#or what he gets for being so far south in the rift

[nejackdaw]

"Alright, gonna go get Gunmar. Pretty routine, probably just a--" (immediately aggroed by three trolls and a cave bear)

[duckapus]

God, imagine being Zelda in Echoes of Wisdom

-You get captured by your kingdom's worst enemy, thought to be merely a legend by those who know of him at all

-You're stuck in some ruined temple with him, trapped in a magical crystal, for who knows how long waiting for who knows what

-Eventually a boy in green clothes and a blue cloak you've never met before shows up and fights the Demon King and wins, like a scene from the fairy tales Impa told you when you were a little girl

-and then something goes horribly wrong, and the boy is sinking, and he looks up at you without a hint of fear on his face and uses his final act to free you

-and just like that you're alone, in the dark, with nothing to do but leave the temple as fast as you can before the rift swallows you too

-you pick up his cloak as you run

-once you're out and your father's men have found you, it sinks in; that boy, that hero, gave everything to save your kingdom

-to save you

-and you don't even know his name

-you get back to the castle and reunite with your father, only for another rift to appear and take him from you too

-and then some thing wearing his face manages to trick everyone into thinking you're the one behind this new crisis and you're trapped again

-(in the darkest corner of your mind you can't help but wonder if you really do share some of the blame somehow. you're the only one who survived the very first rift, after all)

-a strange creature appears before you, offering to help in exchange for your aid, and of course you're wary because you've never seen anything like Tri before and her power seems far too similar to whatever made the imposters that have taken over your kingdom to not be connected somehow, but given the circumstances you really have no choice but to trust her for now

-you sneak your way through the bowels of your own home, past your own soldiers, and at the very end your luck seems to run out... only for Impa, loyal to the end, to jump in and rescue you

-she gives you a disguise and a map and tells you to go to a village to the south where you'll be safe, and she stays behind to cover your tracks

-as you emerge into the sunlight, even with Tri beside you and Impa on your side, you feel terribly, painfully alone

-you make your way to the village, and even though they have every reason to be suspicious of a strange hooded girl and her even stranger companion, especially with their home and families ravaged by the rifts, you're met with kindness and open arms

-Many of them tell you of a boy named Link, who's kind and helpful and so painfully shy that he barely says a word, and how some time ago he ran off on a journey with nothing but an old sword on his back and a strange feeling that someone needed his help

-As you hear their stories, it slowly dawns on you that the boy they're talking about is your hero, and the guilt settles heavy in your gut

-Well. At least you know his name now

-You continue on towards the very temple where this all started, pushed forward both by Tri's urging and your own determination to get to the bottom of all this, and eventually you find yourself in a nightmarish realm of stolen land and lost souls

-You reach the temple and brave its many tricks and traps, until halfway through you're met with the cruelest of jokes; Link, your lost Hero, looking at you with cold, hate-filled eyes the color of blood

-You have no choice but to fight him, and as you do it soon becomes clear that this is yet another imposter

-Eventually you defeat it, and its sword, Link's Sword, is left behind

-As you pick it up, you feel Something shift, as if your spirit has touched that of another, and you look down at yourself and find that you're glowing blue and wearing an unfamiliar-yet-familiar tunic

-your hero is with you, now, or at least a piece of him, and it finally feels like maybe you really can solve this crisis

[anneapocalypse]

On blood magic and the Inquisitor.

I think there is a lot to be said about how Inquisition handles the topic of blood magic, with regard to the Inquisitor and Hawke and the mage rebellion, and there are valid criticisms with regard to narrative framing and role-playing limitations.

However I also think that any discussion of blood magic in Inquisition and the available specializations for a mage Inquisitor is very incomplete without acknowledging that necromancy is considered blood magic in the south.

Tevinter, so far as we can tell from what we know, just straight up doesn't consider it blood magic (hence Dorian seeing no contradiction in practicing it while vocally opposing blood magic), and Nevarra seems to get away with not considering it blood magic, despite being nominally under the southern Chantry, for political reasons (and probably also geographic reasons). But anywhere south of that? Necromancy is blood magic. The first two games, set in Ferelden and Kirkwall, strongly associate animating corpses with blood magic. From the southern point of view, this is and has always been blood magic.

A necromancer Inquisitor is a blood mage. Mary Kirby agrees. Companions and advisors react accordingly. Here's a compilation if you're interested in seeing them all, but Josephine's reaction is especially telling. Keeping in mind that Josephine is a seasoned diplomat who is well-traveled, has a multicultural education, and understands the nuances of this situation better than most, she says this:

Outside Nevarra, most people think the Mortalitasi practice death rituals… and sacrifices…

To my ear, it's pretty clear what Josie means here. Because she is a diplomat, she is not coming right out and accusing the Inquisitor of being a blood mage, but let's be real, in this context what else could she possible mean by that ominous "and sacrifices..." She is making it clear to the Inquisitor that they are creating a PR nightmare for her, and goes on to say that she'll be keeping this as quiet as possible.

On the other end of the spectrum we have the reactions from Sera and Blackwall, the most common of your companions. Blackwell openly disapproves of the whole practice. Sera is clearly unnerved personally, but she also says:

It's scary to anyone smart enough to think for a second. You shouldn't be scary. You're the Inquisitor.

As someone who's vocal about the interests of little people, she's also pretty clearly trying to warn the Inquisitor that this is a practice that will alienate common people who are already frightened of magic generally.

From what I could find, it seems Cullen doesn't have a reaction to this specialization, which seems like a real dropped ball! I think that his reaction out of anyone could have really cemented how this practice is viewed in the south. (Edited to add: Cullen does have a line in a war table op where he says, "I can accept that necromancy is not blood magic," with seeming reluctance, but still strongly disapproves of the practice being used on fallen Inquisition soldiers.)

As for why there are no meaningful consequences for this, and why no one says the quiet part out loud, well, I think this comes back to the fact that everyone needs the Inquisitor whether they like them or not, and whatever shady shit they might be doing, not closing the rifts is undoubtedly worse. Not only that, the Inquisition has some major allies among northerners, so while it wouldn't do for the Inquisitor to be known as a blood mage in the south, it also wouldn't do to insult those allies by openly condemning necromancy.

In some ways, it is a shame that this aspect of the Inquisitor's character constrains other characters' reactions to them, to a degree. I think it would be fun to get more heated reactions from your companions for this specialization. But I can see why it's limited by the game's basic premise, as are many things, which is itself a whole other discussion beyond the scope of this post.

Anyway, the Inquisitor can be a blood mage, of a sort! Just a sort where nobody calls them that to their face.

[lukedanger]

Owlcatober - Day 15 - Flying

The fledging of a mythic angel for @owlcatober.

[Ao3 Link]

====

The canyons south of Drezen were wide and generous, and offered some protection from the howling winds of the Worldwound. It was for this reason that Ulbrig had preferred to fly through them, and to race down as Arueshalae became more confident and was ready for good-natured sport.

Now, however, those two had something different to do.

"Come on, warchief!" Ulbrig teased, having already partially-shifted into his griffon form so that he had his own brown-feathered wings sticking out from his back, "It's time to fledge!"

"I'm still not sure about this," Elaina admitted as she looked at the river at the bottom of the canyon. It was sufficiently deep to catch her, and Nenio (who was taking notes) had provided her with a day-long Featherfall spell just for this purpose, and she was wearing a double-padded bascinet to protect her head, and Arueshalae was there to catch her. But still!

Her nervousness was obvious, though, particularly as the golden-white feathers of her two new body parts fluttered. Transforming into an angel was going to come with such wings - she had intellectually known it for some time - but finally manifesting them as the mythic power transformed her was something else.

"You said that the wings react like you always had them," Arueshalae offered, holding her now non-demonic hand out. "You can fly."

