon aircraft still nearby. Hanzo walks back to the stairs as Jesse comes in for a landing. He is…deeply impressed.

Lucio brings the package over, grinning at Jesse in the cockpit.

“Y’all need a ride?” Jesse greets them, the roll of the self-satisfied words around his already-lit cigar sending sparks down Hanzo’s spine. There are far too many of their teammates around them for the embers of arousal to be anything but inappropriate, but Hanzo cannot stop himself from meeting Jesse’s eyes. He knows Jesse can tell where his thoughts have shifted by the stutter in his breath, the clear surprise flitting across his handsome face, and the answering interest darkening his eyes.

If Jesse flies a little fast, Hanzo does not mind. Nor do their teammates question. They have all felt the adrenaline of victory.

If he and Jesse break from their team members at base slightly sooner than etiquette usually requires after such success, none of them question that either.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Halfling from the Mountains Cont’d

Hey all! So I wanted to write something for Fanfic Writers’ Day, and even though it’s coming in a bit late, I decided to write a small continuation of the Mulan AU. It is almost a year exactly since I posted this little drabble, and it’s by FAR the most popular drabble I have on tumblr. Also, I really needed Kili to ask Bilbo if he “would like to stay forever.”  😆 Please enjoy.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely hobbled their way to the base of the hill before they were swarmed by allies. Healers ushered them to one of the many tents being erected on the cleanest part of the battlefield. While Bilbo only had a few bumps and bruises of little concern, Thorin was all but thrown into a cot as they tended to his foot. Bilbo was able to get one more glance at the protesting king before he was shoved down on a makeshift bench with a bowl of stew in his hands.

“Eat up, laddie. I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet.” Oin instructed before leaving to tend to others.

Bilbo allowed himself the moment of peace as all the adrenaline seeped out with each bite of the bland, but very welcome food. Perhaps, truly this time, the worst was behind them.

“WHAT A MESS! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE ARKENSTONE THIEF?”

Then again, perhaps not. Bilbo’s head whipped up to see a furious Dain stroll into the camp. He jumped to his feet, the stew regrettably spilling to the ground only to invite the irate dwarf’s attention. Dain immediately stalked into his direction, and for every step forward, Bilbo took one back until he bumped into someone behind him. He startled and turned to apologize only for the person to put a hand on his shoulder and gently push him behind them. Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Dwalin. Dain, on the other hand, was flummoxed.

“Stand aside.” Dain ordered. “That creature isn’t worth protecting.”

Bilbo flinched at the sheer acid in his tone. Before Dwalin could respond, his brother appeared on his other side completely blocking Bilbo from view now.

“He’s a hero.” Balin argued.

“He’s a Halfling and a thief.” Dain scoffed.

Bilbo’s jaw nearly dropped as he was suddenly surrounded by his entire company minus the Durins. Each of them with a hard glint in their eyes.

“Listen here you pompous windbag.” Bofur growled. It was the only time Bilbo ever recalled him truly angry. “I think we know our Burglar better than any here. You owe the life of your King to him.”

Dain looked about ready to spit fire as his face changed to match the color of his hair.

“HE BETRAYED MY KING AND ANY THAT DEFEND HIM ARE JUST AS BAD!”

Well that seemed to set everyone off as the Company started to yell loudly in defense of their honor, and Dain and his men continued to besmirch the hobbit’s name. Bilbo, having quite enough of such nonsense, was about ready to find some way to shut them all up when a strong voice broke through the clearing.

“SHARZA!”

Silence rang through the camp as all eyes be they man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit, turned to regard Thorin. The king’s foot was wrapped tightly yet blood still managed to seep through the bandages. Because of this, he was being supported by his two nephews, but all three managed to look regal and proud in their grimy states. Thorin’s cold eyes bore into Dain until the other dwarf dropped his head. At that point, Thorin regarded the Company and silently demanded they stand aside. Bilbo was once more exposed to the glares and curious stares of the surrounding crowd. He could kill Thorin.

“This is Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin announced in a clear voice that somehow seemed to ring for miles without being too loud.

“He was contracted by my Company of thirteen dwarves to leave his home in the Shire and burgle from a dragon. He thinks of nothing but creature comforts of good homes and good food. He was inexperienced with a blade prior to joining us, and knew nothing of how to survive in the wild and yet…”

Bilbo blinked in shock at the warm smile that split Thorin’s face.

“He has saved us all. As King, I pardon any and all crimes against his person. Master Baggins shall only ever be treated with respect on behalf of all Durin’s folk.”

If Bilbo was caught off-guard before, the sight of Thorin bowing to him nearly had him flat on his back. What made it worse was it started a domino effect as next the Company was bowing, then the rest of the dwarves, and finally the remainder of the entire Free People’s army. Even Dain, who looked like he tasted something foul, bowed in deference to his king. Bilbo wanted to scream that he wasn’t a hero! He was just a simple hobbit from the Shire, but faced with the truly humbling sight, he couldn’t find the words. Almost as if realizing his newfound conundrum, Thorin rose with a hidden twinkle in his eye before he turned to return to his tent using his sister sons as his crutch, satisfied that Bilbo would have no more difficulties. The Company patted his back or ruffled his hair. Dori even offered to stay with him if he felt unsafe, but Dain’s hasty retreat spoke volumes about any remaining troubles Bilbo would had. In a matter of seconds, he was alone once again.

“There’s seems to be an awful lot of excitement this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Almost alone. Bilbo looked up at Gandalf whose smirk somehow managed to reflect amusement and pride all at the same time.

“He didn’t have to do that.” Bilbo finally found his voice, regardless of how awe-filled it was.

“I would think Thorin has a differing opinion on the subject. You’ve done well, Bilbo. You can go home now knowing you have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo mused, not registering Gandalf’s words.

“Why back to the Shire! You do still plan to return to Bag End, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Bilbo snapped reflexively only to flinch at the harshness of his own words. “I mean, yes, I do...I just...”

“Well,” Gandalf offered. “We have a few days. Think about it, and let me know, whatever you decide.”

***

Bilbo thought about it, but he was no closer to an answer. He had to go back to Bag End. He was a Baggins after all, but the idea of leaving his dwarves. Leaving Thorin...it left a hole in his chest that refused to be closed. He finally decided it was just the freshness of leaving his friends. A few months back in the Shire, and the pain would leave him once he was back where he belonged. Therefore, despite how much it hurt, he told Gandalf he did still intend to go home.

His dwarves did not take the news well.

Bilbo ignored the pleading eyes of the Durin princes as he finished putting away his new clothes from Dori into his pack along with trinkets from the whole Company. Well, all but Thorin. Even Dain had come by to apologize for the way he had reacted after he got the full story and left Bilbo with a rather large and impractical shield. Remarkably, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of the new King Under the Mountain since his declaration to return home. 

“You could build a new home here! You don’t have to go, Mister Boggins.” Kili pleaded.

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking as he patted the dwarf on the shoulder.

“As I have said before Kili, the Shire is where I belong."

“You also belong here.” Fili added, looking oddly serious and melancholy.

Bilbo’s smile fell as he turned his back to hide how effected he was by the prince’s words.

“Me? I’m just a silly hobbit. I no more belong in a mountain than an acorn in a window garden. Now, are you going to walk me to the gate or expect me to carry all of this myself?”

Fili and Kili had many more protests for him, but in the end gathered the ornate shield and the chest bearing his company’s treasures to be loaded on Bilbo’s pony. The rest of the Company, minus their king, was gathered just as somber as Bilbo’s companions. The wizard was ready to go, and waited for Bilbo to make his goodbyes.

“Well...” He started. “T-Thank you. Thank you all for...the most amazing adventure. If you’re ever in the Shire, tea is at four...don’t bother to knock.”

That earned a weak chuckle from his friends.

“And I suppose tell Thorin that...”

His throat closed, and Bilbo had to look down at his toes to gather his courage.

“Tell Thorin...”

“Yes?”

Bilbo’s head shot up as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Thorin!” He breathed in delight.

The king was looking much healthier if but for the dark circles under his eyes and the saddened expression.

“You’re here.” Bilbo remarked in awe.

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile. 

“I was getting your going-away gifts together.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo should have been delighted much like he was with the other Company members’ gifts. However, he had been hoping for...well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Without further ado, Thorin pulled out Bilbo’s small sword he had been rather fond of but sacrificed in desperation to rid them of the monster orc. Sting.

“I asked Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel to try and find it. They were more than happy to assist. I hope that it reminds you of all that you’ve done for Erebor.”

He presented it to Bilbo with a small bow, and Bilbo repeated the motion happy to place the blade back in the scabbard on his hip. Even with his limited experience, it certainly made him feel better having it on his person.

“Also,” Thorin added almost eagerly. “I want you to have this.”

Letting his braid flutter lose, Thorin tugged one of the hair beads from his own raven locks and presented it to Bilbo.

“So all of Arda will know what you have done for me, a grateful and indebted king.”

Bilbo was practically trembling.

“Thorin.” He croaked. “I-I can’t...”

“Please.” The king whispered as he carefully closed Bilbo’s fingers over the bead sitting innocently on his palm. “For me.”

It was too much. Thorin looking at him like that. His too large hands still softly cradling his hand. There was only so much a respectable hobbit like Bilbo could take. Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and surged up onto his tiptoes as he planted a kiss on the handsome king. It was quick and chaste and breath-taking all at once. Thorin seemed equally befuddled but hopeful. Bilbo tried his hardest to ignore the cheers of the Company and the heat in his own cheeks as he gave Thorin a single nod.

“Well then...good evening.”

He turned to saddle the pony when his actions seemed to catch up to him. What exactly was he doing?! He loved Thorin. How could he leave him now? His mind struggled to process the influx of emotional information while he remained halfway on his pony, staring into the setting sun.

“Perhaps...” Gandalf finally offered, far too amused. “We got too late a start.”

Thorin picking up on the cues rushed to Bilbo’s side.

“Would you...? Would you like to stay for dinner?” He blurted much to the annoyance of their friends.

“WHAT HE MEANS IS WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” Kili corrected.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh including Bilbo and Thorin. The hobbit finally returned to the present turning to Thorin with a large grin.

“I think dinner would be a lovely start.”

And Bilbo enjoyed dinner in Erebor for many years to come.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Thinking about alternate character classes lately, and I’m always thinking about A Crown of Candy at any given point in time, so without further ado, for your consideration:

Wizard!Theo, except that he’s the only wizard ever with a positive Strength modifier because that would be hilarious.  Wizard!Theo, who learned more from Lazuli than anyone knew, whose magic isn’t loud or flashy but spell notes hidden in a false prayer book, a soft glow on the tips of his paws and a muttered breath as one of the princesses falls from the top of the staircase again only to land on their feet, as softly as a feather.  In this world, he’s officially the royal tutor, because there are things that Caramelinda doesn’t know, but she does know what Lazuli taught him and she knows where his loyalties lie and she knows that one day, one day the spark she can see in Ruby’s eyes will need a teacher but will more importantly need a protector.  And to the princesses, to the rest of the court, to the world, he’s a slightly gullible, rather awkward tutor who stands on ceremony far too much, and they laugh at him and his silly little sprinkle pet and isn’t he a bit of a large goon?  Even Amethar forgets, every now and then, what he’s seen Theo do on a battlefield, to a battlefield, because as awkward as his social skills may be, Theo is committed to the part and he plays it well.  In any lifetime, in any world, Theo loves his people and he’ll do what he has to for them.

Bonus subclass: School of Abjuration obviously, this squishy gummy bear has one mission, and that’s to protect people.

Rogue!Lapin, because obviously.  Rogue!Lapin, who never summoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, who smiled and charmed and lied his way from the street to the service of a minor but respectable lord, and from there up and up the social strata until he is chamberlain to House Jawbreaker.  Duke Jawbreaker doesn’t bother much with him, but Spearia Mentha takes one look at Lapin, standing too straight and tall, the accent of the common mountain folk still seeping out at his edges, his eyes sharp and clever even when bowing and murmuring obedience, and she thinks “Hmm.”  And when her sweet baby has to go to Castle Candy as hostage, a safe and willing hostage, but a hostage nonetheless, she writes to dear sister Caramelinda and asks would it be alright if she sent someone from her own household, just to keep an eye on the boy, for her peace of mind as a mother?  Liam arrives at Castle Candy, sans pig, plus one very stuffy guardian, and Lapin Cadbury looks up at the towering spires and parapets of the castle, and a small, rare smile flashes across his face for just a second.

Bonus subclass: Mastermind is really the only way to go, isn’t it?

Sorcerer!Amethar, but listen, alright, my kingdom for Sorceror!Amethar who grows up with magic as rage flowing through his veins, whose wrath manifests not as bursts of concentrated battle fury, but in wild surges of strange and powerful magic.  There is magic in the blood and bones of House Rocks, an old and willful magic.  His sisters protected him, as much as they could, but still, there are whispers, more so once the young prince becomes the grieving king with the eyes of the world on him.  People mutter about the witch king of Candia, they say that he’s levelled armies with his sorcery, that he’s bewitched the Emperor Gustavo into friendship, that he’s dangerous and brings only death and destruction.  And it hurts, it does, not because he cares what other people think, but because they aren’t all wrong.  Look at him, the Unfallen, alive when so many have died.  It hurts that he has so much power singing in his blood, and he’s the one who’s powerless, who can’t be the protector, who must be the protected.  Why him?  Why not strong Rococoa, or brilliant Lazuli, or kind Citrina, or cunning Sapphria?  Why is he alive and not them, when he is the wildcard, the dangerous one, the last person who should be king?

Bonus subclass: I mean, it’s gotta be Wild Magic, no doubt about it.

Druid!Cumulous is another story that writes itself.  Druid!Cumulous still swears the same vows of dedication and protection to Candia’s magic, Candia’s secrets, and so Candia itself rises to acknowledge that.  It isn’t the red glow of the Hungry One that surrounds him when he fights, but the bright pink of the frosting sprites, the warm chocolate of the fudge brownies, the brilliant lemon-yellow of the river dragon’s scales, the slightest tint of sugar plum purple.  All spirits are fickle and unpredictable and dangerous, but they can recognize faith and they can appreciate service and they can reward what is freely given.  The Sugar Plum Fairy considers this one for a while.  She has no little pet bunny in this world, no servant to demand wishes from.  But fairies are jealous, too jealous.  Hearts and minds and souls, of course they should be hers, wholly hers, why wouldn’t they be, and for all the vastness of her realm, all her secrets and all her magic, there is something more to Candia than what is just in her.  So she lets this one be, and lays her trap for another prize, a bigger prize…

Bonus subclass: You could honestly make a good argument for Circle of the Shepherd or Circle of the Land, although Circle of the Moon is pretty great for more combat-focused war guys druids.