“When I am not thinking about them,” she pointed out. “And I am very much thinking about how I am about to jump off a cliff.” As if to emphasize the point, she was consciously driving her wings to flap to try and reassure herself. One flap at a time - keep a steady but high pace to support her weight. She will need to do so even harder once she puts on her plate harness and other wargear. The Hand could fly - and would fly again - but now she needed to.

"Come on," Arueshalae tugged her hand again, "You can do it. I know you can. Don't you want to fly through the night? With me?"

"Of course I do!" she answered back, "but-"

A large burly hand suddenly pressed against her shoulder, and she went over the edge. While no doubt there was a comedic scene of everyone staring at whoever had pushed her, right now Elaina had bigger problems. Namely, plummeting off the cliffside. Ten feet per second was still a fast pace!

Falling was not a new sensation, from being knocked in the back by the quintain during training, planar travel through rifts, or even Deskari cutting open Kenabres. This should have been an old hat for her.

Of course, back then she did not have two feathery capes behind her, slowing her down further as they reflexively expanded to create drag. She could feel the wind pushing past her - and the ground coming for her. Flailing her arms, she tried to orient herself - like a bird, face towards her destination. Flap the wings - flap, flap, flap!

She slowed down, and finally began to level off, until finally she managed to pull herself upright, a steady pace of her wings keeping her aloft as she looked around. Arueshalae and Ulbrig had both jumped after her, but were far enough back there had been a clear delay. The shifter was laughing, while Arueshalae's expression was contorted - from fear, to laughter, to anger, then back again.

"Ulbrig!" Elaina nearly snarled, "What was that for?!"

"Sometimes you just need a push!" he chuckled. "See warchief? You just have to trust your instincts. Can't train for everything."

Elaina suddenly lost altitude - catching herself and trying to focus again as she almost fell.

"Well, maybe some," he offered, looking at Arueshalae, then back. "Why don't I give you two lovebirds some time to figure it out? See you at the other end!"

Before either of them could retort, Ulbrig turned into his full griffon form and dove down the canyon.

Arueshalae held out a hand, beaming they were both flying. "Don't listen to him, you'll get it. If you do need training though, there's plenty of angels and archons in Drezen now."

"Maybe," Elaina admitted as she took it, "but maybe I think I'd prefer an azata."

Arueshalae blushed.

[wilcze-kudly]

Random idea! What if Bolin was born blind? (or some other type of disability) Since Earthbenders can sense the ground, I think Bolin would have developed seismic sensitivity. And he would probably be very uncomfortable in the south and north poles. And in the tournament, if the opponents were waterbenders or firebenders.

Honestly, that would be very interesting and it would add another layer to his obsession and reverence of Toph, probably seeing her as an inspiration not only due to her skills as an earthbender but due to her managing to do so many things with her disablity.

Him developing seismic sense would be interesting, since it feels rather antithetical to his personality. It's a skill based around being mindful of your surroundings, focused and neutral jing. Things Bolin isn't really good at lol.

So I can see him developing seismic sense, but it not being as advanced as Toph's and that being a source of insecurity for him, as maybe he needs to use a cane in day to day life. I actually think he'd rely more on sound, especially in the probending arena, where it seems footseps and bending reverberate more.

It would make his potential relationship with the Beifongs more interesting too. For example Lin might try to train him more in seismic sense, and maybe feel more protective and attached to him due to remembering her mother lol.

I think Bolin being blind would make Mako like 10x more stressed lol. I think he'd be even more overprotective of Bolin, which would cause more of a rift between tham as Bolin wants to prove that he can handle himself.

Also could Pabu be Bolin's 'seeing eye' ferret is that possible because that would be cool as fuck. He already seems highly trainable so it wouldn't be a stretch. He could for example, help Bolin find things or warn him of incoming dangers and stuff, some of which he already does in canon.

Fun fact,I already do headcanon Bolin with a visual condition, farsightedness. He has very good aim and seems able to hit far off objects spot on, like he did with Wei and P'Li.

But he has awful handwriting, seemingly didn't recognise his own wanted poster as a wanted poster until Mako pointed it out, and didn't seem to recognise two toed Ping until he spoke up.

Sure, all those things might just be for comedy/Bolin being his dense self, but i do find this an interesting concept. Especially that Bolin might not be even aware of his own condition, simply thinking it's like this for everyone (which could lead to him feeling bad about himself). Since he wasn't exacly in a place to get diagnosed as he developed and grew, since he never went to school or a doctors office as a kid.

[florencemtrash]

The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER TWO: THE GIRL AND THE WOLF

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter that I can think of, but expect angst, death, and sadness in the future.

Masterlist

________________

THIRTEEN MONTHS AFTER THE GIRL ARRIVED

The village people still whispered when she passed. With her strange features and unknown origin, coupled with the depressing lack of gossip in their small town, rumors spread like wildfire.

“She’s a high fae that appeared in the dead of night to Jaskiel Klavier,” Edna Evans whispered to her many sons, the youngest of whom still clutched her skirts in the marketplace so he wouldn’t get lost. “She promised him immortality if he would hide her in the moral realm. Can you imagine?! Even the fae are terrified of their own lot. Stay away from the creature.”

Others guessed she was Jaskiel’s bastard daughter, born to a mistress on the far east side of the continent who’d risked everything to reunite Nora with her rich, merchant father. What shame and disappointment the girl must have felt when she found out Jaskiel was penniless. 

The only rumor that pleased Nora was the one that labeled her a foreign-born royal, hiding in their small town close to the wall to escape assassins. The people who believed that were the ones most likely to leave her alone.

Still, none of their theories could come close to the ridiculousness of the truth - that she was really a being from another world, an unfortunate accident that had slipped through a rift in space-time and landed unceremoniously in the Moral Lands south of Prythian. As far as interdimensional beings went, Nora was incredibly boring. 

The trip through the rift had been brutal. To her it felt like years, maybe even decades, had passed with her body in a constant state of drowning. She’d been stretched into spaces both infinite and infinitesimal in size. When the pressure on her body had finally ceased she’d found herself cradled in silt at the bottom of a pond. With just enough strength and sanity left to emerge from the murky waters, Nora had dug her fingers as far into the loose and wet soil as they could go and promptly passed out. That was how Jaskiel and Dinah Klavier found her - soaking and swampy amidst the katniss plants.

“Ignore them, dear,” Dinah laid a hand on the small of Nora’s back as some of the townie boys sneered. Tommy Blicker, the blacksmith’s son, grabbed her arm roughly as she passed. His sturdy fingers were strong enough to support the dozens of iron rings he sported. His flat lips turned down when Nora didn’t react. 

Nora’s frown was deeper, eyes the color of strong coffee narrowed at the boy. Dinah slapped his hand away, giving him a deadly glare before he stomped off to rejoin his friends.

Iron, everyone in town wore it or had it concealed somewhere on their person: iron buttons, iron rings, iron necklaces. Even Nora wore iron in the form of two bracers on her wrists. But that didn’t stop people like Tommy Blicker from harassing her. She couldn’t imagine his disappointment when she hadn’t run away from him screaming. Everyone knew iron burned the fae.

The only ones who didn’t wear any metal at all were the Children of the Blessed.

Dinah steered Nora away as two of their cloaked members stepped into their path, preparing to intercept them.

“May the Mother bless you,” they called out in weak and wispy voices, waving a thin stack of papers in their hands. 

The stream of villagers on their way to the weekly market parted around them like water around stone. The shorter one with chestnut brown curls peeking out from beneath her hood caught Nora’s eye and immediately bowed, the other following shortly after.

Nora cast a wary eye towards the Children of the Blessed.

“They’re nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics. No need to pay attention to them.” Dinah’s lips tightened as she saw Nora fold in on herself, ducking her head as they continued on their way to the market. Nora instinctively pulled up her hood, wrapping it tightly around her head to keep the Children of the Blessed at bay. They’d snipped off a lock of her hair three months ago. It was such a small action - she hadn’t even noticed them at first - but more violating than anything else she’d experienced. She imagined them passing her hair around in their secret circles, scheming about what piece of her to take next so they might finally cross the wall into Prythian.

“Have you heard back from the other villages? About my letters?” Nora asked, trying to ignore the Children of the Blessed as their eyes followed them down the road.

Dinah sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry dear. No one’s heard of your sister, Feyre.”

It was a lie she’d told Dinah and Jaskiel when she first met them - that she’d been separated from her sister after being kidnapped by slavers and taken across the sea from the Continent.

In truth, the only sibling Nora had was an older brother - charming and dead after being struck by a drunk driver 6 years ago. She tried not to think about her parents sitting in their now empty house - it hurt too much. 

Where was Feyre Archeron?

Someone must know about her. 

She lay awake at night dreaming about finding her and following her to Prythian. Perhaps one of the High Lords or ancient creatures there would be able to send her home.

Nora eventually split off from Dinah, shouldering the potato sack that held her beaver and rabbit pelts while her adoptive mother bought their weekly supply of food and medicine. Whatever money Nora was able to make would go towards buying Dinah a new pair of shoes. The current pair were flat as string and barely thicker.

Moriarty’s shop was as stocky and brick red as the man who owned it. Smoke curled its way out of the chimney, carrying with it the scent of blood and newly cooked meat. It made Nora’s mouth water. Her stomach clenched painfully - a feeling she was growing accustomed to. Gone were the days when all it took to solve her hunger was a walk to the kitchen or a drive to the nearest grocery store.

A stranger stood outside Moriarty’s leaning against the brick wall and fiddling with a thin, iron knife in her hands. Her silver-streaked hair betrayed her age, even though her body was as sturdy and immovable as a mountain. The hilt of her broadsword peeked out from behind her back and Nora tried not to stare at the angry scar that ran the length of her cheek, pulling at her jawline like someone had tried to trace her profile.

“You’re the fae girl, aren’t you?” The woman called out. Her voice held the reedy twang of the western villages.

They’re nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics. No need to pay attention to them.

But this woman didn’t look like one of the Children of the Blessed. 

“Excuse me?” Nora froze in her tracks, tightening her grip on the sack.

The older woman pushed herself off the wall, towering over Nora’s small frame and looking her up and down with a dissecting gaze. 

Nora jerked back as the woman flung out a leather hand, yanking her cloak down so she could get a look at the girl’s ears. The curve of them was distinctly human. Nora grabbed at her hair, flattening the locks against her skull so they couldn’t be snipped off.

“It’s just as I supposed - not a fae. Not at all.”

The woman’s eyes caught sight of her sharp cheeks - too sharp for a girl as young as her - and the gaunt brown eyes staring back. Strapped to her back was an old, weathered bow, far too large for someone of her size to handle. Concealed within the folders of her cloak was a quiver to match. The woman counted three arrows inside of it, the tips blunt and stained with blood. 

“You hunt?”

“...yes.”   

“Do you hunt well?” The girl’s eyes sharpened, lips turning downward. They seemed almost designed to frown.

“Well enough.”

“Beavers, squirrels, deer, maybe - if you’re lucky.”

She beckoned her closer, gesturing for Nora to open the sack so she could look at her meager offerings. There were 4 beaver pelts and two rabbits, already skinned - a decent hunt… but would hunts like this help her get through winter? Already the snow was sticking to the ground, covering tracks as quickly as they were made.

“I’ll give you 100 copper for the lot.”

Nora almost barked out a laugh. She was hoping, praying, for 40 from Moriarty - and that was if he was feeling generous. 100 copper… that would last them for a month. If they were careful - and they knew how to be careful - they could stretch it an extra week. A month… another month to wait for winter to come and pass them by. Hunting to save, not hunting to live until tomorrow.

“What, you want more?” the woman cocked an eyebrow.

“No!” Nora blurted out, “I just mean…” she hesitated. No one in their right mind would pay that much, “I’ll take it.”

Her heart pounded like a hammer against her chest as the woman carefully counted out 100 coppers, slipping them into a small leather bag and dropping it into Nora’s outstretched hand. She immediately picked out a metal piece at random, inspecting it for counterfeit marks.

The woman huffed, “My money is true, girl.”

“I’ve been told that before, ma’am.” Nora said, daring to be polite. Her voice was as clear as a songbird. “I mean no disrespect.”

“No. You’re just careful.” Nora handed over her bag to the strange woman, legs eager to run towards the grocers and find Dina. The weight of the coppers grew heavier by the second. 

“Girl,” the woman said sternly, hands back to the iron knife, “Don’t go out into those woods any more. It’s not safe.”

Obviously. Beyond those walls Prythian waited like a feral dog itching for release.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t not go.” What choice did she have? With Jaskiel ill at home and Dinah already working herself to death, how could she not? “I’ll take my chances.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, brilliant blue irises gleaming colder than the air around them. She pulled a single arrow out from her own quiver - paler than any Nora had seen before - and thrust it into the girl’s arms.

“Ashwood,” she said, answering Nora’s unspoken question, “Use it well.” 

With the faintest smile the woman walked out onto the main roads and disappeared into the crowd of townspeople. 

Nora waited a few moments for her heart to slow its beating before walking as quickly as she dared towards the grocers to find Dinah. Her eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates upon hearing of the money she’d earned. They worked to lessen the weight of coppers in Nora’s pocket, ordering Dinah new shoes from the cobblers and getting an extra supply of medication for Jaskiel before rushing home to hide the rest of the coins in the shredded upholstery of Jaskiel’s chair. 

Hunting to save, not to survive. 

For the first time in eight months, Nora felt some rush of relief enter her body. 

>>>

Use it well.

Nora repeated the words to herself as she stalked through the forest, a slender arrow notched in her bow. Not the ashwood arrow. No, that was far too valuable for her to waste on the doe she’d been tracking for hours now, carefully following its narrow footsteps in the snow before it could be covered over. Normally she preferred to leave the females alone. Killing them now would only make it harder to hunt in the future. But now… now Nora didn’t have a choice in the matter. Jaskiel wasn’t getting any better, if anything the cold was making him worse. He’d never fully recovered from the illness that had ravaged the village three winters ago and his legs remained bone-thin and twisted. Every night the frost seemed to linger at the edge of the door, waiting to breathe death upon the man she’d come to see as an adoptive father in these strange lands. Nora needed to hunt if she wanted them all to survive. It was this fear, this most basic need to live that had driven her further into the woods than she would normally dare go.

It was early morning, the sun’s light beginning to pool over the earth like a bleeding wound. The cold seeped through her coat and her boots - both hand-me-downs from Dinah - and she felt that familiar twist of hunger in her stomach. There had been no time to waste this morning as she set out from the dilapidated cottage on the edge of town, ready to dive into the shadowy woods that called her name. It was hard not to think about where she’d been only eight months ago - sleeping in her own room with central air to keep her toasty in the winter and cool in the summer. There were no such things in the Mortal Lands. She wondered if there ever would be.

Somewhere in the distance a branch rustled, cutting through the crisp, clean silence. The creature was coming towards her. Nora immediately strapped her bow onto her back before clammering up a tree. The bark was frozen beneath her fingertips, cutting through the thin wool gloves she’d saved up money for last month. But still she found every crack and crevice to latch onto, her body moving through the branches with hardly a rustle. She settled into a crouch, knees pressing into the nook between two branches as she squinted her eyes, searching for the doe’s tan coat to appear against the snowy backdrop. She could hear it now, the faint crush of snow being disturbed. 

There.