Warlock!Saccharina’s life is still a tragedy, because magic was only the most obvious thing that the nuns tried to beat out of her.  Warlock!Saccharina is not born with lightning in her fingers and a storm in her heart, but she is born with a strength and a will that the nuns despise.  In this world, Saccharina looks in the window, in the mirror, and she still sees a blue woman, a kind woman with a kind face, reaching out to her, comforting her when the nuns mistreat her, telling her wondrous stories and magical secrets.  In this world, the Rocks sisters, held in a false afterlife, stage a jailbreak.  Rococoa raises herself back to the living, cold with vengeance against the man who murdered her.  Citrina hitches up her skirts and hikes off to Vegetania, prepared to visit as many dreams and instigate as many supernatural miracles as she needs in order to reform the Church.  Sapphria laughs and winks and goes off to do something mysterious and terribly complex and probably very clever.  And Lazuli?  Lazuli goes to find her eldest niece, and to help her do something about the frankly terrible situation she’s in.  She is no spirit of the dead that a small exorcism by a provincial abbess can banish, but something new, something more.  And when Saccharina finally drowns the monastery, a grim smile on her face, it is with eyes and fingers that glow a brilliant, sharp blue.

Bonus subclass: Either Great Old One or Celestial, depending on how Lazuli fights her way back to the waking world.  Reaching out to the mortal world from the afterlife?  Probably Celestial.  Something strange and mysterious that’s never happened before in all of creation, and isn’t entirely comprehensible even to her?  Great Old One.

Barbarian!Jet grows up with so much rage inside her, but a rage for others, a fire for others.  It’s a rage that goes bone-deep, born of so much love and fear, because Jet Rocks may be sheltered and immature and naive, but one thing she does know, one of the earliest things she knows, is that the world is dangerous for people like Ruby, people like Pops, the world does not like people like Ruby and Pops, and as young as she is, she’s already heard how people whisper and seen how they point at Pops when his back is turned.  And if they found out about Ruby-  It’s a different rage that drives Barbarian!Jet, not a mindless battle frenzy, but love sharpened to the keenest focus, to protect, to guard.  In this world, and in every world, Jet Rocks loves her sister above all else, and will do anything to make sure she is safe.  Her parents worry, of course.  Caramelinda looks into her daughter’s eyes, sees hard steel and the heart of sacrifice, and she weeps when she looks into the mirror and sees the same, this is not the life she wanted for her.  Amethar understands.  He knows.  He knew the minute his daughters were placed into his arms for the first time, and the instinct to protect something so precious, precious beyond measure.  He just didn’t want his daughter to understand as well, not so soon, not so young.

Bonus subclass: Path of the Ancestral Guardian, I think, because Jet’s rage is rooted in and for her family.  Also, imagine the confusion and the angst the first time Jet summons past ancestors to fight with her in battle, and none of them include her aunts because they’re too busy raising hell elsewhere.

Bard!Ruby tumbles out of the cradle with a cheerful tongue and a clever mind, and Amethar has to stop himself from calling after Sapphria, because Ruby is so much like her, so nimble on her feet, so clever with her words.  But it’s Caramelinda that sees it first, how Ruby’s leaps and cartwheels hang just a little too long in the air, how Jet brightens and sharpens too fast after just a word from her.  And it’s Theo, of course it’s Theo, who catches Ruby and Jet trying to rob the cookie jar with a spectral, definitely magic, definitely arcane hand floating in the air, where did she even learn that, he doesn’t have that spell, this is bad, this is very, very bad.  Ruby’s more careful after that, after Mom’s lecture about how dangerous it is, and Pops just standing there, looking stern, nodding along to everything that Mom’s saying, not saying a word to the contrary.  Her magic is just for Jet now, her and Jet and nobody else, and she does a very good job of pretending she doesn’t know anything else, pretending like she doesn’t feel the thrum inside of her, pretending like something isn’t singing in her blood with every leap and twirl and handstand.  

Bonus subclass: College of Valour?  It gets that combat flavouring without being as specific as College of Swords, but I’m open to suggestions.

Warlock!Liam, and he is so young, so lonely, roaming the forests around Castle Manylicks, when he finds her or maybe she finds him.  Just a sweet little fairy who knows where to find the best seeds, the ones that have a little bit of magic in them, and here’s a lonely little boy who’s so interested in what she can show him!  And then of course, this isn’t just any lonely little boy, this is the son of Duke Jawbreaker, someone royal, someone important.  I’ll be your friend, she says, coy and sweet, a nice friend, not like your brothers.  I know lots of things, secret things, magic things, that I can show you.  Come with me, do you want to see something really neat?  Her magic is almost golden, almost Bulbian, with the slightest whiff of something rich and sticky and sweet and purple, and Liam’s only glad that he has a friend now, someone who’s nice to him, who’s interested in the same things, who remembers his name and doesn’t pick on him because he likes seeds more than swords.  Lonely children don’t need to be threatened or coerced, lonely children don’t need deals with the devil.  Lonely children just need a kind voice and warm approval and someone to show them affection, and the Sugar Plum Fairy knows just how to work with that.

Bonus subclass: Gonna diverge from Lapin here and go with Archfey as the warlock/patron relationship, because Liam isn’t in a position where he has to pretend that his powers come from the Bulb, so the SPF can lean into her feyness more.

[wolfish-trickster]

Lost traveler

5/?

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 573

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

Summary: A mysterious traveler visits Asgard and thanks to an accident has to stay for longer than she expected. Bonds are created but also shattered along the way.

A/N: reader has elemental powers, something like avatar the last airbender.

Sun was finally setting. Chirping of birds was replaced by owls howling. A cold breeze ruffled your hair. The entire forest became calmer. You loved it.

You wanted to be alone for a few while and enjoy the tranquility of the night time. So you volunteered to gather wood for bonfire.

Unfortunately Thor and Fandral went with you, more to show off their muscles than help you. Both of them were....odd. They wanted to be around you all the time, telling you of their strength and abilities (Thor wanted to show you some of his lightnings but got quickly turned down by Loki) and generaly tried to impress you.

You soon found out that Thor is a god of thunder, not a lightning thrower like you previously thought. Loki was god of mischief and chaos.

Sif told you she was to be the goddess of fertility but thretened you to keep it a secret

The rest were also gods, but they didn't have a certain domains like princes. They were just warrior gods.

When you returned with arms full of twigs and branches Loki, Volstagg, Hogun and Sif were already sitting around a circle made from stones. Loki jumped to help you and all of you started to place one branch after another inside the stone circle.

"I will lit it," Thor annoumced after you finished.

"Thor, I already told you, your powers are unstable. You can't use them otherwise you will hurt everybody around you!" Loki scolded him.

"Relax, it will be alright. Everybody, stay back," Thor pushed you behind him as his fingers started to sparkle. Suddenly a loud noise teared through the air as a giant lightning striked from the sky. But to a nearby tree, not the fire place.

"Perfect Thor, just perfect," Loki took out the fire from the burning tree with his magic. He played around with flames a little while longer. You watched him transform them into a bird and make it fly around you. You giggled at his tricks.

"Show off," Thor spat

"Look who's talking. I'm not the one who took off his shirt whenever she was watching," Loki grinned.

You ignored them and their argument. Your fingers were itching. You desperately wanted to firebend, but you couldn't. Not yet.

Sif nudged you. "They are like giant kids, aren't they?"

"Siblings argue. It's like their specialty," you shrugged.

"You seem like a sibling professional. Do you have one?"

You watched as Loki made the bonfire inbetween arguments. "No, but I met a lot of them on my travels," you both sat down as did the others.

"Speaking of travels, can I ask you something?" Hogun sat to your other side.

"Sure."

Loki plopped down directly opposite of you. "If you want to know where she is from, she won't tell. I tried," he smirked at you.

"I can't reveal everything the first day! Gotta keep some of my secrets," you laughed.

"That was not what I wanted to know. I meant to ask you if you've been to Midgard?" Hogun brought your attention back to him.

"Depends on what it looks like."

"Well," he began, "it's full of forests, animals, small stone villages,-"

"Don't forget mortals," Thor interrupted.

"Mortals?"

Thor nodded. "Aye. They are small, weak, quite dumb."

"From what I've read," Loki slipped in, "they aren't dumb. They are just slow learners."

Thor rolled his eyes. "Where's the difference?"

"The difference is, dear brother mine, that you only have to tell them once to not use their powers."

Thor showed him what you suspect to be a lewd gesture. In response Loki blew him a kiss.

You giggled. "No, I don't think I've been there. Why are you asking? Have you visited it?"

All of them shooktheir heads. "The Allfather forbade us to travel across the nine realms. He says we aren't old enough."

"Oh," you sighed.

"May I ask Astrid?" Volstagg broke the silence. "What is the most interesting place you've visited," Volstagg took his chance

You thought for a while. All of the planets are interesting in their own way. "Hmmm, I don't know. One of the more exciting planets has to be Pandora I guess. I have stayed there with a Na'vi clan and they showed me how to hunt and survive in woods. There are giant mountains hovering in the air with beautiful waterfals and the whole planet glows at night and there are dragons and giant wolves and spiritual trees," you counted down from memmory.

"Sounds exciting indeed. I must visit it someday," Loki mused.

"You must! It's really easy to find it. It's a blue planet rotating around a gas giant."

"So it is techicaly a moon, correct?"

"Yeah, it is," you said excitedly. You finaly had someone to talk to. Frigga was right, you will find a friwnd among them.

"Booo, nerds," Sif made fun of you two. "Now tell me, are at least these Na'vi guys handsome and strong? You can hardly find any good material among this," she gestured to boys sitting around fire.

"I will preted I haven't heard that," Fandral brushed his fingers through his hair.

"If you are into blue giants," you shrugged.

The atmosphere changed suddenly. It was no longer lighthearted and playful. All of them had a stone hard cold stare. You shifted in your seat. Did you say something wrong?

Thor coughed. "We don't really get along with blue giant folk," he fisted chunks of grass by his sides.

"What you just described wasn't Jotunheim, was it?" Hogun asked.

"It can't be. Jotunheim is a frozen piece of a rock. She said Pandora has floating mountains and rivers," Loki burried his dagger into earth at his feet.

"Are there also blue giants on Jotunheim?" you chose your words carefully.

"Yes, it's the land of Frost Giants. Monsters we talk about at night."

Hogun cleared his throat. "I have seen the injury they cause. On one soldier a long time ago. His whole arm was frozen and black as coal. I heard aome healers in halls talking abouthis whoel arm falling off when they touched it."

"They say," Thor said in a dark tone, "they know a secret passage through realms. And one day, they will invade Asgard and freeze everyone in their path. When they comw here, I swear to all my ancestors I will-"

His telling interrupted a distant screech from mountain which startled everyone. It sounded familiar, you just didn't know where from.

"I think that's a cue to shift to another story," Sif said.