The doe slowly emerged from behind a thicket, shaking off the thin coat of snow that had accumulated on her back. Black marble eyes peered out and, seeing nothing, continued on her way through the woods.

Nora notched her arrow, holding her breath as she pulled back against the taut bowstring. Her breath ruffled the fletching.

Come on. Come on. Just a little closer.

The doe stiffened, head jerking up so that Nora could see its eyes widen. Before it could bolt she let the arrow loose. The doe stumbled as it ran, the arrow lodged in its neck when she’d been aiming for the eye. It bleated in pain, running back into the thicket and disappearing from sight. 

Nora cursed, clambering down the tree and taking off after the creature.

It couldn’t have gotten far, but then again if it ran too close to the wall she’d have a hell of a time dragging its body back to the village. 

She followed the trail of blood like breadcrumbs, the pull of hunger dragging her legs forward even though the beginnings of a headache flashed behind her eyes. Finally she found the creature laying in the snow, labored breaths slowing into nothing. Her relief was short-lived, however. 

There was another hunter in the woods today. 

Lurking in the shadows of an elm tree, sniffing the air and licking its lips, was a wolf. Its dusty-gray body was taller than a fully-grown man, shimmering coat catching the light as its tense muscles rippled beneath the skin. Something about it felt… wrong. She’d never seen a wolf before, couldn’t judge whether it was the right size or whether the magic of this world made them different. But a voice whispered in her that it was different, special.

Nora had three options as it stalked towards her, acid green eyes sparkling with power: run and hope she could outrun it long enough to climb a tree, shoot the wolf, or die. Only one of those options would guarantee her a meal and as her stomach clenched painfully once more, her choices narrowed.

She swiftly pulled out the ash arrow and drew her bow, holding her breath as she aimed. 

Use it well. Use it well.

Staring down the shaft she saw the wolf gaze at her, a familiar human emotion crossing its inhuman face. It took Nora a moment to recognize it. Relief. Relief flashed across its face. Nora froze as it tilted its head to the left, exposing its neck to her. 

This was a familiar scene - the huntress and the wolf. She’d read it in a book once in her old world; a book about a human woman who’d been stolen away to an eternal spring in Prythian.

No. No. This can’t be real. But the wolf didn’t disappear as she lowered her weapon and walked as close as she dared. His sharp, intelligent eyes continued to stare at her. 

“Faerie… that’s what you are. Isn’t it?” The wolf snapped his head towards her, green eyes widening. 

“Do-do you know Feyre Archeron?”

A flash of recognition and a growl from deep in its throat was all Nora needed in confirmation. Wherever Feyre was she wasn’t here in the human realms to continue this story, not in the way it had been written. A flurry of excitement, strange and fiery, rushed through her body. She didn’t know why she’d been brought to this world, but she did know that whatever answers existed were waiting on the other side of the wall.

She drew her bow. “I’m sorry.” Nora said, hoping it would provide some comfort to the beast, before she let loose her arrow, straight into the wolf’s right eye.

It took her hours to drag the deer carcass back home, even with the makeshift sled cutting trails through the thick snow. The wolf she’d left behind for whatever, or whoever, came for it. 

“Nora?!” Dinah rushed out of the house as the young girl emerged from the tree line, sweat lining her skin and slowly freezing there. She gasped at the doe Nora dragged behind her.

The small cabin was a flurry of activity, the scent of blood and flesh filling the air as Dinah made quick work butchering the doe on the kitchen table. They’d dry some to keep in the cellar and sell the rest at the market today.

Nora sat quietly next to Jaskiel, damp hair slowly drying in the heat of the fire, as he sipped his tea and munched on a crust of bread. Her own empty cup lay abandoned on the floor by his seat. It was an old armchair that smelled faintly of mildew with wooden legs that had been chewed upon by all manner of insects and mice, but he sat there like it was a cloud made of the purest silk. Anything that got him off his feet was a welcome reprieve from the chronic pain in his legs.

“Thank you, child.” Jaskiel said, his smile tinged with sadness as he gently ran his fingers through Nora’s hair, untangling the knots. He offered her the remaining half of his bread, which she initially declined. 

“Come now, Nora. You need to eat to keep up your strength. I can’t imagine the lengths you traveled today.”

With some hesitation and a bow of her head, she accepted the meager morsel, chewing it slowly so that it softened in her mouth. Even when the bread was gone the taste lingered behind, sweet and comforting on her tongue. 

Her eyes remained trained on the door as night slowly descended upon the village.

What have I done?

________________

Author’s Note: And here is Chapter Two! I recently came out with a masterlist for this fanfic because I plan to continue writing this extensively. Here’s to hoping I figure out my work and writing schedule so I can start posting consistently. Thanks for reading! As always please feel free to reach out and let me know your thoughts!

[spider-xan]

Without spoiling anything bc there will indeed be more information coming soon - the timestamp for this post is very early on May 15 with the most recent update being May 12 - but regarding posts about how Jonathan is allegedly so stupid that he doesn't understand he's in danger nor has he tried to escape, I'm not going to go over how he is completely aware that he's in trouble again or the uncomfortable implications of calling an abuse victim with self-doubt 'stupid' and 'why doesn't he just leave' rhetoric, but I do want to point out that as of May 8, which is three days into his imprisonment, he has, in fact, already tried to find a way to escape.

From the first part of the May 8 journal entry, right after the shaving mirror incident:

After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking towards the South. The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests. But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!

And immediately after that:

When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out of every window I could find; but after a little the conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly—as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion.

And then:

This gave me a fright, for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand in silence.

Every single one of the many doors in the castle is locked, the castle itself is built on a cliff where there's a thousand-feet drop beneath the windows and death is guaranteed if he were to fall, nevermind that he has no means to climb out anyway, and even if he were to escape through the front door from which he had entered, he would be facing miles and miles of endless forest on foot and without a map in unknown territory, of which he has no familiarity bc Dracula deliberately kept him in the dark about the way to the castle, and he knows Dracula can control the wolves to chase after him if he wanted.

And yet, he's still thinking about how to survive and get out of the dangerous situation he's in! But under the current circumstances, it makes rational sense why he wouldn't immediately be escaping the castle right now when everything is against him and his odds of survival, and it makes more sense to try and write for help from the outside world first.

[invinciblerodent]

Where was Tristan during the events of Inquisition? Did he ever see the Breach? Did the smaller rifts effect him in anyway?

Ooh, fun! Love this! Storytime! (man, I'd love to have the cc so I could put a header with his actual face here to break up the wall of text. I'll just put in his BG3 mockup, lol.)

(i hope in veilguard we'll get a wheel for the eye color selection because man, this is way too red. he looks far too much like a vampire.)

I don't know if the game is gonna contradict me on any of this and there are some kinks to work out still lol, but I don't think he saw the Breach- definitely not in person at least.

I like to think that, around the time of the divine conclave, he was somewhere in the north of Orlais, just about a day's travel south of Perendale. (Near the Nevarran border, not terribly far from Weisshaupt or Kal-Sharok.)

I haven't gone that far into this thought yet, but my little idea so far is that he had been traveling as a recruiter and sort of a quasi-assistant to his mentor/friend, Warden-Lieutenant Iselva (an Orlesian city-born elf mage and spirit healer). It was around the time they were about to reach the border that they both started hearing the false Calling, but it was only she who chose to heed it.

I imagine Tristan to be kind of caught at that weird halfway-point between having a death wish, and clinging with white-knuckled fists to life, which makes him kind of reckless and prone to making stupid decisions (which is why he even chose to take up arms at Ostagar to begin with), but he's also scrappy, and very much driven to survive by any means necessary (which was the reason he could cheat death in the first place).