"Agreed," everyone said simultaniously.

~~~

Cracking wood lulled everybody to sleep. After hours and hours of war stories and forgotten legends one by one young warriors and a traveler laid to get rest.

Loki had a light sleep. His mind was still wrapped around Frost Giants. How theymight enter Asgard any second and slaughter them all in their sleep. If what Thor told was true.

A sound of someone standing up and walking away woke him completely. He knew how each person's step sounded, this was unfamiliar one. 'Where are you going little traveler?'

He stood up and followed you, hidden in shadows.

You stopped near a river deep in the forest. Asgardian moon shone bright in its water.

He watched you sit down next to it and stare at the night sky through oak leaves.

Just as he wanted to walk towards you, you started to play with little droplets of water in the air.

"What a turn of events," you dropped them upon hearing his voice.

"Loki, you- why are you up? Did I wake you?"

"No," he sat down next to you, "you didn't."

You started to fidget with your fingers. "How much did you see?"

"Enough. Why didn't you tell me you were a sorcorer as well?"

"A what?"

Loki chuckled. "You called me a warlock, remember? We call those who deal with magic sorcorers. One of their ability is aquakinesis."

"Huh?" you looked so cute when you were confused. Loki made note to confuse youmore often.

"Water control."

"Oh, sorry. I call it waterbending."

Loki hummed. "Makes sense."

"Sooo," you looked at him, "are you going to tell them?" you pointed towards where the group was sleeping.

"Why would I? It's your power. Your secret. You tell them when you are ready. But," he pulled a ball of water from the river and held it above his palm, "I can teach you more of that waterbending than just control few droplets. If you'd like me to, that is."

You smiled. "I'd like that. Oh and by the way," you looked to side and scratched your head, "Astrid isn't my real name."

"I know."

"What?" you looked at him startled.

"I can tell when people are lying, and you," he placed his palm on your shoulder, "are a terrible liar," he chuckled.

Your giggle joined his. "Sounds fair. Anyways, I'm Y/N," you axtended your hand.

Loki took it in his own and bowed his head. "Pleasure to meet you Y/N. I am Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief," and hopefully he can add 'your friend' to the list of titles.

[butterflies-dragons]

Hey! There was a giant lemon cake with phallic image in alayne chapter. Do you think it some coincidence or it means something? Especially it's presented by petyr. Also Sansa and her enemies giving her lemoncakes give same vibes as Hansel&gretel story.

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Petyr Baelish is grooming Sansa, that’s the awful truth. And he has studied Sansa, he knows what she likes/wants and he will use that knowledge in his favor.

He knows she had a distant relationship with Ned, so he becomes Alayne’s father.

He knows that Ned neglected her and that she always craved for her father’s validation, so he gives her that, he praised her wits for example, and called her clever and smart. 

If Sansa says something like “I can’t” or “I don’t know”, he is there to encourage and support and tell her “you can do it” & “you know it”.  

He knows she loves knights and tourneys, so he allows her to organize a tournament, whose winners will belong to a kind of “Kingsguard” for Sweetrobin, based on the child’s favorite hero of the legends: The Winged Knight, Ser Artys Arryn.

He knows she loves lemon cakes, so he gives her a giant lemon cake.    

The Tyrells has used the same strategy:

"Sansa," Lady Alerie broke in, "you must be very hungry. Shall we have a bite of boar together, and some lemon cakes?"

"Lemon cakes are my favorite," Sansa admitted.

"So we have been told," declared Lady Olenna, who obviously had no intention of being hushed. "That Varys creature seemed to think we should be grateful for the information. I've never been quite sure what the point of a eunuch is, if truth be told. It seems to me they're only men with the useful bits cut off. Alerie, will you have them bring the food, or do you mean to starve me to death? Here, Sansa, sit here next to me, I'm much less boring than these others. I hope that you're fond of fools."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

We all know how much Sansa loves her lemon cakes, but the Tyrells and Littlefinger really treat her as if she were a child like Sweetrobin:

"Will they be lemon cakes?" Lord Robert loved lemon cakes, perhaps because Alayne did.

"Lemony lemony lemon cakes," she assured him, "and you can have as many as you like."

"A hundred?" he wanted to know. "Could I have a hundred?"

"If it please you." She sat on the bed and smoothed his long, fine hair. He does have pretty hair. Lady Lysa had brushed it herself every night, and cut it when it wanted cutting. After she had fallen Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so Petyr had commanded that his hair be allowed to grow. Alayne wound a lock around her finger, and said, "Now, will you get out of bed and let us dress you?"

"I want a hundred lemon cakes and five tales!"

I'd like to give you a hundred spankings and five slaps. You would not dare behave like this if Petyr were here. The little lord had a good healthy fear of his stepfather. Alayne forced a smile. "As my lord desires. But nothing till you're washed and dressed and on your way. Come, before the morning's gone." She took him firmly by the hand, and drew him out of bed.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

The lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance

The Giant's Lance is the tallest peak of the Mountains of the Moon within the Vale of Arryn, extending three and a half miles above the the valley below.

The great-grandfather of Petyr Baelish was a Braavosi sellsword that came into the Vale of Arryn at the service of Lord Corbray. His line was continued by his son, who became a hedge knight and took the head of the Titan of Braavos as his sigil.

As I mentioned in this post, a sword, Ice in particular, works as a phallic symbol in Sansa’s chapters. 

So, we can also make this association:

The Titan of Braavos = A Giant

The Giant’s Lance = Tallest Peak

Lance & Peak = phallic symbols 

Lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance = I don’t want to write it 

We can also say that Petyr Baelish is “compensating” his “shortfalls”, after all he is a short man called Littlefinger.  

Yes, I think this giant lemon cake could be seen as a phallic symbol and it makes sense with Littlefinger grooming her... yikes

¡¡¡SOMEONE SAVE HER PLEASE!!!   

My friend @lostlittlesatellites has already wrote about these subjects, giant lemon cake as phallic symbol and Hansel and Gretel story: 

I argued that lemon cakes in Sansa’s arc actually spell people trying to exploit Sansa’s weakness in an almost Hansel & Gretel way and a betrayal that follows.

“Interestingly Sansa’s first chapter in AGOT poses questions that will drive majority of her arc. Her desire for a courtly life in the South will not only prove to be hollow but worse a dream that turns into nightmare. Sansa asks two questions: “What could you want to see? It’s just fields and farms and holdfasts” and “Why would you want to ride a smelly old horse and get all sore and sweaty when you could recline on feather pillows and eat cakes with the queen?”

The world is larger than Sansa has been taught to believe, reclining more inward into her dreams with the strict regime that she taught to look away from the window. She doesn’t think she is prepared enough and that she needs more training. Yes, she doesn’t know enough but neither does Arya or Bran or Jon. Having Sansa finally leave her cage after completing her tutelage under Littlefinger is continuing that student-teacher dynamic she has had since Septa Mordane. People come to love the security of the cage they live in too long. This is why it takes so long to take out the fear of the outside from Sansa because the fact that she has barely any experience keeps her thinking she needs someone to rely on.

[…]

The “Feather pillows and cakes with the queen” part represents the glamour that attracts little boys and girls like Sansa. However, it is hollow as Sansa comes to realise about many things. In fact, people offering Sansa lemon cakes in Sansa’s storyline often forebodes a betrayal from the person offering it. Cersei offers her lemon cakes and a few chapters later she has Lady executed and even later, she has Ned arrested. Olenna offers Sansa lemon cakes, which Varys offers as valuable information to bring her guard down in order to lure her into her trap of marrying her to Wilas and getting hold of Winterfell and the North. They have her wear the murder weapon, which could implicate her for Joffrey’s murder even if their target is Tyrion. Littlefinger is offering her a 12 foot phallic shaped lemon cake in Sansa’s TWOW chapter. Given how happy Sansa is in this chapter that she is almost forgetting that she isn’t Alayne, the food is way too lavish when Winter is coming and along with this trend with lemon cakes, the clock is going to strike 12 and the illusion is going to break very soon. Soon Sansa will prefer riding those “smelly horses” and getting sweaty and sore in order to escape over those lemon cakes and feather beds offered by untrustworthy people. For Sansa’s arc to be fulfilling she has to experience the lives of small folk up close before she helps them. As a character whose view range is often myopic, she has to be put in the middle of the lives of the small folk to truly understand them.”

I highly recommend you to check @lostlittlesatellites blog, she’s a great ASOIAF meta writer, you can read more about these subjects here and here. She covered a lot of themes and symbolisms around Sansa in the Vale, some of them very disturbing regarding Littlefinger’s present and future actions against Sansa...   

But despite all that, since GRRM is a writer that likes to give different meanings to a same thing, there are also some very interesting details that are worthy to mention about the real Giant’s Lance:

So lovely. The snow-clad summit of the Giant's Lance loomed above her, an immensity of stone and ice that dwarfed the castle perched upon its shoulder. Icicles twenty feet long draped the lip of the precipice where Alyssa's Tears fell in summer. A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well. 

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

The Winged Knight was Ser Artys Arryn. Legend said that he had driven the First Men from the Vale and flown to the top of the Giant's Lance on a huge falcon to slay the Griffin King.  

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

I can see strong dragon imagery here... 

I already wrote about how Sansa wishing falcon wings could be foreshadowing of her getting dragon wings.  

Here I also listed all the similarities between Jon and Sweetrobin.

But the most interesting detail is that the real Giant’s Lance is Stone covered by Ice/Snow. 

Sansa’s Vale arc has a lot of connections with Jon Snow, like this parallel that I called “Children of the Mountains”.

There is also the names of the waycastles Stone (Alayne) and Snow (Jon).

And one of my favorite Jon Snow reference in Sansa’s chapters, the ghost wolf, big as mountains:

All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

So, 

The Giant’s Lance is the tallest peak of the Mountains of the Moon.

The Giant’s Lance is Stone covered by Ice/Snow.

Sansa compared those mountains with a giant Ghost Wolf.  

I’m sorry Littlefinger, you can’t touch this girl!

Thanks for your message.

[the-bard-followed-the-witcher]

Okay but like:

Has anyone ever thought of Jaskier as somewhat of a monster magnet (trouble always finds him, don’t deny it) as a positive thing?

Cause i see a Jaskier running around in the woods as a small child, his voice raised in songs he is too young to know, tripping and then falling over a branch. He starts crying but not for long because soon a Warg finds him. And he freezes. A frucking Warg, of course of all things. And while Wargs are surely not the scariest of creatures, Jaskier is young and they are gogantic after all. He doesn’t want to die. And he doesn’t. Because the warg sniffs his body that is still lying there on the floor whimpering, and it gives him a little nudge with its nose. It’s almost...encouraging. And soon the nudge becomes harder until eventually Jaskier is forced to sit up at least. His body scrapped and bruised but he can’t even look at himself properly before he feels the wet tongue of a Warg lick over his face. It takes him some time to relax but eventually he does. And when you are relaxed, a wolfs tongue tickles. So Jaskier giggles as he is licked clean, scraches and bruises stop hurting, the only thing he notices is the ticklish tongue and the soft purr coming from the creature in front of him. Now imagine the surpirse his parents felt when they saw their son come out of the woods later that night, a wolf, no a Warg! Close to his side. And Jaskier, Jaskier grinned, he finally found a new puppy to keep.

I see a teen Jaskier who has just about figured out that some fun things in life require a second (or multiple people) to join him. He flirts with everyone and he sleeps with everyone. It’s fun, he is young, and damn he does know how to get what he wants. Of course if you flirt with as many people as he has, you are bound to run into a monster posing as human. The first time, it’s a siren and Jaskier adores her. When he started flirting it was out of curiousity of her beauty but as soon as she had started talking he fell in love with her voice. As aspiring bard it wasn’t too hard for him to realize that such a voice was not human. He flirted with her anyway, even shared a bed that night and in the morning when she told him what she was, he didn’t blink an eye, just kissed her hand and asked her to help him get his human voice somewhat close to her unimaginably beautiful one. He didn’t know sirens could blush. It’s not the first but it’s certainly not the last that Jaskier attracts a monster during his flirts, but who is he to judge? Monsters can be just as beautiful as humans, and he surely won’t limit his playground.

When he really starts travelling as bard it seems to happen even more often than before. Maybe it’s his voice (the siren did a good job teaching him) or maybe it’s just his luck. In nearly every forest, every village there is something not quite human, not quite normal around him. And you see, if you have been surrounded by monsters all your life (trouble always seemed to find him) you start spotting them rather easily. He travels through the woods and he sees a Beann‘shie run past him, a harpy flying calmly above the tree tops. He travels through cities and sees a Fleder in an alley behind an inn, a ghost in the next one over. He travels to court and finds not all royals fully human. He keeps quiet though. Few are friendly, most are dangerous but if you know what to look for, you can get by good enough. He knows the warning, he has experienced some dangers himself. So Jaskier travels the world, fully aware that wherever he goes trouble awaits, or maybe he brings the trouble himself? He was never quite sure about that.

I see a Jaskier who meets Geralt of Rivia and is enchanted. Not because Geralt is mysterious and big and bulky, no, Jaskier is enchated because the Geralt outside of the legends looks so much more human. More human than any other supposed monster he has ever encountered. Of course he noticed him the moment Geralt set foot in the tavern. And you see after a lifetime of monsters you get an instinct on telling which ones are dangerous. Geralt isn’t, not for Jaskier. And so it happens that he starts following the Witcher, trying his best with everyday to figure out how a monster could look so human. He figures pretty soon, it’s easy, some monsters are more human then a human himself.

I see a Jaskier who after seeing Geralt try to safe every monster he comes across, admires the strength of his partner and yet still grieves the death he brings. And every time Geralt has to kill yet another Monster that somehow found Jaskier, Jaskier waits for him to leave, turn around, get wood, it doesn’t matter, he just needs to be alone with the creatures for whose death he is responsible. As soon as Geralt is out of Witcher-earshot, Jaskier does this thing (he did it the first time when his wolf died). He presses his hand to the body, only slightly, he doesn’t want it to bruise, and then he leans down and whispers an apology for each creature he saw killed. Because you see, after a lifetime of monsters it’s hard to see them as just that: monsters. Monsters feel pain too, he knows that.

I see a Jaskier who lets Geralts words about destiny get to him, let’s them flourish in his heart because you see, Geralt is right in a way. Trouble always did find its way to Jaskier and maybe he really was cursed to never have a quiet day and maybe he deserved exactly this, and maybe Geralt really was better off without him. Because after a lifetime of seeing creatures that are supposed to be monsters you quickly realize humans are the real monsters to fear.

And i see a Jaskier who at one point during his travel down a mountain too high finds a baby dragon, a creature so tiny it fits in his pant pocket and falls undyingly in love with it. He doesn’t know how it got there so he waits. He needs to see if there is someone taking care of this little thing, and he waits knowing that every second of waiting hightens his chance of running into Geralt. He doesn’t care. This tiny little baby needs help. He warms it with a fire that evening and still the tiny tiny dragon cuddles up to him as if seeking more warmth. He stays awake till morning, no parent appears. And the baby dragon? It has fallen asleep in his lute already, it’s not like he can just leave his lute or wake the small thing. So he waits. And he feels the nudge of a small snout wake him a couple hours later. Such a small snout. God how could anyone leave a creature this cute behind? But when he sees the whitened left eye the dragon beared, he knew exactly why they had been left behind, both of them. Guess we are all flawed in some way.

I see a Jaskier who continues his travels, continues his songs with a new companion. And monsters still find him, both human and beast, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. He has learned enough from a witcher to defend himself and his baby, and he has enough of a bards charm to trick the rest. They get by, together. And Jaskier lets Trouble (it was always somehow drawn to him) sleep in his pocket, in his lute and as he grows around his neck and curled in his lap. He shares a fire with him and soon the stables too. And monsters really don’t seem dangerous anymore.