He's not the type to bow his head and submit to the Taint, possibly not even once his time truly does come. If he is to hear his Calling (which, with how close he already is to death and how the whole undeath of everything might affect the progression of the Taint, could take days or decades, there's no knowing), he would still want to drag it out for as long as possible, stave it off while he still feels he has a Purpose, whatever that may be. On top of that, he was at that point never told what the Calling would do beyond being an annoyance, why he'd head to the Deep Roads when it starts, and, at the time, he was also barely in his thirties- though nothing about him is entirely normal, he still felt it unusual, suspicious for someone so young to be hearing it.

But Iselva was an older woman by then, a respected and high-ranking acolyte well past her 30th year in the Order. She knew all too well what would happen if they delayed too long, and was adamant that while the both of them starting to hear it at roughly the same time was odd, it was not unheard of (they had spent most of the last decade very close after all, sleeping in the same tent, sometimes in the same bedroll for warmth), and that they should pivot, head towards Kal-Sharok, both head into the Deep Roads at the first opportunity, and die with dignity, as a Warden should.

They got into a horrible fight one night, their worst ever. She insisted, he refused-- she pulled rank, he took offense, and the whole exchange ended with her calling him a stubborn fool, and the two of them parting ways: with him continuing towards Weisshaupt, and her towards Kal-Sharok.

That was the last he's ever heard from her, and though the circumstances of her leaving did tarnish her memory somewhat, he's mourned her as she deserved: as a comrade in arms, a leader, a teacher, and a trusted, beloved friend.

The road to Weisshaupt was slow going without her guidance, and he got lost on the way multiple times, so even though the fake Calling had stopped only about two or three weeks later (iirc! I'll need to check the timeline on this), word of what happened in the Western Approach reached Weisshaupt shortly before he did. Until then, he had assumed that its end marked Iselva's death- now he knows the truth, and knows that she was just another victim in this whole mess.

I like to imagine that somewhere in the Anderfels, there is still a small rock with her name, and the date "9:41" carved crudely into it, nestled between the protruding roots of a tree.

...... and as i'm proofreading myself, it seems that I totally forgot the smaller rifts lol- I don't think he ever was close enough to one to actually feel it, but had he gotten close to one, I think he would have felt an uncomfortable pull of the Fade. And, if he happened to be, say, close to death or unconscious near one, I suspect he could have gotten possessed.

I don't really think of Purpose as a fully realized presence like Justice, it doesn't live in him, but it more just kinda hovers at the edges of his consciousness. Its influence is subtle and unfocused, and if Tristan does wind up dying or losing consciousness in an unfortunate spot where the Veil is thin, it might be able to reach through.

I like to imagine that this is the reason why Tristan suffers from insomnia, and once asleep, has troubles staying that way: being too close to the Fade just... makes him feel like there are ants in his eyes, lol.

[john-macnamara]

At one in the morning, a message was sent out to PEIP HQ regarding the beginnings demonic invasion in New Mexico. From there it was quickly decided who would be informed, and by 1:05, General John MacNamara of the United States Military got the message forwarded to him. It took approximately twenty minutes for transport to arrive, and from there he made it to rural New Mexico in just under three hours.

By the time John got there, the cracks in the ground were already spouting more than just dust. There were small scale demons, mostly imps and hellhounds, but a few succubi crawling out of red-hot tears in the earth. This wasn't the worst he had seen in his tenure, no doubt about it, but it was a sign of worse things to come if PEIP didn't get a handle on them.

John lights a cigarette, surveying the area. Approximately one hundred imps, fifty hellhounds, and another fifty varied demons. Is that an oni? Ugh, this is going to be more of a nuisance than he'd prefer. They only have a hundred of their own people. John's going ot have to play this safe if he wants everyone out alive. He takes a long drag of the cigarette and begins to shout out orders.

"Alright! I want a medical tent set up fifty yards behind the nearest rift, with snipers watching for any attacks. Attack squads one and two will be splitting and flanking the easternmost and westernmost rifts. You will close in once your current rift is successfully sealed by one of the repair teams. I want every repairer attached to an attacker at all times. This also goes for squads three and four, who will close in from the north and south respectively. Protect your partner, if someone goes down call on our medical staff immediately, and defer to your commanding officer if anything is to happen. You all are trained in demonic combat, so I take it I don't have to run an instructional course on that. Am I correct?"

For the first time in too long, John allows himself to truly settle into his General persona. This is his job. This is what he was made to do. And despite the jabs and the questioning he sometimes faces by his peers, he knows he's damn good at it. Proof of this is easily seen when his voice spreads across the crowd, everyone attentive and listening. With a "Sir, yes sir!" they confirm John's assumption.

"Good. You were all meant to be here today. This is something right here and right now you can do to protect the world. Beyond any country, beyond any border, this is for the world. Do well to remember that. On my command, we strike."

John rolls his neck, smirking just a bit. This is the other part of his job that people tend to forget he's remarkably skilled at. You can't rocket to four-star General as fast as he did without combat prowess, now can you? He may not like to hurt people, but otherworldly entities? Beings that appear here only to hurt and inflict suffering onto humanity? Well, that's a whole other story. John wouldn't say he enjoys it, but he certainly doesn't mind taking his lust for combat out on a bunch of poor hellish bastards. He pulls out his favorite knife, the one he got from Wilbur when he had just joined, and starts to fiddle with it while he waits for an approach. You can't attack first, after all, and so far no civilians have been harmed by this particular infestation. If John has anything to say about it, none will be by the end of this either.

After only a few seconds of waiting, a hellhound rushes up to him, sulfuric drool spilling from its lips. John's smirk turns into a full-on grin, too easy. When the hound lunges at him, he dives under, running his blade through the soft underskin of its belly. It's easily incapacitated after that, and the assault has officially begun. With a rallying cry of "Charge!", John rushes into the thick of the combat.

Here's the funny thing about Johnathan S. MacNamara. He's always had a streak of violence. Not in the same way a man like Owen craves the pain of others, or someone resorts to punching rather than words, but simply a love of the fight. Exchanging blows, watching his enemies recoil in fear as he finally has the chance to show them just how strong he truly is? That's a feeling that gets his heart racing and adrenaline pumping through his veins. This is his therapy. And despite his denial, he genuinely loves it.

He decapitates two imps with his first swing, then another with his second. He knows his goal, thin out enemy forces so that by the time his own forces center, they won't have to fight off nearly as many opponents. There's hardly even a risk of death this time, this is far too easy. More demons swarm him, and he works through them without breaking so much as a sweat. However, they learn that he's a danger in close range, and instead start making swipes and quickly backing away. John chuckles, as if he didn't have a plan for this. He grabs an imp out of the air, crushing its neck and throwing it to the ground. In the same movement, he sheathes his knife and pulls out his trusty staff. Unlike the previous times he's used it, John presses the notch on the top of the handle, extending two blades from the tips of the staff. Silver and blessed, of course. What kind of military man would he be if they weren't?

He tears through multiple foes at a time, becoming a whirlwind of death and bloodshed on the battlefield. It's beautiful, in a way. His movements are precise and calculated. None of this is the panicked John who's made far too many appearances as of late. He's calculating and weighing every step he takes, every flick of his wrist, to optimize it for maximum efficiency. It only takes twenty minutes until the area around him is entirely razed. The attack and repair teams, when they reach the center, don't find resistance, only General MacNamara, standing in the middle of a circle of dead demons. His clothing is soaked with black blood, and it's splattered all over his body. This is a victory for PEIP, for humanity, and by god is he proud to be a part of it.

John signals for everyone to reconvene at the medical tent, and he runs a quick log of everyone still there. No deaths, thank the lord, and only four injuries. Out of a force of over a hundred people, that's not bad in the slightest. The cleanup crew is called in to remove the bodies from the area, and everyone is sent back to base to clean up and rest. For just a moment, John can say he's genuinely happy. He knows that what he just did saved lives, and he knows that he was irrefutably good at something. He feels less stressed than he has in a while, and he lets that feeling overtake him as he looks at the razed battlefield one last time.

And, well, if some of those bodies belong to his friends, that's for John to know.

[suprgamr66]

Writer’s comment: This all originated from a weird dream that I adapted into an infinite watch story so if things feel like they’re a little weird just know I tried to make sure that there was reason for things happening but yeah. I can’t guarantee this addition to the infinite watch chronicles makes 100% sense.

The infinitewatch chronicles:Timelines collide part I

An alarm is blaring as two lines start merging near the ends.

“Infinite!”, a man calls out, “you’re going to want to see this!”. A man in all black armor from head to toe with a grey V shaped visor and a yellow line glowing in the visor, and a power core with the energy of the infinity stones coursing through it with a dark purple crystal in the middle of the power core.

“What is it,” infinite says, his voice distorted by the helmet he wears

“The timelines. They’re merging”

“Which ones, when in their time are they merging, and what phase are they in?” Infinite asks.

“The timelines are the attack on Titan timeline and owl house timeline, the attack on Titan timeline is projected to finish merging as eren is running towards Zeke but before he gets decapitated, the owl house timeline is merging as belos is on his way to the heart, and they’re currently in phase 1 of merging. Phase 2 will begin in an hour our time, phase 3 will begin in an hour and a half, and phase 4 will begin in 2 hours.”

Another man, a similar armor to infinite’s but with rodan’s wings on his back, Godzilla dorsal plates on his arms, and one of king kong’s teeth on each hand all shrunk to human level of size. He says, “Infinite, lemme handle this. I’m able to keep the timeline’s safe. My armor is built to handle titan class organisms.”

Infinite says, “No. I’ll handle it for now, Titan. You may be the leader of the Titan division but you’re still new to the position you haven’t even seen a timeline merger before. Once I’m sure events in the timeline won’t change or cannot be stopped from changing I’ll call you in to help.”

Titan argues, “but my armor will let me grow to the size of a colossal titan. Maybe even Eren’s founding titan with more experimentation. If you go in you won’t die but if a titan tries to eat you and you kill it how can we be sure it wasn’t going to do anything else on the timeline.”

Infinite responds, “Killing one titan won’t lead to the timelines dying or getting destroyed.” He turns to the other man who warned him of the timelines merging. “Get the rift open. I’ll keep comms open incase things go south.” Suddenly, a machine starts sparking to life. A crack in reality opens up and infinite steps through. He enters shiganshina and curses under his breath realizing how far he jumped. He saw Eren’s titan vaulting the edge of the building preparing to fight the armored titan. He went to eren’s titan and reached the head, “Eren yager!” Infinite said. “Listen, I don’t have time to explain but I need you to come with me!” Infinite knew it would be too late to stop the timelines from merging so all he had left to do was recruit those who could help infinitewatch’s mission of keeping the Omni verse from being destroyed. Eren didn’t respond. He only continued walking forward as parachutes were falling from the sky and a ball of glowing lighting sparked in the sky “here we go,” infinite said. He considered calling Titan on the comms to get him to help but he decided he could take them on. “EREN YAGER!” Infinite tried screaming again, “JOIN US AND YOUR ISLAND WILL BE SAFE!!” Eren paused he nodded, however he created a bow and arrow out of a crystal like material that shined in the sunlight. Infinite mumbles to himself, “so he has the warhammer’s abilities. It’s the only explanation for his Titan hardening abilities to be this heightened.” But before he could prepare the timeline began breaking worse and he heard a loud roar. “FUCK!!!” Infinite screamed. Suddenly golden lightning began appearing in one area and titans began appearing everywhere. Infinite out of rage let out a burst of purple lighting that suddenly turned green which resulted in nearly everything being frozen in time. Eren’s Titan looked confused and suddenly they see a giant ape like Titan rise, also looking confused. “The beast Titan,” infinite muttered. Infinite says, “You can come out of your titans. I won’t attack you.” The beast Titan walks over as Eren yager exits his titan. He asks, “how did you do this?” Infinite responds, “I don’t have time to explain, all I can say is I’ve managed to freeze this timeline but I can’t hold it for long. I can’t hold it for long. I need you to go and retrieve Reiner Braun, Porco Galliard, Piek Finger, Levi and mikasa acherman, armin arlert, and only if you see the warhammer Titan, Laura tyber. Eren responds, “Laura is dead and why are we getting the armored, jaw, and cart titans.” Infinite says, “this timeline is doomed. We can’t save everyone. But if we can save powerful warriors then they can help prevent or make events like this less likely. I’ll explain when we get back to home base. I can’t keep this up for long, look over there.” They at one of the walls only to realize it’s starting to fall apart ever so slowly as the timeline begins to unfreeze, caused by a giant skull with a giant crown shaped house hovering above it. Titans within the walls begin to move ever so slowly but are slowly picking up speed. Eren nods and moves to go retrieve the people infinite requested however zeke is still skeptical. Infinite tells him, “look, you can either die here along with your plan or you can help me and live another day. Make your choice.” Zeke reluctantly agrees and leaves to go find them. Infinite says, “whenever you retrieve one of them, bring them back here. When all of them are back we’ll go back to my home base. Remember, the journey from here on out isn’t going to be easy. In fact it will likely be harder than anything you’ve ever experienced or what you were ever meant to experience. But when left with no choice, we fight on and continue the mission.” Eren and zeke nods as infinite begins straining himself more to freeze the time for longer so that the others can be retrieved. He knows he’ll have time later to recruit soldiers from the owl house universe but will need to get back to home base before a recruitment can begin. After some time, everyone infinite had requested was brought to him.

However, there appeared to be a couple of extras that zeke brought. “Who are these two?” Infinite asked. Zeke responded, “I won’t leave them behind. Colt here was meant to be my successor.” He pointed at the taller of the two. “And that one is his brother, Falco. Colt won’t leave here without him. He’s a warrior candidate. I’m not sure if you have something similar to what we had but he would be able to take on anything similar to gaining the abilities of the armored titan. Infinite who knows there isn’t enough time says, “fine. But he better be a good fighter.” Infinite radios his home base to send them back. A crack opens in reality behind infinite and they walk through, beginning the recruitment.

[callofthxvoid]

Please welcome VALERIA "VAL" MORENO (SHE/HER) to Huntsville, WV. They are a 24-year-old VISITOR who lives in TOWN. You may see them around working as a RANGER AT THE SOUTH STATION. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

quick facts

Title: The Hurricane

Name: Valeria Annabeth Moreno

Nickname: Val

Date of Birth: October 13, 1999

Age: 24

Place of Birth: Chicago, Illinois

Hometown: Chicago, Illinois

Languages: English, Spanish

Faceclaim: Maia Reficco

Pronouns: She/They

Sexuality: Polyamorous Pansexual

Relationship Status: In an open relationship with Cain Barlowe

personality

Myers-Briggs: ISTP - The Virtuoso

Enneagram: Type Six - The Skeptic (6w5)

Moral Alignment: True Neutral

Occupation: Forest Ranger at South Watch Tower

Role: Hunter

[+] quick, independent, street smart, devoted [-] temperamental, insubordinate, withdrawn, resentful

Character Inspirations: April Ludgate (Parks and Recreation), Yang Xiao Long (RWBY), Maya Hart (Girl Meets World), Kate Bishop (Marvel)

background

TW: Parental Neglect, Abandonment, Alcoholism

Valeria has no real memories of her parents. Her biological father was never in the picture, and what she remembers of her mother is a woman who was far too flippant, flighty, and irresponsible to raise a child. As a result, she was often left with her uncle without warning, and ultimately ended up being raised by him once her mom left for good - which, all things considered, was probably the best choice for her. Sure, he drank a little too much, and he never talked about what he did for a living, but he cared for her well enough to provide her with a largely decent childhood.