You see, the folk talk about a white haired witcher and his story flashes them all, keeps them busy until one day they can’t look away from the second miracle anymore. It flies across the sky, sometimes you can catch a glimpse of a shadow flying above, the sound of a human scream and a monsters roar in unison. It lands with thuds so heavy they shake the ground only to be followed by the most beautiful melodies and the most beautiful sounds. And it confuses the people, scares them even, but they know how to deal. And soon the Witcher is replaced and new songs are written, new legends told this time of a bard and a dragon. The reject of society and the half blind creature. It’s not a simple tale but it’s one that is a lot of fun for Jaskier to tell, it’s the one he enjoys singing about the most. And Trouble appreciates his playing, always humming when Jaskier plays his lute or sings his songs, always falling asleep to a lullaby. And they are never cold again.

Geralt was shocked when he first learned of the myth to say the least. Jaskier didn’t even care if he knew.

And Jaskier still has a life filled with monsters but you see,

Trouble follows Jaskier and somehow this time he doesn’t mind at all.

[sorenskyhigh]

Heyyy! I saw you take requests! Imagine: werewolfves, vampires, winged humans and other fantasy/mythological creatures exist (Dungen&dragon races maybe?), What would your favorite Karasuno character(s) be? And, already a happy new year! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

Happy New Year!🎉🎆 I think I'm gonna do all of Karasuno bc they all deserve love and I just love all the Haikyuu characters!!!!! And thank you for putting in a request this is my first!!!!!! Wooohoo!!

Karasuno as D&D

(Or what I think they would be)

Daichi Sawamura

When I think of Daichi I think of a very stout, hardy person.

I know he's 176 or so cm but he's very built and in personality and physical build, sturdy

I also see him very hardworking

Daichi seems very dependable but in a chaotic way

Like he really wants to help but he also simultaneously has NO idea what he's doing

But also I can see him loving the world, people, and animals and nature

A protector but maybe a slight loner or the leader of a group, no inbetween

I honestly think he would be either a Dwarf (the only problem I have with this one is is that I don't view Daichi as a materialistic person like a Dwarf to want gold everything and whatnot) or a Firebolg

I feel either of these could fit him since they are very hardworking and sturdy people. But I lean toward firebolgs more since they are kinda calmer natural people if that makes sense??????

Daichi by no means is a calm and just no worries kind of guy but, I feel like he does have a slow and steady wins the race

Daichi is wise and strong and could live a calm and natural life like a Firebolg

Living with the animals and helping them but also living with a tribe of his people

Koushi Sugawara

I look at Suga as a very loving person that in his own chaotic way tries to help everybody

A mom friend if you will

I also see him getting close with few people a being very ride or die

He also seems a bit like a home body, like he enjoys staying home and being comfortable

Thats why I chose either a Gnome or Hafling

Gnomes are of a tight knit community and are very enthusiastic about life. Learning and building what they can

Building things to help their community and ending the day with a well earned drink with friends and family

Haflings love home comforts

Sitting by the fire and reading a good book

Doing some gardening and whatnot

But some travel and learn and grow intellectually

I think either of these would suit Suga

I can't stop imagining him as a Gnome with little goggles as he works on something small and metal with gears or him sitting in little Hafling attire or some pjs by a fire with some mead in one hand and a good book in the other

Asahi Azumane

I view Asahi as one of my personal favorite tropes of really big and scary but actually a sweet, bumbling mess/really small and adorable but could actually tortures you in a million different ways

Asahi is such a gentle giant but can get serious when he needs to

I also see him as someone very natural and loves nature/animals

That's why I picked either Triton or Genasi (the only thing about Genasi is they're super confident and Asahi very much is not)

Triton are water folk and outsiders (people think Asahi is scary and unapproachable)

They also have good relations with giant seahorses, Hippocampi, and sea lions

Can you imagine Asahi riding a Hippocampus with his gorgeous hair flowing in the waves of the water 😳 muah *chefs kiss* majestic

Anyways 😆

I also see him as a Genasi because they're kinda mysterious people with such a strong connection to nature and elemental energies

But I think he would specifically be an Earth Genasi bc they don't tend to make rash and are superior in strength and solid power

Yū Nishinoya

The little adorable ball of thunderous chaos

Noya seems like someone who loves to cause chaos but NEVER hurt anyone

He wants to have a good time but most people can't quite handle his version of a good time

Thats why I chose Satyr for Noya

Satyrs have the loose construct of a civilization and the wild urges of animals and beasts

Noya is a very independent person but will stick to very particular people

Satyrs are similar

They also view everyone as either a body to dance with, poor soul the mess with, or a sober mind to get absolutely hammered with

Ryūnoske Tanaka

Ryū is just such an awesome character to me

He is the real ride or die never gonna give up on you kind of person

I am not throwing any hate onto the other second years IN THE SLIGHTEST but Ryū did stay the whole time

And yet he seems, to me, to constantly need to prove his self worth

This is why I think he would be either a Human or a Lizardman

Humans are a young race and feel like, in their short lives they need to prove themselves

This drive causes them to be adaptable innovators and pioneers

Bu~ut I also think he would be good among the Lizardfolk

They have their own set of personal rules that they live by that aren't exactly conventional to most other races

Also they can be very food driven who isn't tho

Chikara Ennoshita, Hisashi Kinnoshita, Kazuhito Narita

All three give off similar vibes to me (not just cause they're background characters)

All three feel pretty chill and laid back but like their hardworkers once they have the right motivation

The three of them seem passive as well

Doing what they're told without much question but also like severe outsiders (I know they close themselves off from the others on purpose a bit bc they left and feel guilty)

So I chose Changelings for these three

Changelings are generally harmless, passive beings without interest in other races political affairs

But bc of this most others find them not trustworthy

They kind of don't have their own culture and just slip into other societies

I feel like these three did this with the volleyball team bc they didn't show them ever having some kind grand dream or ambitions

They just kind of float along with certain people they're comfortable with

Tobio Kageyama

Kageyama is a very independent character at heart

It's not that he WANTS to be a lonely necessarily, I feel, but that he wants to prove himself so much and constantly that he pushes people away

Even after he learned about relying on people and what it means to be a team

He stills feels like he should be able to do it himself

I feel like there is an ever constant duality in him

That's why I think he'd be a Half Elf

Human/elf mixes never really belong anywhere bc they either age faster than there elven peers or watch as their human loved ones age and die off much faster than themselves

This is why Half elf/humans keep to themselves

But for Kageyama, I feel if he had never met Hinata, Daichi, Suga, Ryū, or any of them, he would've isolated himself on accident from everyone

Shoyo Hinata

Shoyo is very impulsive but does extremely well with others

He is definitely social and NEEDS to have other people to watch his back

He has shown to be aggressive and super competitive with other players

But he forms strong bonds with those he really cares about

I feel like he would be, specifically a Longtooth Shifter

These shifters specifically are aggressive towards others they are not close to

But are deeply invested in those they have chosen to share their time with

They also are Lupine/dog based beings

And Shoyo definitely has a very dog like personality

They also are more pack oriented than other shifters

They have teamwork and group fluidity

Kei Tsukishima

Tsukishima a very stereotypical character but written in THE BEST WAY

He's that stereotype of antagonist to ally or prude outcast to reliable friend

This was caused by the circumstances of him finding out the situation with his brother

So he decided that no one could be trusted with Yamaguchi as an exception

Elf or Tiefling, did you really expect anything else? 😜

Elven people are very reserved a set themselves apart most of the time from other races, generally thinking of them as inferior or untrustworthy to be around the knowledge Elven people possess

Like Tsukishima they think themselves above other beings with a few that choose to live with with humans

Tieflings are forced away from other races

Because of a past sin that has changed them to look slightly different from others, they are shunned

I relate what happened when Tieflings became a different bloodline of humans to what happened between Kei and his older brother Akiteru

Tsukishimas rejection of companionship is something he does himself, but it is a form of mistrust towards others to not lie to him like he once was

Both Elven and Tieflings are very intelligent in their own differing ways

Elven are very well read and prestigious

Tieflings are good at slight of hand and swindling others bc of the rough cards they've been dealt in life

Tadashi Yamaguchi

Tadashi is a very different person than from what people make him out to be

Everybody makes him out to be an uwu ooga booga baby child that needs protecting

But he's not

That's not to say he doesn't have a large, warm and welcoming heart but he's NOT weak by any means

He's strong and he eventually becomes independent from Tsukishima and doesn't have to be codependent

Tadashi Yamaguchi is an amazing hardworker that is learning about the world and is trying to better himself slowly day by day

But there is the soft, kind and helpful side of him that would just do anything for a struggling stranger

That's why I chose either a Tortle or Kobold

I see him being maybe a Tortles that lives a simple life filled with schedules and living a very ritualistic life

They live simply and are very personable beings

But there's also Kobolds who are dragon like creatures that are INWARDLY aggressive but are industrious beings

They hate larger beings as they're short but will show respect if need to but would show backhanded and passive aggressive ways to show their displeasure

They also don't like direct confrontation and would rather entrapt another creature or being than directly fight them

They are also cunning and have a knack for plan making with which they share through out their entire tribe

Kiyoko Shimizu

I see Kiyoko as a very dependable person but also very independent and very strong and strong willed

Basically a feminine icon, honestly

She can do just about everything but seemingly has her own agenda

You're very lucky if her agenda should happen to align with you and your goals because she is an indestructible force not to be dealt with lightly

And yet, she is above all else a women

Feminine, beautiful, and incredibly amazing (as all women are)

I chose Aasimar for Kiyoko

Aasimar are beings that are often descendants of celestial or higher beings

They generally hold good morals and are justice deliverers

They generally serve a guardians of law that strike at evil, lead by example, and dish out justice where it is needed

They are cautious of others and sometimes misunderstood as they did what they do what they believed to be right

Aasimars are also extremely empathetic and are often times hurt by the prejudice they suffer in early years as many don't like what they don't understand

Hitoka Yachi

Yachi IS NOT THE SOFT, DEFENSLESS, CRYBABY EVERYBODY MAKES HER OUT TO BE

Yachi is shy and nervous but that is only bc she was accidentally persuaded into an intimidating world of giants

And for a short and petite framed girlt hat is TERRIFYING at first

But Yachi stepped up to the plate and batted away everyone's shit expectations for her because she rose to become an amazing manager for the team

She became independent from her mother's harsh ideas of her and showed her how powerful she can be

She may be small but she is truly mighty

This is why I picked Centaurs for her

Centaurs are the swiftest out of the humanoids and build peaceful communities

They hunt what and where they wish, as they generally move after a few years in one place, move

They highly value personal choice and individuality among their tribes

They also love and worship nature, many wanting to devote themselves to a higher power and/or become druids

They generally bear no ill will towards anyone unless the opposers strike first

Thank you @popcorntime-doodles for giving me my first request I hope you like this and I hope I did a good job

Again this is just my opinion and how I see the characters and the many races of D&D

Also again I do request I have a character masterlist in my bio ❤

@multifandombrainrot @kneecapstealingalien @akabxne @jiheonity @weareallhumans123 @smallmangi @canadian-crow @just-jellyfish @immiamarais @i-need-coffee-now-pls @foreveryoung050 @kuroos-world @luminasapphire @silverfire6 @shadowsbutdead @ghostexhibit @simpfornishinoya @goshikisimp @anothershadeofpink @mestayanon @japoga

[alittlestarling]

The Christmas Market

The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Adam du Mortain/F! Detective (Sophia Laveau) Rating: General Words: 3.5k Read on Ao3

Happy Christmas to @bellarxse ! 

A cold front blew through town and, almost overnight, the fishing village transformed into something akin to a winter wonderland before everyone’s eyes. Lights were strung from buildings, windows alight with ornaments and trees were already up and ready for decoration.

It felt so bloody normal , which was a relief from the chaos that had upended Sophia’s life when Unit Bravo had arrived in town.

“So, are you excited about your date?” Tina poked her head into Sophia’s office, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at the prospect that Sophia was, indeed, going out after work with a certain someone (her words, not Sophia’s) to enjoy some of the winter splendor.

Well, sort of.

“It’s not a date,” Sophia tried and failed not to bristle too much at her friend’s words, keeping her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. “I have to go.”

The opening night of the yearly Christmas Market brought a whole slew of folks to town to enjoy roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and trinkets sold from stalls that lined the main square of the town. Captain Sung had made it clear that they were to “enjoy” tonight, not in any official capacity, but the intention had been clear to Sophia.

As the only detective in their precinct, it made sense that she’d be out, keeping an eye on things, while hopefully getting a few quiet moments for herself. Without Rebecca all these years, Sophia had learned to make her own holiday traditions, carving them out carefully, keeping them safe at the center of her chest. No one was allowed to taint what she enjoyed, even when she was enjoying them alone. The market was one such tradition that she firmly, almost stubbornly, held tight to the last few years in particular.

“Official or not,” Tina came fully into the office, flopping into the chair across from Sophia’s desk, “but you’ll be walking around with him, alone —“

“Hardly alone.”

“In the romantic lights of the market—“ Tina continued, her voice taking a dramatic tone that she reserved for the juiciest gossip she heard around town.

“There’s going to be a lot of other people around.”

“And I’m sure there’s some mistletoe hanging around!”

“Tina!” Sophia gave a huff of irritation, finally giving her friend and former partner her full attention. It was less like anger, though, and more of something more.

The nerves had been settling in her stomach for hours now as she tried to work through the day, reminded that this was the closest thing to a date that she and Adam had ever attempted. The newness of their relationship was palpable and it was easier to remain a little under the radar rather than falling face-first into everything in front of the entire town.

Christ, she’d never really found herself in this sort of a situation before, her chest constricting slightly at the thought of something going terribly wrong with all of this.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Tina’s tone softened, more sincere than before and Sophia tried to clear her mind, a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at this softness that surrounded her thoughts of Adam.

“I know, I know,” Sophia sighed, running her fingers through her short, dark hair if only to give her hands something to do. “I just wish you’d stop for now, yeah?” Tina didn’t mean any harm by it, that much Sophia knew without a doubt. But the butterflies were bound to turn to dragons in her gut if this line of teasing and questioning continued. “Save it for tomorrow?”

Tina gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. “So long as you give me a play-by-play over tea?”

Sophia couldn’t help the laugh in response as she shooed Tina out. Her computer was already shutting down and, with a glance out the window, she saw snow had started falling again. Nothing heavy like the night before, these flakes were soft and gentle whispers of snow, just enough to add a dusting to the world around them rather than bury them.

Shrugging her coat on, a quick glance to the front offered a brief reprieve. Douglas had gone early, off to spend time at the market with his father, which felt like a blessing in disguise. Shorthanded they had been that afternoon, but it kept both Douglas and the Mayor out of her hair. Going through her mental checklist for the end of the day, she clicked the lights off, locking her office up for the night.