Everything changed when the life he never talked about finally caught up to them.

One night, someone broke into their apartment and a fight ensued, ending with Val getting severely injured in the crossfire. As she recovered in the hospital, an agent and a federal prosecutor came to see her and told her everything; her uncle was a professional hitman, he had decided to testify against his employer, and in spite of her vocal protests, they were both being placed into witness protection for their own safety. To say that she was extremely unhappy about it would be an understatement. She didn't think it was fair that she had to uproot her life, assume a new identity and never see her friends or her girlfriend again when she hadn't even done anything wrong, and things only got worse when en route to their new home they ended up stuck in Huntsville along with the Marshals accompanying them.

Arriving halfway through her freshman year, Val spent her entire high school career keeping to herself out of sheer spite, as if settling in and making new friends would be a betrayal toward the life she left behind. She stopped caring about school, and started spending her days exploring the woods around town because at least there, she could have her solitude without anyone expecting her to engage in conversation. And even though she didn't want to blame him for what happened, the combination of her uncle's excessive drinking (which only got worse the longer they remained in Huntsville) and her bitter resentment inevitably led to a rift between her and the one reminder she still had of who she used to be, other than her own name.

It's been almost a decade, and it's only in the past year that Val has slowly started opening up and actually making real connections to other people. Her job as a ranger, which seemed like a natural fit after spending most of her teen years in the forest, is perhaps the most responsible for her coming out of her shell - it helps that many of her coworkers are, to put it nicely, also not good with people. But even as she settles into life in Huntsville, there is a part of her that's still waiting for this whole nightmare to end so that she can go back home and pick up where she left off - even if deep down, she knows that ship sailed a long time ago.

misc

She has a tremor in her right hand, but she's not sure if it's psychological or a physical result of the injuries she sustained. Either way, she has basically become ambidextrous as a result of having to use her left hand more.

Val loves singing and songwriting. She hasn't played much since her injury, but she still brought her guitar and ukulele to Huntsville just in case. She has gotten better at playing with her left, but she doesn't have the right instruments for it.

Before her injuries, Val was a promising track and field star at her old school. Her dream was to go to the Olympics. She chose not to continue when they moved to Huntsville.

[noveltyreads]

Seoulmates by Susan Lee Book Review

ARC kindly provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review

If you need a happiness boost, you have to read Seoulmates.

I absolutely devoured this book from start to finish. It was light, fluffy, absolutely readable and I found myself falling deeper and deeper in love with it with every page. It had everything I wanted: a summer romance, friends to lovers, angsty teenage main character and soft, actor love interest who honestly just needed a hug. This book has been on my to-watch list of 2022 and when I managed to get the ARC of it on NetGalley, I practically screamed in delight. 

Seoulmates follows main character Hannah whose boyfriend just broke up with her, claiming they have nothing in common. When Hannah's childhood best friend, and now up and coming K-Drama actor, Jacob Kim comes back from South Korea, Hannah uses his knowledge to aid her in getting Nate to be with her again. What Hannah leaves out of the equation is her developing feelings for Jacob as they uncover what really went wrong that caused a rift in their friendship previously. 

This book is told in two perspectives: Hannah's and Jacob's. I think this worked perfectly with the story and it allowed us to get further glimpses into their characters including their vulnerabilities and their desire, ultimately, to be loved. Hannah was trying to fit in with her American friends thinking that in order to do that, she needed to shut out the Korean part of her Korean-American identity. This in turn made Nate and his friends drift away from her, making the very thing Hannah was shunning out the thing that set her apart from the others. You could see the toll this took on Hannah and how underneath that angsty girl facade, there was a girl who just felt scared, sad and vulnerable. I could see how she just wanted to feel okay again and how she felt like in order to do that, she needed to prove herself worthy of Nate's affections. In the end, I'm glad she developed on her self-worth and self-esteem, realising that maybe things would never have worked out with him to begin with. 

Jacob on the other hand was seemingly living a dazzled life in South Korea but the truth was far from it. He was an actor in a popular new K-Drama show which just got renewed for a second season. After a PR disaster, his management tells him to take a holiday while they deal with the problem. Jacob and his mum and sister decide to head back to San Diego for the first time in years. While Jacob questions his future on a TV show with restrictive rules on what he can and can't do, he starts to feel a little bit stressed from the pressure his manager and co-star put on him, telling him he's not good enough at his job. Eager to take a break, Jacob tries getting as far away from the spotlight as possible with the company telling him not to bring any attention to himself. Jacob's internal struggle was with being good enough for other people and you could see this conflict between what he loved doing (acting) and the expectations others had on him to be up to par. 

I loved how both character's flaws were really shown in this book and I think that's why I found I could relate to the characters as much as I did. Hannah was angsty but you could see how much she cared especially with how she wanted to become an immunologist to help people with allergic reactions after seeing how it affected someone she knew. While she tried hiding it on the inside, you could see past the facade and I liked how the book dealt with breaking down those shields Hannah put up around herself. Jacob was slightly more transparent in my opinion, but I loved seeing how gentle he was with Hannah and his compassionate and warm nature. 

On top of the characterisation, I really liked the family dynamics between the Cho's and the Kim's. I love books with family at heart and great banter and it makes me so happy when said family dynamics also come with home-made food and cooking. This book made me hungry for Korean food so my recommendation is to have a few snacks on hand while reading this. 

All in all, this book made me happy, with cute, relatable characters and deep themes. Minus, the vomiting scene at the start, this book, to me, is close to five stars. 

ACTUAL RATING: 4.7 STARS 

[spiritgun92]

Don’t read below the keep reading bar if you are trying to avoid rolling with difficulties season three and end of season two spoilers

In the spirit of highest praise, what the hell was this season start? We didn’t even get a party to enjoy before everything hit the fan! (The party at the end of season two doesn’t count. It was months ago.)

Also, it was heart-breaking to find out that Otto wasn’t the tired police chief in charge of four loose cannons. I feel like I should have known that he was actually the Godfather but honestly, I thought he was just the exhausted jerk with a heart of gold. In hindsight, the signs were probably there all along but until the music dropped to new sinister levels, I didn’t pay attention to it. (Part of me hopes that Otto actually is doing what’s best for the Heap but I really don’t buy it. Based on his earlier actions, this whole episode is definitely a power-trip.)

A small part of me (that I knew was wrong) was hoping Otto was going to subvert my expectation. I pictured the mission going surprisingly well and the team coming back to a toddler-proofed ship. Imagine the ship with the special alert tape around all the trap doors so that no one tripped over the door or fell down the hole looney tunes style. Dani’s freakout would have been hilarious but it would be from a place of care at least. Far better than ripping the ship away!

Speaking of, I’m terrified that the ship being taken away is going to cause a rift in the group. I’m really, really hoping that VR-LA doesn’t blame Dani for Otto being an absolute piece of work. Part of me is still (wrongly) hoping that Otto is looking out for the crew somehow but the events of the episode and the music really show how wrong that hope is.

On that note, the music! Holy crap that set the tone so well! I was on the edge of my seat the whole time I was listening to the episode and it set the tone for Otto so much. This was terrifying. The initiative theme (it sounds like the opening theme) normally makes me happy and ready for some ass kicking but the theme that seemed to fill the whole episode (tense moment?) made it just add to the dread.

And then everyone talking at the end of the heist. Just wow. You can really see the alignment/thought process differences in the characters when you step back and think about it. I don’t agree with everything the characters said or what the final decision was but it was believable. Especially Kyana with her big baby eyes watching Daddy, Mommy, and Daddy talking about how things went south.