“Going to enjoy the market, detective?” The night volunteer asked, raising their gaze from the computer at the front desk.

“For a bit,” Sophia offered a smile. “Have a good night.”

Cold air mixed with the tang of salty sea air and Sophia felt her breath catch when she stepped out of the station. Partially from the cold, but her gaze caught sight of him just beyond the doors.

It wasn’t uncommon these days for Adam to show up at the end of her shift, hands in his pockets, watching with green eyes that looked upon her with far more warmth than they initially had and the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Walking with him on her way home had become a ritual that Sophia enjoyed more than she could say.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” Sophia offered a small smile that didn’t quite live up to the blossoming warmth in her chest. “Ready to go?”

“Waiting is never a problem,” Adam’s lips curled ever so slightly, turning to fall into step with her as their boots crunched against the film of new snow that covered the walk. “It’s been a while since I have gone to any sort of Christmas market.”

“This is my favorite,” Sophia confided, her voice dropping just slightly as they walked. It felt like sharing a secret, letting him under yet another layer as they learned the steps of this thing between them. “I don’t know that I’ve ever missed a year, except when I was at uni.”

Adam hummed slightly. “I’m glad you’re willing to share this with me.” They walked side-by-side, drifting towards an invisible string that tugged them together, but never quite touching. Her hand brushed against his in motion, her stomach filling with butterflies at something as soft and innocent as that.

Turning the corner, there was no containing the momentary giddiness that rose inside of her as the market came into full view. The scents and sounds were old friends, the shimmering lights a comfort. More stalls had filled the square over the years; what had once been small had gotten a bit bigger with each passing year. Old faces and the new blended together as voices called above the din.

“I was thinking,” Sophia began, tilting towards Adam. “Maybe we could start with-”

“Ah, Detective Laveau, there you are.” From the crowd, Captain Sung strode out. Bundled like the rest of the crowd to battle against the cold, he gave a sharp nod to Sophia, acknowledging Adam with another brief incline of his head. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Is something wrong?” Sophia couldn’t help the shift, sliding easily into work mode at a moment’s notice.

“The crowd’s a bit bigger than I anticipated,” Captain Sung was all business, his gaze trained on Sophia. “I was hoping you could check in with security across the market, make sure everything is going smoothly.”

Disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow as she worked hard to keep her expression neutral. “Of course, sir.”

The details were easy enough to remember as the Captain filled her in on where the security teams should be located across the market. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go, she thought, caught between irritation that she couldn’t have this one thing to herself and the understanding that it simply was her job, even when she was off the proverbial clock.

“Duty calls,” Sophia failed to keep the sarcasm from seeping into her tone once the Captain had moved along, leaving Adam and her to their evening. Well, what would be left of it once she finished running across the entirety of the market. “Looks like tonight isn’t exactly-” She paused, frowning as she struggled to end that sentence.

“I can still accompany you,” Adam didn’t seem terribly flustered over the change in plans. “I’m sure there will be time yet.”

Time, it seemed, which wasn’t quite on their side.

“Sophia!” Douglas was beaming, his raised voice drawing the attention of the Mayor in turn. There was no hiding the bristling, both from the attention that Douglas had been giving her for some time now, as well as having to deal with Mayor Friedman.

“Officer Friedman,” Sophia replied, cordial without being too cold; professionalism had been her go-to route these days, though it didn’t seem to deter the enthusiasm that Douglas showed her. “Enjoying the market?”

“Of course he is!” Douglas’s father responded for him, clapping a hand onto his son’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t he be? At a splendid event such as this?” Truly, he was laying it on thick, and Sophia schooled her face to keep herself from reacting.

“I really should-”

“Will the rest of your party be joining in the festivities tonight?” Ever eager to make himself important to the agents, the Mayor didn’t bother hiding his enthusiasm about Unit Bravo even being in town. Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  

“I’m certain they are mingling,” Adam seemed stiffer than usual, back ramrod straight as he gave what Sophia could discern was a diplomatic answer.

“We really should be going then,” Giving a nod to the pair, Sophia casually slid a hand into Adam’s arm, pulling him firmly along with her. Only when they were farther away from them did Sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, shaking her head. “Thank god we didn’t have to linger.”

Adam gave a low laugh and neither of them seemed to mind that her hand remained, lingering longer in the crook of his elbow than strictly necessary.

“After you, Detective.”

---

There was a surprising amount of ground to cover across the market. Adam hung back, for the most part, acting a shadow as he watched Sophia striding to and from security check points, as well as pausing to turn when one of the townsfolk called her name. He knew her not to always be particularly chatty, but she didn’t flinch or leave anyone hanging, necessarily.

He could have spent the evening with the others, not wanting to keep Sophia from fulfilling her job. Felix had been overjoyed at the prospect of the winter market, having never been to one, and Nate was kind enough to follow along with their overly enthusiastic companion. Mason, for his part, had happily opted out, which wasn’t a surprise.

And yet, there was no doubt that he’d stay here, with her, in any capacity she’d allow him.

Silhouetted against the lights strung above them, Adam swore he felt his heart thud against his ribcage at the mere sight of her. There were times in the past when he pushed hard, and fast, to keep these feelings at bay. There were too many variables and, for someone who had lived as long as he had, there was always the eventual demise of those he cared about.

The thought of losing Sophia and having lived through those near misses should have been enough to push him away.

And yet, it only drew him closer.

It was dizzying, this thought that Sophia had become like a center of gravity for him, pulling Adam ever closer into her orbit. No matter how near or far, he always found himself tugged back into a quiet rotation around her. He knew he didn’t need to protect her quite so fiercely (save for her moments of stupidly and brashly charging forward into danger every so often), but he often felt like a sentinel, watching out for those moments when he could do more for her.

He had been ice for so long, one touch from her and he felt like he was melting. The imprint of her hand on his arm was long since gone, but it felt as though she had branded him regardless. The surprising part of it all was that Adam did not mind.

“Ah, Agent du Mortain.” Glancing over his shoulder, Adam offered a thin smile as Sophia’s colleague, Verda, materialized from the crowd. One hand held tight to one of his daughters, the other clutching a bag of what appeared to be piping hot mini donuts. The scent of cinnamon and sugar briefly wafted his way, but it didn’t remain long enough to be a bother. The market was filled with scents and sounds, all of which had faded to a dull afterthought when his attention had fixated on Sophia.

“Good evening.”

“Enjoying the market?” Verda gave a polite smile, lopsided momentarily as his daughter, Cara, pulled on his hand harder than expected.

“I am.” Adam gave a brief nod, glancing over his shoulder to where he’d last seen Sophia. “The Detective and I-”

“You’re here with Sophia?” There was a slight change to Verda’s expression, the polite smile melting into a knowing and pleased sort of smile.

“Yes,” Adam didn’t know how else to react but to nod again. “She had been otherwise occupied most of the night.” Despite his usual demeanor, Adam was surprised to hear the disappointment in his own tone. True, he enjoyed any time he could spend with Sophia, but tonight was supposed to be more than patrols or walking her home.

“I’m sure you two will have some time left before everything is over tonight.” There was a slight, sympathetic note to his voice. Adam’s gaze followed Verda’s, glancing to catch a glimpse of Eric and their other daughter not too far away.

“You speak from experience?” Despite himself, Adam couldn’t help the humor that slipped into his voice. Verda laughed as Cara let go of his hand, her eyes alight as there was movement behind Adam.

“In a manner of speaking.” Verda gave a nod, his smile wider than before, far more personable than polite. “Glad to see you made it out here, Sophia.”

Adam had noted her moving, but it was more than just supernatural senses that seemed to keep him keenly aware of her. He found himself easily slipping into her gravity again, giving a fond smile to his left as Sophia came into view again.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sophia gave a smile in turn. “I’d be happier if I could enjoy things in bl-- in peace, I mean.” A glance down to Cara, who had plastered herself to Sophia’s leg for a quick hug, had stopped her from cursing, something Adam couldn’t help but chuckle, very quietly, over.

“Everything seems in hand,” Verda glanced around, almost conspiratorial as he added, “If you make a break for it, I won’t tell.”

Sophia paused, chewing on her lower lip a moment. Adam knew that look, one of contemplation, weighing out the pros and cons of any given situation they found themselves in. Adam wasn’t always a fan of this look, keenly aware that she got it right before she was about to do something reckless in the field. This time, though, under the dusting of snow that still fell, there was something terribly endearing about it.

“I’m blaming you if I get in trouble,” Sophia was teasing, even Adam could hear it and, gently giving Cara a hug in turn before extracting her from her leg, Sophia glanced to Adam. There was a question in her eyes, her hand moving forward but leaving enough space that he could deny this request without making either of them uncomfortable.

There was no contest, his hand reaching back, fitting with hers easily, allowing her to tug him along through the crowd.

It was easy to get lost, but her grip on him remained strong, almost resolute as she was. Snow clung to her eyelashes as she turned back, cheeks pink from the cold; Adam couldn’t help but be reminded of how impossibly human she was, that this thing between them might yet break and burst into too many pieces for them to count or heal from.

“I think we’re out of sight,” Sophia’s voice was soft as she slowed, the pair of them caught under an awning of one of the stalls. Little Christmas trinkets were on display, the sound of the waves against the docks louder than the crowds near the front of the market now. “I’m sorry-” and her voice was stilted, uncertain as an apology came without any necessity for it. “-that tonight hasn’t exactly been-”

“There’s no need,” Adam firmly cut her off, still holding her hand tightly in his own. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.” He meant it, but it was no surprise either of them when he said it. It felt as natural as breathing, to simply be together, even if they were both a little skittish and a little nervous about what it all meant in the grand scheme of things.

They were caught in a moment as Adam felt the flutter of her pulse in her wrist, the silence fraught with something more that-

“Sophia, fancy seeing you-”

“Oh my god!” Professionalism shattered as a night full of talking with everyone (it seemed) in town and the pressure that felt like it was building there burst like a dam. Sophia’s hand was out of his as she whirled around. “Can’t I have one moment of peace tonight?” However, glancing above her head, Adam almost choked on a laugh as he spotted Felix and Nate lingering a few steps away.

“Oh, uh,” Nate blinked, though Felix didn’t seem terribly crestfallen. Nothing seemed to dim his rather bright personality, though Adam assumed being antagonized (or perhaps antagonizing was the right word) by Mason was enough to make this slide off him effortlessly. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were in the middle of something.”

Sophia, for her part, was flushed, frowning as she opened her mouth to, inevitably, apologize. Nate held a hand up, offering a small, crooked sort of smile. “No need, Sophia.”

“It’s fine,” Adam answered instead, aware of warmth in his own cheeks, lips curled into a very slight smile. “We’ll catch up with you?”

“Of course,” Nate rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder, steering him away from the stall. “I think I saw some hand-crafted journals here somewhere.”

Felix, however, didn’t lose the enthusiasm. Turning his head, he shouted back to the pair of them, “Hey, did you look up?” There was something rather eager about his tone as Nate shot an apologetic look back before he and Felix vanished into the crowd.

When Adam turned back, Sophia was looking up.

Oh.

“That’s-” Sophia began, scratching the back of her neck.

“Mistletoe,” Adam finished for her, his face far warmer than it had been a moment before. At the very least, this wouldn't be the first time they kissed. If she wanted to, he noted, glancing at her and then back up to the sprig of green above them that seemed to taunt him, if only momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything, Sophia.”

“I know.” But there was something breathless about the way she said it, a soft hesitation that didn’t linger as she met his gaze. Her eyes had always been mesmerising, he mused, catching him and drawing him deeper and deeper every time. He was aware of how close they stood, the way her breathing was a little shallow and how, without hesitation, she leaned up to kiss him.

There was nothing ordinary about kissing Sophia; each time it had happened, he felt as though his world had tilted on its axis and nothing had ever quite been the same after. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb drawing soft circles at her jaw, sinking into the sensation of it. Her nose was cold, her hair a little mussed from the wind and he knew from experience that she was a woman with sharp edges.

They parted, breath mingling together, her eyes still partially closed even in the aftermath. Adam couldn’t help the little smile, brushing his lips against hers once more in a chaste, soft parting kiss.

From beyond their bubble of intimacy, Adam swore he heard a whistle and whooping cheer, no doubtedly Felix. Sophia was flushed and he was certain he looked the same, letting a quick laugh escape. There was nothing embarrassing about this moment though, he thought, fingers tangling with hers easily, keenly aware of the warmth in his chest and the steady assurance of this .

Even amidst the chaos of the world around them, there was comfort to be found as, hand-in-hand, they strolled back into the throng of people. Though, as both would certainly attest, they only seemed aware of one another.

[jeannereames]

What Genre IS Dancing with the Lion?

(N.B.: This post should not make anyone feel guilty for mislabeling the novels; I’m posting it because there seems to be some confusion.)

One of the most important parts of selling a book is getting it into the right hands: that is, to the readers most likely to enjoy it. And that involves labeling it correctly.

If you picked up Dancing with the Lion because you’re a fan of Alexander the Great or ancient Greece, the book’s genre probably matters little. I’ve read novels about Alexander in everything from lit mainstream to SFF to mystery to old-school Romance.

Yet such readers are a fraction of potential readership. For those with no particular inclination to a book about Alexander the Great, naming the genre matters. Will it meet reader expectations and appeal, or frustrate and annoy? That’s why authors worry about genre labels.

So, to answer the question: Dancing with the Lion is a mainstream historical coming-of-age novel with touches of magical realism and queer themes.

Below, I’ll explain in brief why it’s some labels and not others. But I want to stress that getting a book correctly labeled is NOT a diss at genres it isn’t. Again, it’s about getting it into the right hands so readers like it instead of hate it.

Novel: At root, two basic story types exist—those that focus on plot (romance, small /r/ = adventure story) and those that focus on characters (novel). I write both, incidentally; my current WIP is an historical fantasy adventure series. But DwtL is a novel. Characterization IS the plot, rather than characters moving the plot along.

Mainstream: Just means the book doesn’t fit into the plot conventions of commercial genre fiction. Saying something is “mainstream” therefore says mostly what it is not: not mystery, not horror, not Romance, not fantasy, etc. Some folks will subdivide it further into “literary” mainstream versus commercial mainstream with the distinction that the latter sells better and/or the former is more artsy.

Historical: A subcategory of several genres, including mainstream. Readers of historicals tolerate more historical detail and unusual names, although genre historicals can alter that. Too much historical detail in an historical Romance that slows down the love story can get an author in trouble. Mainstream historicals may include glossaries, character stemma, timelines of historical events, or other reader guides. Afficionados of historical novels are reading for that detail, not in spite of it.

Coming-of-Age: as the name suggests, this very old story archetype is all about the characters growing up. In DwtL, three characters have coming-of-age arcs: Alexandros, Hephaistion, and Kleopatra.