I’m not sure about the team blindly taking Dani’s lead when it comes to dealing with Otto though. I think Dani’s point about putting their foot down about what they are uncomfortable with is very valid. Yes, the crew wants to support her and would follow her whether she goes. However, as Dani stated, blindly following could get them all killed. I’m not sure they need a leader. (Although it has been mentioned multiple times to the point where I wonder if we are setting up for someone to take the lead. Capitan VR-LA perhaps?) But there needs to be more discussion about decisions that impact the whole group.

For example, I’m glad that Finbar started the motions for them purchasing the ship but I’m starting to really notice his habit of ‘knowing-what’s-best-for-everyone’. I’m sure that VR-LA would have preferred to have been part of that discussion. Dani definitely would have wanted to be. Kyana maybe not as much but she has insights that could have been helpful.

And then we have VR-LA. Sneaky, sneaky VR-LA. I’m terrified that the season is going to set him up to choose his old crew over his new. And I’m even more worried that various events are going to push him to his old crew. In this first episode, we have Finbar making decisions for him. We have Otto taking his ship away. And then we have the Goddess of the Weave who might pull strings to make things more interesting.

And then we also have Dani. Her words about how she’s been taking care of herself longer than everyone else (riffrat, street rat) concern me. However, I don’t see her leaving VR-LA and Kyana unless things go super super south somehow. I’m undecided about her and Finbar. I feel like it’s sorta like an only child dealing with someone who is an older sibling. It’s annoying and uncomfortable. I’m sure they’ll be fine and they’re going to tick each other off a lot in the meantime but I don’t emotionally feel that way. I feel like Finbar and Dani care about each other but it’s not as clear as Dani’s relationship with VR-LA and Kyana.

(I should note, I had flashbacks to Yu Yu Hakusho’s Three King saga and was waiting for someone to throw a punch and storm off.)

Anyways, the Goddess of the Weave seems to like the group so hopefully that’s good. (Although if myths and the Percy Jackson books have taught me anything, gods being interested in you is normally painful and horrible.)

Final thoughts, I’m still super tense and shaking from the episode. So glad that it’s back but it’s going to kill me to wait for the next episodes.

[gwimulchorom]

Once upon an age, an unnamed mage struggled to introduce herself as her truest form, instead cycling between various masks in the hopes that people would not see through it all, to find that she was entirely hollow, traumatised beyond measure by how Silverymoon had treated her. 

For someone who had lived most of her life in the company of others, surrounded by people, the sudden isolation had been a nonstop fender bender. Stripped of everything that she had once thought “hers”, she eventually withdrew into herself, convinced the world had despised her for existing and wanting desperately to finish one last job before quietly walking into the fog, never to return. It was best, she’d once thought, to be forgotten - it had been how she had been forced to live, after all.

Even a reunion with her beloved twin sister did not allay her fears: rather, her sister’s success compared to her maimed state only seemed to deepen the rift between them, an ugly inferiority complex thought buried once again rearing their head. Her behavior changed to another defense mechanism, worried for her judgment, and she sought to be as small and unobtrusive as possible, so desperate she was to not become a burden and cause others pain that she would rather bury herself than continue being alive.

When had this changed? It was a story that changed constantly depending on which of her many children you asked. The process hadn’t mattered, argued the mage when she herself was finally asked, more so what had happened afterwards. All that mattered was that someone who had too been largely forgotten, his voice buried and overshadowed by others, had reached out to our protagonist after she had given him an apology cloak, a misunderstanding between them she had felt deeply guilty about.

For the first time, she hadn’t been asked anything or had expectations shackled upon her form (the nooses of academia, of her past, they followed her like specters) and at this, she had been worried for the longest time. How could she bring someone who had been nothing short of kind to her into her life, a mess of constant assassinations, conspiracies and a set of murky morals that was entirely self-serving? Even then, she yearned terribly, as someone who thrived so much on social contact did.

Nowadays, in an era of peace, the South Gate of Waterdeep has an orphanage next to a sprawling, well-maintained temple dedicated to the Lord of the Rack. Next to said opulent keep however is a strangely-ominous tower, its doors guarded by two giant dwarven statues seated on thrones: one of Mith Barak, the good king of the Underdark, and the other of a grinning woman resting her arm over the helmet of what could only be arcane armor.

The King of the Merchants’ name was well-known, for anything you needed moved through his network could easily be arranged for the right amount of gold, and with how friendly and pious he often was when meeting his clients personally, it was difficult even to remember that this had once been the slow-witted youngest son of the Roaringhorns, one who could too be written off as another wastrel and buried evermore.

His roguish sister however was far more difficult to get an audience for. The mysterious Witch of the North only worked on projects she found “interesting”, a bar that seemed nigh-impossible to surmount. Knowing how precise she had turned her craft however, such secrecy seemed almost understandable - and exorbitantly expensive. Of course, most adventurers would argue that it was a small price to pay for equipment she enchanted: being able to spin an entirely different but equally powerful yarn from abstract ideas was her game.

Where of the nameless mage though? She now had many titles, titles bestowed upon her and titles she’d rightfully gained, but she didn’t need a laundry list of titles to feel important when she had finally found a place to truly call home, a position she enjoyed working in and a family that allowed her to heal. Even then, her joint pain followed her every move, the cane filled with secrets she carries never leaving her side at this point.

If asked, her introduction was straightforward:

“Me? You should have already heard of me if you’re in Waterdeep. Though there’s one thing you ought to know at least: Jergal’s quills, I hate the Sword Coast and its problems so much.

Professor Myron Mathuna at your service. Lady of Last Wall, The Topazscaled Gemscaled Mage, Master of Eye of the Storm, Proprietor of The Twins, and The Senseless. My hobbies are crafting, taking in children and teaching - they are our future, and we must invest in them because none of us live forever.

If you’re here, you must have something for me. Out with it, and it’d better be interesting...or else.”

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag​ and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

*

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

*

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

[ultfreakme]

@crowreys-wormstache

You tagged it pro zutara, that's why I even brought the ship up and explained where I'm coming from. I have been in the fandom for like, a year and I am not a hardcore kataang shipper or anything and I've literally never made the argument that zutara is colonizer/colonized because I ship Zukka and calling Zuko a colonizer is literally wrong since he never directly participated in the imperialism and worked against it.

Also.....15+ 3 =18 ? Why do you keep saying 20? They also purposefully aged up Sokka and Zuko.

And if you're talking post-canon content, LOK shows Katara being a member of the White Lotus, she is Korra's waterbending master. She's the one who encourages Korra to go be independent & is seen in the LOK comics being a teacher and also being a little bit of a menace with Toph even at like 80. In the immediate post-canon comics, Katara, Aang and Sokka are all trying to help the world post-war, especially in Yu Dao(Republic city). Post-atla content had like, 4 comics? One was focused on Zuko & Aang (The Promise), one on Zuko & Azula (The Search), Toph & Aang(The Rift), and North and South(Sokka and Katara but MOSTLY Katara, Aang's not around for this one).

Idk what kind of content you think is out there but so far, the post-atla content has given Katara the same treatment all other characters get & she is the co-protagonist in the upcoming 2025 movie. In the og, Kataang isn't creepy or weird at all, it's like a 2 -year gap, it's the same gap pretty much every straight Katara ship has.

Someone in the natla tag mentioned they think kat@ang is still gonna happen and that they're just waiting for a@ng's actor to grow older and I'm just here like

So you agree? That a 12yo has no business dating a 14-15yo? You agree Kata@ng is inherently icky?

Also like. The whole thing about kata@ng in post-atla avatar media is that it warps Katara entirely beyond recognition and takes away her agency making being A@ngs gf/wife her only purpose.

Kiawentiio is 17 now. She too will age. Even if LA Katara is younger than that, you'd still have Gordon make out with a 20yo when he's 15 and that's ALSO icky for one thing and for another THE WAY THEY STILL FOCUS ONLY ON A@NG IN THIS IM GOING TO START BITING PEOPLE