Magical Realism: Unlike genre fantasy, magical realism combines realistic/non-magical elements with supernatural ones. They also take place in this world, not a different fantasy world in which magic works. Yet the line between historical fantasy and historical magical realism can be fine because, in the past, people did assume magic worked, and the better authors of historical fantasy employ magical systems appropriate to that place and time. The biggest difference is that magical realism is subtler, and the supernatural elements may not be perceived by all, or even most characters. (So while Alexandros sees Dionysos, no one else does.)

Queer Themes: This is more than just Alexandros and Hephaistion as lovers. Especially in Rise, one sub-plot for Hephaistion’s coming-of-age is his own growing awareness that the way he experiences desire does not conform to the expectations of his society. He is what we, in the modern world, would call gay. I wanted to explore how it might feel for someone to be gay in a world that doesn’t have that label, and which might, on the face of it, seem more accepting…but really isn’t.

Now, for the genres it’s not, and why:

Not Romance: Capital /R/, Romance the genre has fairly locked-in plot arc expectations. The Hero and Hero (if it’s m/m) meet, go through trials and tribulations, then finally hook up in some sort of permanent way to live happily-ever-after (HEA) or at least happily-for-now (HFN). The focus of the novel must remain firmly on the Hero and Hero and their relationship. Other relationships and events should serve to frame the main one, never distract from it.

DwtL: Becoming simulates some of those things. The book does begin when the boys meet, and they go through a friends-to-more plot arc, but there’s too much Other Stuff, and in Rise, the story just keeps going even after they get together. Furthermore, Rise is not a Romance plot arc, even loosely. It’s all about Alexandros and Hephaistion entering the adult world of politics and war, and the larger theme (of the whole series, not just these books) asks what it means to be a moral/ethical sovereign?

Not YA (Young Adult): Although YA novels should have an adolescent protagonist and will often be a coming-of-age story, not all novels with an adolescent protagonist or coming-of-age story are YA. So what’s the difference? The themes and the language employed.

The plot of YA should focus on things important to that age group (13-18), not necessarily what could equally matter to someone in their 50s. That doesn’t mean adults can’t enjoy YA stories; about 55% of YA books are purchased by adults. Another aspect of YA is the vocabulary used and complexity of ideas. Sometimes adult coming-of-age stories are called more “sophisticated,” which isn’t a term I like. Intricate might be better, in characterization and theme.

Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, and J.D. Salinger’s A Catcher in the Rye are all coming-of-age novels, and some are even assigned in high school English classes. But they aren’t commercial YA in language or theme. In contrast to, say, Madeline L’Engel’s A Wrinkle in Time, Jane Yolen’s Pit Dragon trilogy, or Ursula LeGuin’s A Wizard of Earthsea. Yet I don’t think anyone would call those latter three “unsophisticated.”

In short, a teen protagonist and/or coming-of-age story does not qualify a book as YA.

Finally, most YA treats sex gingerly as they must be appropriate for readers as young as 13, 14, 15. They may have some romance or none at all, and they may have elided sexual situations light on description. It shouldn’t be shocking, but age-appropriate to adolescent curiosity about sex. (By contrast, the category of New Adult [18-25 readership] may have quite a lot of graphic sex in it, although in other ways NA resembles YA.)

When I wrote Dancing with the Lion, despite the age of the main protagonists, I made no attempt to moderate the language. There are also POV scenes from adults, and three of the chief thematic concerns—what does it mean to be a moral king [Alex], how does one support the powerful without losing one’s self in the process [Hephaistion], and how to exercise personal agency when one has none legally [Kleopatra]—are themes that can apply to any age group. Last, the sex scenes have no stop on them. If two are over fairly quickly with general/poetic description, the third is graphic because it needs to be as what they are doing matters very much to Hephaistion’s character arc. There is also reference to the rape of women and children in war; only the aftermath is shown, but still. While I realize emotional maturity can vary wildly, I wouldn’t recommend the second novel for readers under 15/16. (I told my niece not to let my great-niece read it yet.)

That’s why I’m concerned about Dancing with the Lion being labeled YA. An unsuspecting parent might buy it for their early teen child, only for that child to get a textual eyeful in book 2!

Also, readers who pick it up thinking it’s ___, get angry when it’s not. E.g., in an otherwise fairly positive review, at least one reader wrote:

“Because the western spellings/pronunciation are so ingrained using the stranger sounding Greek slows the pace even further and seems to over complicate things merely for the sake of it. This is clearly aimed at a YA audience and so I find the choice doubly baffling - Because you want to encourage teens reading not put them off by making this harder than it needs to be.”

But it’s not YA, was never meant to be YA, nor marketed or labeled as YA on the cover. Apparently, some folks on Goodreads labeled it that in their tags, so now “Young Adult” shows up as one of its genres…and I can’t get rid of it because I don’t set those tags (nor does my publisher).

In the above case, the reader mostly enjoyed it, but her perceptions affected how she reviewed it. Authors can’t always control those perceptions and expectations, but as we really do want readers to like the book (not feel deceived), we endeavor to use the right labels on them.

[unlockthelore]

Hey there, I’m Lore !

A twenty-two year old writer with a vast interest in fiction and the themes that can be conveyed by an interesting character-driven narrative. I’ve been writing for about seventeen years and I’ve got no interest in stopping anytime soon. Most of my works deal heavily with fantasy ranging from urban fantasy, dystopian, to high fantasy. 

Although the process can be challenging, I enjoy seeing what I’ve made come to life and keep meticulous notes of everything that I do. It can be a little consuming but I’m grateful to anyone who wants to tag along while I’m working.

[ A FEW LOREBITS ABOUT LORE ]

The want to be a writer has been around since I was a small child and I quite honestly don’t see myself doing anything else. 

I’ve been writing since I was about five years old and my first story, from what I can remember, was about an ogre who befriended a cat that loved to wear hats. Inspirations being Cat in the Hat, and my older brother’s growing interest in RPGs.

My greatest love is adventure stories in interconnected universes with a sprawling cast of characters, each unique and colorful in their own way. I like the idea of creating a universe where the reader can fall in love with them but also understand their struggles.

As an above note, I’m very invested in JRPGs, animated movies, and fantasy novels. If you know of any and want to recommend them to me then it would be much appreciated. 

Notebooks are both my lifeblood and what take up 90% of the space in everything I have. Even my desk usually has a notebook on top of it so I can scribble down ideas. 

I prefer character-driven narratives because it’s normally the characters that make the situation, so most of my time is spent figuring out backstories and weaving them together. 

I stim and at times, it takes me hours to come to a point where I’m sitting again. If I miss a message or I don’t reply right away, that’s usually why.

I tend to listen to instrrumentals when I’m writing and rarely listen to music with lyrics.

My comfort movies are anything made by Studio Ghibli, I’m incredibly partial to Whispers of the Heart, Princess Mononoke, Pom Poko, and Porco Rosso. I bought the novel that inspired Howl’s Moving Castle, the one by Diana Wynne Jones and it’s my comfort book.

Speaking of series I love, I’ve read a lot of them and I know I mentioned it before, but if you have book recs please don’t hesitate.

[ INSPIRATIONS ]

I’m heavily inspired by a lot of things. Reading has always been something I’ve done since I was young and going out in the world is how I find the words for settings, and interesting people who bring my characters to life. JRPGs such as Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Kingdom Hearts, Legend of Zelda, and the like are what interest me he heavily. I’ve also been into anime for as long as I can remember, studying and trying to remain respectful of the cultures I’m privy to seeing. 

Then there’s movies. I love superhero movies but I also like others which challenge the mind and put the characters in harrowing situations. TV shows as well. Some of the writers / creators that’ve heavily attributed to my works are Maya Angelou, Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Hayao Miyazaki, Leigh Bardugo, L.A. Banks, Rumiko Takahashi, Togashi Yoshihiro, Naoko Takeuchi, and several others.

[ WRITING PROJECTS ]

HUNTSMAN AND THE WOLF - Red is a huntsman, protector of the innocent and destroyer of the wicked, sworn to a life bound to a sordid end. Yet when he comes face to face with a creature that he has no interest in felling, the certainty that he'd had all of his life crumbles. Tangled in a web of lies and deceit that may bring about the end of all Creation, Red seeks the truth alongside the one who may be the death of him.

LEGEND OF THE FOUR ELEMENTAL HEROES - Falling through the sky isn't the best way to wake up, but Air has little time to worry about that. In a world they don't know where suspicion and lies lurk around every corner, they have to keep their wits about them. And stay light on their feet if they want to survive.

OATHBOUND - Monty swore to honor and cherish his wife until the end of their days. They were the best of friends, lovers, and fought side by side. Yet, time passed and death took her, while he was left with only the memories and the hope that soon he'd follow. When he thought he breathed his last, he didn't expect to open his eyes to a whole new world.With only the burning question, when you swear until death do us part, is death really the end?

PAN - Wendy wants nothing more than freedom. The right to choose, the right to live, the right to be free — she wants it more than anything and will go to any lengths she has to for it to be hers. If that means making deals with the Fair Folk, evading the clutches of Captain Hook and her band of soldiers, and joining forces with the Lost Ones, then so be it. The past no longer matters to Wendy. She’ll do anything to make sure that her future and her destiny are firmly set within her grasp. Even if she’ll have to put an end to the beloved Bandit Pan.

SPELLBOUND ( drawn by @acersecomic​ ) - The witches Cygnus and Gris do not get along. They run competing magic shops, the only two in town. Their magic infused bickering leads to trouble.

THE LAST STORY - Lyra had everything she wanted in life: her family, her girlfriend, and a peace that would keep her for the rest of her life. She was more than content to spend out the rest of her days in the village of her birth with each new day being another chapter in her story. Yet, fate seemed to have other plans. Her village razed to the ground, her family scattered to the winds, and her life thrown into chaos. With her only hope to regain all she lost lying with guiding her girlfriend on her quest for knighthood and a stranger’s visions, Lyra delves deep into deception, myths, and uncovers secrets long buried. She can only wonder how this will end and what she will become to regain her happy ending.

WAYFINDER - A traveling apothecary searching for something that is yet unknown meets a wandering magician seeking to run away from everything. What began as a simple act of goodwill turns into an event that may very well change the course of their lives. Dystopian, high fantasy, with a bit of solarpunk.

[thesilkenlair]

(Casey Here!)

As much D&D as I play, you'd imagine I would eventually get around to illustrating some of their most iconic monsters! Which is to say, the ones that I personally find the most iconic. Which is to say, the ones I memorized when I was reading my dad's monster manual at age nine. Purple worm - Sandworms never go out of style. I've seen a lot of rad designs for this bugger over the editions, but I favor the slightly less reptilian older takes for this particular critter. It's kinda basic, but sometimes that's what you want. It's like a shark or a crocodile: Just flat out unchanged across the ages. Hook horror - I've heard it rumored that Gygax used a small Gigan figure to represent this monster. I can't verify that, but it definitely sounds right. Hook horrors are one of the very first things you meet when you play around in the caves, and they kind of remind me of the Father Deep monsters of the Hork Bajir homeworld that way. Mind flayer - Mind flayers! Basically, take all of your Dracula conventions and dip them in a fresh coat of Lovecraft. There's that old "decadent aristocratic upper caste system who literally eats the poor, but still somehow comes across as less evil than the actual real life 1%" setup that will never stop being relevant. Though personally, I see mind flayers as the first alternative for folks who want to play that monster-who-feels-the-urge-to-eat-their-friends-but-refuses-to-do-it shtick but don't want to deal with vampire baggage. You know, the furry option! ... Slimy? Rubbery? Do we have a word for anthro-cephalopods? I'm only a casual furry. Gelatinous cube - I'm not apologizing for giving this one a slot. Froghemoth - So, back when I participated in my very first long-term campaign, I played a druid. You've met Talia before. Naturally, I was chomping at the bit for the day I finally got to turn her into a froghemoth, and celebrated the day my wish was finally granted and she was allowed to chug human-supremacist-cultists like popcorn. Yeah, okay, the froghemoth is one of the classic vore-monsters. But it's a charming design in its own right. Kind of a freaky Hanna Barbara critter, like you'd see Space Ghost fighting. No matter how many artists draw it, they can never shake that inherent goofiness that third edition tried so hard to purge. I would probably cram them somewhere onto Fronterra if I was sure they were public domain. As is, I'm 99% certain that this is what Visser Three turned into when he ate Elfangor. Tarrasque - D&D's original kaiju! Kind of just takes the name and nothing else when it comes to its mythological origins, but I don't mind. The Tarrasque is that endgame "let's test the players" final boss monster... Or at least it's supposed to be. My DM reskinned it for our final Pathfinder session, and one of the PCs still nearly killed it in a single turn. Also, he let Talia turn into one, so maybe Pathfinder is just bullshit? Regardless, the Tarrasque has one of those simple, iconic designs. I've heard rumors it was based on the concept art for Fallout's deathclaws, and like the Gigan-figure, I can't verify this in any way. With its reptilian features, twin horns, spiny carapace and grabby fingies, it has an undeniable lizardlike quality that I can't help but find charming. Kinda feels like a more refined version of Zilla? Though for an insatiable eating machine, I notice a lot of artists give it very little belly to work with. Come on, this guy eats entire cities! Give him somewhere to put it! Rust monster - An icon of icons, the rust monster! Drawing its origin from a bizarre Chinese "dinosaur" toy, later designs have made it more insectoid in appearance, but never feeling QUITE like anything Earthly. It's the four limbs. Between the four limbs and the tail, it's hard to tell if it's an arthropod mimicking a vertebrate or the other way around. I'm pretty sure this is part of what inspired my ossaderm creatures for Fronterra. Also, Ryla can turn into one in our campaign. I have no shortage of havoc to wreak when the opportunity comes. Behir - Dragons in D&D are kind of... extra. Godlike beings, paragons of whatever personality trait they represent. Whenever there's something uber powerful in D&D, it gets compared to dragons. It makes them kind of unapproachable. Behirs provide all the essentials of a dragon - Serpentine body, scaly skin, horns, sapience, breath weapon, taste for human flesh - wrapped up in a smaller, weirder, IMO cooler package. You know, your Lambton Worms. A lot easier to port in and out of adventures, a lot less of an event when they show up, but still a formidable force in their own right. I like the behir. The behir knows how to taunt me just the right amount. Bulette - Another Chinese "dinosaur" figure monster, the bulette is actually another one I associate with Talia. Whenever we faced a problem that didn't have a glaringly and immediately obvious solution, she would turn into a bulette, whether it was for beating up robots, digging through obstacles, trampling smurfs, navigating labyrinths, distracting slashers with cute dog tricks... it was kind of her signature form. But shenanigans aside, the bulette is just an excellent monster. While the "land shark" shtick may be common, there's a lot more going on with the bulette's design. It's rumored to be a mad wizard's creation, as he combined a snapping turtle with an armadillo and mixed in a helping of demon blood to taste. Personally, I always considered that to be a neat little rumor to flesh out the world, but never assumed it to be true. The bulette just feels too naturalistic for that. Like some kind of protomammal or crocodylomorph, or weird triassic monstrosity. Magic and demons and dragons and so on DO affect the ecosystem. I always figured the bulette was just something that evolved to compete in this new biosphere. Owlbear - This one, on the other hand, I fully believe the "mad wizard was bored" explanation. Another chinasaur critter, the owlbear is frequently made fun of. What makes it scarier than a regular bear? It can't fly, so why have owl parts at all? Why trade fangs for a beak in what is at best a latural move? Well, first of all, fuck you, owls are creepy motherfuckers, and that alone is enough to justify it. But secondly, that's part of its charm. Besides some improved vision, the owl DOESN'T make it more dangerous. What makes the owlbear dangerous is that it's an insane, Frankensteinian monstrosity roaming uncontrolled through the wilderness! It doesn't need weaponry, its sheer temperament is enough to make it a worthy opponent. Sure, the practical threat might not be hugely above that of a bear, but storytelling isn't about numbers. Any asshole can go outside and get eaten by a bear. The owlbear is part of this world. The owlbear is a reminder of what magic can do. Someone somewhere actually made this thing, for whatever reason, and now the world is irrevocably changed because of it. Owlbears go beyond practicality. They bring the lore! Also, bears don't have very good eyesight, so the big owl eyes probably make them better hunters. Flumph - Is that a Japanese-style martian? Do we just have aliens in D&D? Dear lord, I love them! Okay, the flumph has got a sizable hatedom. And that hatedom can eat my ass, because the flumph is precious and perfect just the way it is! Flumphs are designed as a sort of sidekick-type creature. They're not very good fighters, but they bring knowledge and lore to the table. Whether they're aliens from some far off star, seeking your aid to prevent catastrophe, or psionic natives of the Underdark eager to bask in your positivity and hopefully stick it to the tyrants they're forced to share real estate with. My group generally treats them as straight up aliens, benevolent but strange. Course, we're all pretty strange, so we get along just fine. Otyugh - Okay so, the aberration creature type implies that this is something from another world that doesn't belong. And yet otyughs, which are aberrations, are an essential part of this world's ecosystem? Okay, I can buy the idea that an alien organism adapted to our world and is now a key part of it. Fronterra's got a TON of that. It just feels like after a point, the otyugh would be considered a beast? Otyughs are great. Every ecosystem needs a decomposer, and every fantasy story needs at least one dive into the sewers. Otyughs provide both, and are intelligent enough to keep the plot moving if it hits a snag. There's always going to be garbage, refuse, carrion, decay, things that need to be broken down and processed. Carrion crawler - The carrion crawler is pretty similar to the otyugh in that it's technically not considered a beast, and therefor must have its origins elsewhere, but feels so integrated into the ecosystem that it just feels like it belongs. They usually can't talk, so they're not just reskinned otyughs, but I still consider them pretty essential. Otyughs find a singular spot where waste is dumped and shovel it down at their leisure, while carrion crawlers skulk through the tunnels, actively seeking their food. The crawler got one of the most radical redesigns on the transition from second to third edition, but I can't really choose a single favorite. The oldschool tentacle-faced cutworm looks like it could be a real animal, while the googly-eyed Halloween decoration feels like it could be from another world, merely having set up shop here. Could there name apply to two wholly different creatures? If so, then I'm not sure which one mine would be considered. I kinda mashed them together into something that doesn't quite feel like either. But I like it for what it is. Maybe I'll sneak it onto Fronterra. Aboleth - Tentacled, telepathic sea creatures who turn humans into slimy minions, who remember everything their race has ever seen, and who are always plotting something behind the scenes. Yeah, the aboleths really crank up the Lovecraft elements. Actually, between the mind flayers, the flumphs and the aboleths, even the most oldschool D&D covered quite a few essential Lovecraftian bases. The flayers are your corrupt yet still recognizable humanoids who can be considered truly evil, the flumphs are benevolent-yet-bizarre guardians who know more than you, and the aboleths are the truly unknowable, sinister intellects. The fact that they can barely function on land honestly only adds to that, IMO. They're inherently difficult for a party to reach, and they offer some nice underwater adventure seeds. Not enough adventures go underwater. There's this perception that the ocean is bad for storytelling because so many writers lack the creativity to make it work. I wanna run an underwater adventure now. Beholder - Icon of icons! THE D&D monster! The beholder! Paranoid, jumpy, always five steps ahead and twenty steps perpendicular! Beholds are fun in just about every way. Between their wacky, diverse designs, their elaborate lairs, their eccentric personalities, their bizarre powers, you're never gonna run out of fun with beholders. Remorhaz - It's always been a thing that bothered me with environment-based monsters. Why does the ice monster who lives in the cold use ice as a weapon? Aren't most of the things it encounters going to be resistant to the cold? Sure, a cone of cold will still kill a polar bear, but a lot of the monsters in the tundra are outright immune to cold. A while dragon's not going to get much use out of its breath weapon fighting frost worms and frost giants. That's one reason the remorhaz sticks out to be. We have an icy tundra beast whose insides are a scorching furnace, which it can intensify and weaponize as it sees fit. Which also conveniently explains why its design - a sort of cobra-esque centipede - invokes warm-weather creatures, despite its icy environment. It's a nice subversion of the usual tropes, plus it's just a memorable, cool looking critter to begin with. On a smaller note, the remorhaz feels like a good loophole for Ryla's "no cold weather morphs" rule. Turning into something elementally affiliated with ice is no good, but a non-magical monster that survives the cold by superheating its insides? That seems perfectly viable to me!

[aiweirdness]

Dungeon crawling or lucid dreaming?

I’ve done several experiments with a text-generating neural network called GPT-2. Trained at great expense by OpenAI (to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars worth of computing power), GPT-2 learned to imitate all kinds of text from the internet. I’ve interacted with the basic model, discovering its abilities to generate fan fiction, British snacks, or tea. I’ve also used a tool called gpt-2-simple that Max Woolf developed to make it easy to finetune GPT-2 on more specialized datasets - I’ve tried it on datasets like recipes or crochet. One of my favorite applications of GPT-2 and other text-generating neural nets is Dungeons and Dragons spells, creatures, character names, and character bios.

Recently Max published a tutorial on how to use GPT-2 to make new apps that are more complicated than just printing out large reams of text. To my delight, people have used them to made D&D games. First, there was Nick Walton’s AI Dungeon, in which a finetuned GPT-2 generates a story and three very strange action options at each step.

My latest obsession is GPT-2 Adventure, designed by a cognitive neuroscience student named Nathan, which lets you type in your own actions. And folks, this game is SO WEIRD and SO FUN.

YOU FLOAT IN SPACE, LIKE A BALLOON, AND AS YOU DROP THE CUBE, THE X, IT VANISHES IN A CLOUD OF GREASY BLACK SMOKE

>>

When I first launch the game, this is what I’m greeted with, a simple text prompt reminiscent of nostalgic dungeon crawling games. It sets the scene. It waits for me to describe my next move.

Even getting to this point is like a blast from the past. The game runs in a Google Colab notebook, a format where you’re looking at cells of code, with cryptic comments, vaguely alarming warning messages, and all. It’s not a sleek web app, but feels more akin to playing a game on an old DOS machine, or maybe on a graphing calculator. There are only two clicks to begin playing, but there’s a good two-minute wait while the game loads.

And it’s my turn to type something.

>> look up

It takes several seconds for the game to respond, as if I’m playing it on a very ancient computer. The computer is in fact a state-of-the-art NVIDIA GPU, likely a K80 or a T4. The T4 could eat my laptop for lunch. I’m just playing with a very very large neural net. Finally it answers.

YOU'RE IN LABYRINTH OF TWISTY LITTLE PASSAGES, ALL ALIKE

Almost immediately, the context seems to have changed. I’m not floating at all. I’m in a maze. I guess I’ll walk somewhere.

>> walk north

THE TROLL STEPS OUT FROM BENEATH THE BRIDGE AND BLOCKS YOUR WAY

YOU ARE ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE CHASM

A NOD IS GIVEN TO THE INFINITE WONDER THAT IS URBZIG

A SOLID RAINBOW SPANS THE CHASM

And suddenly things are happening. There is a troll. There is a chasm. There is a rainbow. There is… Urbzig? I play it safe.

>> praise urbzig

URBZIG IS THE PATRON SAINT OF ZORK

HE IS THE GODFATHER OF ZORK, THE PLACE TO GET NEWS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS

URBZIG IS A STRONGMAN,遊 ALL

If you’ve played classic dungeon crawling games like Zork, you may recognize some of these names and phrases. Checking Nathan’s original post, I see that the training data is indeed drawn from these games. But because it’s based on GPT-2, the training data also in some sense also includes much of the internet. This gives it a lot of latent flexibility to deal with situations that were never in the classic games.

>> ask Harry Potter to try walking across the rainbow

ASK HARRY POTTER TO TRY WALKING ACROSS THE RAINBOW HE CAN'T THE RAINBOW IS EXTREMELY WIDE ABOVE YOU IS A LARGE DOME UP AROUND ITS NECK IS A STRONGG PORE [UNFORTUNATELY, THE DIRECTION OF TRAVEL IS A LOT MORE INTERESTING THAN YOU THINK ][YOU ARE IN A LARGE ROOM, WITH A PASSAGE TO THE EAST, A PASSAGE TO THE WEST, AND A WALL OF BROKEN ROCK TO THE SOUTH

An interesting effect of its human-written training data is that, like Visual Chatbot, it isn’t prepared for humans that ask questions about objects that aren’t there. If I refer to Harry Potter, then Harry Potter must be present. If I type something about a giraffe, then it assumes the giraffe must be present.

>> ask the giraffe which direction to go next

THE GIRAFFE IS ALREADY OUTFITTED WITH A VISOR WHICH IS CLEARLY DEFINED

Although it’s not clear that this AI actually understands what a giraffe is.

>> look at the giraffes

THE GAZEBO HAS DISAPPEARED

>> put giraffe in backpack

DONE

Navigating this world is like navigating in a dream. My location suddenly changes without warning. I thought I was by a chasm with a rainbow bridge. Now apparently I’m in a building. Dreamlike, it is also really hard to read text.

>> look around

YOU ARE IN A LARGE ROOM, WITH A PASSAGE TO THE SOUTH, A PASSAGE TO THE EAST, AND A WALL OF BROKEN ROCK TO THE NORTH A SIGN POSTED ABOVE THE NORTH WALL READS, "STOP! PAY TROLL!" A SMALL WINDOW CAN BE SEEN IN EITHER WALL

>> read sign

THE SIGN IS VERY SIMPLE

>> yes but read sign

WE NOW HAVE ALL FIFTEEN TREASURES IT IS TIME TO GO BACK INTO THE CAVE FOR THE END GAME

>> that's awesome. but i still want to know what the sign says. read sign.

YOU ARE IN A GAZEBO ROOM WHICH HAS DOORS ONLY TO THE EAST AND SOUTH

Another thing that’s surprisingly difficult to do is check inventory.

>> check inventory

DONE

>> check inventory

THERE IS AN INTERESTING LOOT HERE

>> what is the loot

WHAT IS THE LOOT?

>> check inventory

YOU ARE IN THE BAG CASE

Very occasionally I will succeed in opening a bag. It will usually be weird.

>> open bag

OPENING THE BAG REVEALS A TEA BAG

>> make tea

AY! A LOVELY SURPRISE FOR THE SURPRISE

More so than any other game I’ve played, I’m unsure of the rules here. Some weird things unexpectedly work.

IF YOU DON'T GET KILLED, YOU ARE TOAST

>> Eat the toast.

EAT THE TOAST IT TASTES LIKE A STEAK A STEAK IS PERFECTLY FINE

Other seemingly obvious things don’t work.

THERE IS A PATH TO THE NORTH, A PATH TO THE SOUTH, OR A STEEP PATHWAY CLIMBING SOUTHWEST ALONG THE EDGE OF A CHASM

>> go north

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT

>> go south

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT

>> go southwest

YOU WILL BE DESCENDING INTO A VALLEY THERE IS A NARROW BEACH TO THE NORTH AND A PATH LEADING INTO A CANYON TO THE SOUTHEAST YOU ARE ON THE CLIFF OVERLOOKING THE FAR SIDE OF THE ROOM A PATH LEADS SOUTH ALONG THE EDGE OF A CHASM, AND A NARROW PATH LEADING INTO A LOZENGE ROOM

Sometimes I’m wandering endlessly from room to room, from cave to cave, encountering the same chasm in slightly different variations, the same dried-up lake. Other times I’m embroiled in seemingly unescapable fights, usually with trolls. Often reality shifts entirely around me and I end up in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike, or in the hall of the mountain king. Everything seems weirdly familiar - even the room descriptions are echoes of classic dungeon crawling games. It is as if I’m dreaming about playing them again.

My actions also mold reality. I learn quickly to always check for diamonds, and never check for traps. If I find myself in trouble, I can always do something confusing and provoke a context change. Writing “In a large bowl, combine butter and sugars” is usually enough to teleport myself out of whatever situation I’m in. I can always ask a giraffe for advice, although the giraffe usually isn’t very helpful.

Without a particular mission to fulfill, the caves and chasms begin to blend into one another. I give myself missions, and that helps. Once I decide my goal is to put together a picnic (incessant “check for food” commands eventually yielded a sack with a lunch and a clove of garlic, belonging to a horse who agreed to join me on a picnic). Another time I demand a mission and am given some php code; i decide my mission is therefore to build a website, but am astounded when a unicorn steals my laptop. This is not the only time other content intrudes on the game’s fantasy landscape - once the game tries to tell me about finding cash online, and another time I am sadly informed that there is no wi-fi. I encounter dinosaurs and troikas, none of which were in the original training data. Occasionally things get creepy as hell.

>> check for loot

CHECK FOR LOOT HERE CHECK FOR GOLD HERE CHECK FOR TORCH HERE CHECK FOR BONE HERE DO CHEST COMPRESSIONS AGAIN DO CHEST ROTATE DO CRESCENT MOON APPEAR IN THE ROOM'S CENTER

>> do back away slowly

DO BACK AWAY SLOWLY DO NOT OVERDO IT THE CHEST WILL EXPLODE AND YOU WILL DIE OKAY, SO YOU SEE ME

You can play the game too! Just follow the colab notebook link in Nathan’s blog post. Tips: 1) It may be more fun if you set yourself an arbitrary goal to reach. 2) If you find things getting repetitive, try adjusting the temperature in the “Play the game” cell to 0.6 or 1.0.

Subscribers get bonus content: The fulltext of a couple of my adventures (much too long to include here).

You can order my book You Look Like a Thing and I Love You! It’s out November 5 2019.

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - male dragon shifter x reader) Part Two (sfw)

(this is supposed to be going up every Friday, but I was a dumbo yesterday and forgot, so here it is, a day late and with my apologies!)

Here's Chapter Two for you, in which we find out our dragon shifter’s name (pronunciation at the end if you’re curious). And Frankie speaks with a heavy Welsh accent.

I was trying to keep each chapter to under 1000 words, but that didn't work out so well for this one. It's nearly 2000 words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

A phone call from a number you didn’t recognise interrupted your quiet Friday evening, and you answered with some trepidation. Usually it was marketing calls at this hour, and nothing was guaranteed to make you lose your shit quicker than someone phoning up to sell you double glazing or, even worse, to try and scam you out of your life savings.

This time, however, a bright and bubbly voice with a lilting accent asked, “Hiya, I hope I’m not calling at a bad time, but you gave my friend your number in the hopes of finding a flute teacher?”

“Oh my god!” you blurted, nearly dropping the phone. “Yes! I didn’t think he’d actually pass it on. Thanks for calling.”

The laugh that trilled out of the person on the other end was more like a bleating giggle, and it was then that you remembered that the teacher was a faun. “No problem! My name is Frankie, by the way, and I’ve actually got space to take on a new pupil at the moment. If I got it straight it’s your niece?”

“Yeah, she’s six.”

“Ok, if you could maybe tell me a bit about her and what level she’s at, that might help me plan a bit, but we could set up a trial lesson - free of charge - and go from there?”

“Perfect. As for her level, she’s brand new. She’s wanted to play the flute for a long time, but she’s only six and my brother couldn’t really afford lessons until now.” As a single father, a widower, your brother did his absolute best for his little girl, and with no kids of your own, you stepped in to help quite a lot. “She’s bright and a quick learner, though she’s not particularly verbal. She’s always been drawn to music though; I think it’s a half-siren thing…”

“Yeah, that’ll be it!” he chuckled. “As long as she’s going to listen to me, that’s a good place to start from; I don’t need her to recite the Trollbridge Common Dictionary as well. I teach up at Mikaeïl’s house - he lets me use the music room free of charge.”

You frowned in confusion. “Mikaeïl?”

“The red-headed, starched-shirt-wearing, giant nerd-bag you met in the coffee shop,” he grinned and you snorted your tea nearly out of your nose.

“Oh my god.”

“Right? I mean, Kaeïl is an absolute marshmallow on the inside, I promise, but he comes across as a complete arsehole, doesn’t he? Anyway, back to the flute lessons. You let me know some dates when she’ll be free to come over, I’ll give you the address, and we can see how we get along. Texting is better for me as I’m usually teaching during the day.”

“Sounds good,” you said, and began to arrange the rest with Frankie.

Afterwards you did a quick internet search and found him easily enough. He was apparently well known, both as a teacher and a soloist, and he and the quintet did a number of local concerts too. You couldn’t resist zooming in on a few photos which also had Mikaeïl in. God, he had amazing bone structure, but he definitely had one severe case of resting bitch-face for sure. He wasn’t smiling in any of the photos and he looked severe, and untouchable as a hot coal.

Satisfied that Frankie was the genuine article, you called your brother and fixed a date to take her to the address Frankie had given you.

The next Friday, you picked Celia up from school while her dad took the night shift at work. The hours weren’t great, but it meant he got slightly better pay. Plus it meant that you got to have Celia for the night, and that was always fun. She was intelligent and creative, if quiet, and after dinner the two of you usually watched a film together or read if she didn’t feel like watching anything. You knew she missed her siren mother dearly, and her death had almost destroyed your brother. You and he were all the family she had now; her own grandparents had wanted nothing to do with a half-breed human.

You found Mikaeïl’s place easily enough, and as the enormous gates swung open for you, drove your rather shoddy car along the mile-long gravel driveway through gorgeous parkland and up to a frankly ridiculous mansion on the outskirts of Old Trollbridge. You barely restrained yourself from cursing out loud. The place was insanely beautiful.

Celia had her hands pressed up against the car windows, mouth open. “My teacher lives here?” she asked.

“It’s the house of his friend,” you said, trying to sound unfazed and unaffected by the grandeur. Mikaeïl must be a very wealthy person indeed.

You parked up outside and Celia hopped out, piercing eyes gazing up at the warm, sandstone facade of the building with its many sash windows and ornate architectural details. Her dusky brown wings - small for a siren her age, but then again she was only half-siren - were flexed slightly, as though she planned on flapping up to get a closer look at the carvings above the door, but you took her hand before the thought got any further, and led her to the front door, her brand new flute in your other hand.

It took a while for someone to come to the door, but when it was answered, you were surprised to find that it wasn’t some servant or butler in fancy livery, but it was Mikaeïl himself. You recognised him instantly, and he looked at you from behind his circular, gold-rimmed glasses with the same, piercing gold eyes. Despite the colour, they were cold and unsmiling. Beside him, in complete contrast in every way, stood a very short, slightly stocky figure with the white, woolly lower half of a satyr. He wore a thick, dark green, knitted jumper despite the warmth of the day, and he had massively thick, curling horns that coiled around his ovine ears. His curly hair was cut relatively short, and matched his white legs in colour.

He extended a hand to you as Mikaeïl stepped back silently and disappeared into the shadows, and he bleated, “Hi! I’m Frankie. And you must be Celia,” he added, turning his dark eyes to her. “Nice to meet you. Would you like to come in?”

She nodded shyly, and you ushered her inside in front of you. Frankie’s big cloven hooves clopped loudly on the marble entrance hall, and Celia gasped as she took in the beautiful, sweeping staircase that curled up the cylindrical walls of the drum-like entrance hall that was capped with a coffered dome.

“It’s quite something, isn't it?” Frankie said conspiratorially to her, and she nodded again. “Come on, let me show you guys the music room. It’s got the loveliest piano. This way.”

Mikaeïl had all but vanished.

Nattering constantly, Frankie led you away down a light, airy corridor with gold and cream silk wall hangings and 18th century landscape paintings on one side and a gallery of windows overlooking the gravel driveway on the other, and into an equally beautiful space. Somehow, despite the obvious wealth, the music room was tasteful and bizarrely modest. Yes, that was an original Steinway, and yes, there was a crystal chandelier - relatively small, but still - in the centre of the moulded-plaster ceiling, but the huge windows looked out onto a private terrace and parkland beyond, and it had the feeling of a well-used, well-loved, functional room.

Celia was utterly entranced. Her wide eyes took it all in and you stood there dumbstruck as well.

Eventually, however, you both got over it, and Frankie brought over a very ordinary, metal music stand and parked his behind on the piano stool with a grunt. “Right,” he grinned and she giggled slightly. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He pulled out his own flute from its case and showed her how to align the sections of her own correctly.

You sat at one side of the room, but you realised quickly that Celia kept looking over to you before she spoke, so you said, “Celia, I think you might learn better if I wait outside. How would that be?”

She nodded and you knew her well enough to see that she wasn’t worried, and Frankie shot you a smile and a nod. “We’ll be about another half an hour,” he said quietly.

With that, you left, and wandered up the corridor and back into the entrance hall.

You took your time in the corridor, admiring the paintings, and you were just looking up at the ceiling of the entrance hall again, marvelling at the artistry of the whole thing, when someone cleared their throat pointedly from the doorway to your left and you jumped.

“Can I help you?”

It was Mikaeïl. He was dressed in a smart shirt, with a black waistcoat and black trousers today, and his long red hair was tied back in a smooth ponytail that fell halfway down his back. His horns glinted in the low light, looking more like strangely-carved precious gems, flecked with gold, than keratin, and his eyes reflected oddly, like cat’s eyes in the dark.

“I…” you faltered. “I thought it best if I left them to it…” you said stupidly. He seemed to have the effect of draining your IQ to zero with just one look.

“So you took the liberty of roaming the halls of my home instead?” he said in a cold drawl.

“I… I’m not poking around,” you countered hotly, finding your words coming back to you. “I’ve only walked along the corridor!”

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Would you like something to drink?”

His polite question caught you off guard, and you gave him a blank look. “I thought you were going to have your gamekeeper shoot me for trespassing…” you said dryly.

Mikaeïl barked a harsh but amused laugh, the rigid lines of his body softening just a fraction. “Not yet at least,” he said and turned his back on you.

Assuming you were meant to follow, you did. 

Part Three

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It’s pronounced ‘mick-eye-ill’ :)

[emsartwork]

Oh, could you tell us about specific festivities or holidays each planet has? Like, are they significant to events or locations, are they based on legends or mythos, that kinda stuff!

They’re based on all kinds of things! 

below the cut this is hella long

Starting with the basics, Day of the Rose is a reference to a famous lady magic user(Lesya) who focused on caring for outcasts in society, she used a mix of Fairy transformations and Witch style magic but her title is Mage of Roses. When she died, thousands of people placed roses over her grave, and started giving roses to women who were similar to Lesya and the flower itself became a symbol of honor and respect for compassionate and inspiring women.  It originated on Magix but is celebrated Dimension wide. Mothers are the most common recipients of roses, but anybody can give a rose to any woman they want to show appreciation for.  Magix city has a large parade with floats and dancers and street food and carnival games, other parades vary.

Hala, or, The Storm Celebrations. Andros has a a lot of rain in general, but early spring is monsoon season, boats don’t go out and people stay inside unless absolutely necessary. Hala is both a celebration of the rainy season which brings life afterwards, and a ceremony that is supposed to ease the potential damage from the storms. Always held on a full moon, Hala is celebrated with feasts, traditional/ceremonial dances, and large bonfires in the evening(with more dancing and food). Hala also includes a commemoration of Queen Nephele, who protected the capital city from a record breaking storm for more than a week(she survived but had lasting health complications due to over use of magic). Aisha is pictured here in Hala ceremonial dance wear, featuring a headdress, braided cords, shells, and fan leaves. 

The most practical of Holidays, Zenith “celebrates” the end of winter with a few days off and a relieving breath of fresh air. Zenith technology keeps the most bitter cold out of communities, but the difference in air temperature can lead to the snow melting and re-freezing at the boundary. Eventually this leads to a build up of packed ice creating a “zenith snow globe” as its jokingly called. Once the temperatures rise enough that the dome won’t reform, the dome is shattered and the ice packed up and shipped out for various purposes. The shattering of the ice dome is considered especially beautiful to off-planeters, but zenithians consider it a matter of necessity.   

Solaria has the Summer Center Festival, held twice a “year” when the planet is in the center of it’s orbit. It a huge, three day party, Solarians feast, dance, drink, and decorate themselves, their hair, and literally everything else with ribbons gemstones and glitter. Each day is supposed to represent one of Solaria’s suns, the Dawn Star, the Dusk Star, and the Second Sun of Solaria(not a real sun, a magical power source), but much of the distinctions between each day have been lost as the festival has gotten older. Another holiday on Solaria is a much less popular one called Iahlayculi (ee-ah-lah-koo-lee, don’t ask its a mash up of like three words and languages) or the Night of Many Eyes. Its celebrated once a year, whenever the most moons will be around the planet (calculated with astronomy and physics and shit). It’s much more somber than The Summer Center Festival, and is considered a time of great self reflection and magical potential. Practitioners wear a loose draped dress, a wreath around their head, and craft a lunar lantern(usually magic but sometimes by hand). The wreathes are burned, and the lanterns released to the sky as offerings to the moons of Solaria. This celebration is a favorite of witches(especially Mediums and Psychics) but the general population views it as a little too occult. 

Firefest is held at the height of summer. There isn’t really a central location for the celebration, though the capital city is known for it’s fireworks display. Each community puts together it’s own local festivals featuring a large bonfire, large and small fireworks, and food/game booths. The Firefest honors the first king and queen of domino, Volenae(queen) and Zaphiric(king). They were also the first holders of the Dragon Flame and Phoenix Flame.  They aren’t a married couple but siblings, sharing a joint reign over Domino and eventually creating two bloodlines for the dragon and the phoenix to flow along. Volenae’s symbol is antler like horns, and Zaphiric’s symbol is a black feather, both of these feature prominently in folk art and Firefest masks.

Celebrated in late summer, The day of the Singing Whales is the one time a year the whales surface for a breath of air. It is unknown if the Whales are Natural Animals, Fairy Animals, or Ethereally Blessed beings. While the Whales only surface in one specific bay, music festivals are often held inland, and everybody participates in fireworks and festival type games after sunset.

The day of Returning is an odd holiday for non-Lynpheans. While Lynpheans are known for their nature preservation and association with living plants, the Day of Returning celebrated the ever present death in nature. Lynpheans are very familiar with death, and don’t view it as a “bad thing” most of the time. Untimely death or unwarented violence is frowned upon but Lynpheans understand that death follows life and life follows death. In fact in some Lynphean dialects, “death” is refered to as “returning” (ex: Old Uncle Bush returned peacefully in his sleep last may.)  Mushrooms are the central icon of “returning” being organisms that live off of death in a very tangible way. The Common Lynphean Green Cap is the most popular to use. The cap of Green Cap contains psychedelic substances that can very often result in death. However, the stalk of the Green Cap contains the anti toxins. When taken alone the cap results in severe hallucinations and eventual death. When the stalk is taken alone it clears the body of toxins and has pain relieving effect. When taken together the cap and the stalk produce a mild euphoria, sometimes with (usually auditory) hallucinations(basically its kinda like acid). On the Day of returning Local Temples/Sanctuaries open up the use of the mushrooms as a way to come in to hear the voice of nature and connect the spirit with the physical manifestation of death. These Mushrooms are easy to get addicted to, and are a controlled substance limited to ceremonial or pharmaceutical use, but possession isn’t criminalized and the Lynphean community is very involved with addiction recovery programs.

A Lady I’ve mentioned in passing a few times, Reagis the Cruel, Fairy of Lace. When the Anscestrals first started looking for the Dragon Flame, they placed a Fairy on the throne of Eraklyon as pawn, “blessing” her with their power and tying her core magic to the planet itself. Reagis is Eraklyan, and reigned with an iron fist. She had no empathy for basically anyone, but hated men especially(bad childhood and lots of trauma combined with a superiority complex and power equals big yikes), placing them lowest on the social status and promoting women like her above them. Compassion was a social sin, an act of kindness towards another could lead to public censure and imprisonment, and the people of Eraklyon started to abandon each other emotionally. Sky’s Grandfather and Grandmother, Oris and Edra(along with a young Erendor), resisted and became anonymous figures who helped people in trouble. Eventually they had enough of a following to hold a proper rebellion. Oris and Edra lead the charge and Edra(a warrior) fought with Reagis while Oris(a magic user) worked on disconnecting Regis from her power sources which revived her every time Edra did manage to land a blow. When Reagis was finally un-linked her magic core freaked tf out and Edra landed one final blow with her spear to make Reagis’s magic go completely berserk and burn her up. Edra unfortunately took too much damage and passed after that. Oris was crowned king, established New Earklyon Day, and ruled for a few years before also passing away (due to complication in his core magic because of the way he un-linked Reagis’s from the ancestrals and the planet), and Erendor took the throne. New Eraklyon Day is celebrated with a parade in the capital city and is a national holiday(ie, day off work). Street fairs along the parade route are also common. Reagis’s reign is partially why women aren’t trusted in positions of power or the emotional realm of decision making, and are instead usually pushed towards physical fighting and enforcement.

Vaonaa celebrates the Festival of Threads! The festival is to honor the Ethereal Fairy known as The Threaded One. The Threaded One is unusual for Ethereal Fairies, in that they have regular, benign, interactions with a specific people at a specific time in a specific place (ethereals are usually much more unpredictable). But for whatever reason, The Threaded One seems to enjoy the Festival of Threads. The Festival is centrally located at the Woven Temple, but smaller scale local festivals are also common. The event happens over four days, with a different activity and group each day. The first day the grass fibers are gathered by the youths in the community, this is preformed as a game with kids leading lines with a flag and running/ducking in a pattern across fields to grab the grasses. The second day the adults preform the spinning dance, rotating and using drop spindles to spin the grass fibers into threads. The third day is when the elders groups together and weave the story of the year into the textile in a mix of group chants and oral poetry. The fourth day is for everybody, and the fabric created for the ceremony is burned in a hug bonfire as a sacrifice to The Threaded One. The bonfire is usually when The Threaded One publicly appears but some years they appear periodically through the other four days.

(psa: Vaonaa is very heavily based on Navajo native american culture, I very loosely based this festival on some of the four/nine day healing ceremonies, but ultimately I didn’t want it to just be a weirder version of a religious and culturally significant ceremony so I changed and added a lot. As always, please let me know if you have issues with this im always willing to listen and learn.)

Another practical society, Zhen’s featured festival is the Spring Shear. Just as winter is ending, local communities on Zhen start a flurry of activity. The domestic herds of Argali are sheared, and the wild herds are searched out and counted, hunted, selected for domestication, or moved to a different location. While Argalis do produce a wool like substance, they do not absolutely need to be sheared the way our sheep do. Their wool is shed or scrapped off by the sheep naturally, and it comes off in fluffy chunks, but the Zhen people find it useful and easier to shear their herds for a clean fleece. The fleeces are carded, spun, and wound onto spools in huge huge amounts, a lot of weaving is done at this time as well but its not the main focus. After the majority of the work is done, Zhenese relax and eat/drink/play in a fair like environment, usually held in market squares of estate courtyards. 

On Koyu, the Koyuvian Silk Moths are an iconic animal. Uniquely adapted to it’s environment, the Koyuvian Silk Moths are one of the only creature to live in the outer reaches of the Tangles, feeding off the radiation and burrowing into the living fungal limbs. However, the pupal stage is too fragile to survive the outer Tangles, so the moths travel inward to lay their eggs. The caterpillars eat a the leaves of a luminescent plant called Naemtaj, and eventually produce a silk strand cocoon and transform into the moth. After the moth wiggles out of the cocoon, they’re wings begin to glow and they begin to flock together to travel to the outer Tangles. This is the signal for the Koyvians to begin hunting for the cocoons when begin to give off a faint glow as they deteriorate with out the moth’s body chemicals to keep it intact. The Koyuvians must move fast and usually have several locations in an area with a boiling pot to stabilize the strands as they hunt for the cocoons. Eventually the searching dies down and the silk strands are brushed and wound onto spools for future use. The anticipation before the moths are born is buzzing with energy and bets are placed on who can find the most cocoons. After the work, the Koyuvians relax with food and drink.