#power fantasy that's like a built up steam is no shit either

[superconductivebean]

#596: wright has accidentally destroyed hp timeline but doesn't know it yet

ancient magic is no shit

[hazzastylesfanfics]

Part 1/?

i’m back bitches

the maddness & boredom of this pandemic have finally hit so naturally i sat down to write for the first time in seven years .....

tell me if it’s shit/if i should continue !!

k thanks love u all <3

239 days. 239 days since him.

1 day. 1 day since him.

Some days I wonder if fate is real. I wonder if there really is a so-called “god” up there. Maybe there really is a divine power running my life, or maybe it’s all just one big shit show I’m struggling to keep together.

It’s 2 a.m. and I’m still pointlessly scrolling through Instagram looking at the same posts I’ve seen already. I open my profile and scroll through. Pictures of me posing with my friends, at wineries, and drunk nights out fill my feed. There’s no mention of him. I finally brought myself to delete them a few months back. I lock my phone and close my eyes. Sleep soon overtakes me.

The morning arrives far too early for my liking. Charlie is biting my hair, demanding her breakfast. I grab my phone to check the time: 5 a.m. I groan and pull the covers over my head hoping she’ll leave me alone. I just about fall back asleep when I hear a crash.

“Charlie, seriously?!” I sit up to see she’s shoved a candle off of my windowsill onto the ground and shattered it. “I swear to god, I’m gonna release you back into the wild,” I grumble.

She meows at me frantically until I give in and feed her. The thing they don’t tell you about getting a kitten is the fact you no longer run your life, the little spawn from hell does. She’s lucky she’s cute. I quickly sweep up the remains of my candle and fall back into bed.

Two hours later my alarm clock rudely awakens me for work. I feel like I’ve barely slept and one glance in the mirror confirms that feeling. A quick shower wakes me up just enough to drag my ass out the door.

I see my bus pulling away from my stop and frantically run toward it, shouting at the driver to stop. Maybe because it’s pouring rain or maybe because I look so distraught, but the driver takes pity on me and lets me hop on. I thank her as I sit in the nearest open seat. I’ve already been late to work three times in the past month and I can’t let Lana cover for me again.

The bus ride is a short one to the little coffee shop I’ve called work for over a year. It’s locally owned and loved by hipsters all around. I still wonder how I managed to get the job since I barely fit the bill of the “alternative” type that work alongside me. Lana was my first friend there. If you searched “Portland native” online, a picture of her would pop up. She’s adorable and dainty, covered in random tattoos she gets when she’s bored. She just dyed her hair blonde and cut her own blunt bangs. Her nose is decorated with a ring that she drunkenly tried to pierce herself, but I convinced her otherwise. She wears whatever the hell she feels like and exudes confidence in it all. She has the type of personality that draws you in but keeps you just enough at a distance to shroud her in mystery. I love the girl as much as I envy her.

We arrive at my stop and I thank the driver as I exit the bus. It’s still pouring so I run the two blocks to get to work. I see Lana happily chatting to a customer as I walk through the front door to the back room.

“Morning, Grey!” She chirps at me.

I drop my bag where there’s space and wash my hands before heading back out front.

“Jesus, girl, you look like hell,” Lana says as she thrusts a double espresso into my hands. “Rough night?”

“I was stuck with my own thoughts again.” I take a sip. It tastes more bitter than usual. “Also, Charlie decided my candle was much better in multiple pieces on the floor at 5 a.m.”

She laughs. “You still feel good about taking a stray in?”

“She was lonely and needed a home, okay?”

“Sucker,” Lana mumbles before turning her attention to the customer walking up to the front counter.

Thursday mornings always pass by fairly quickly. Customers are buzzing about Friday fast approaching, so most are in a pleasant mood. No amount of espresso can wake me up though. Some days I prefer zoning out and making drinks, especially days like this. Interactions with customers take it out of me. I don’t know how Lana does it so well.

“Erm, yeah, I’ll take a small black coffee, please.”

His voice instantly takes me out of my daydreams. That smooth, slow voice. I glance over at the register to see Lana helping the same guy that had captivated me two days earlier. Those chocolate brown curls look even softer than when I saw him in the bookstore. How the hell was that even possible? I stare for so long the milk I am steaming overflows onto my hand, burning me and eliciting a yelp. Lana and this beautiful man both turn their attention toward me. I laugh it off nervously and mumble something about being clumsy. Lana turns her attention back to the man, but he doesn’t break his gaze from me. He holds eye contact for another brief moment before thanking Lana for his coffee and dropping money into the tip jar. I am frozen in place, well aware that I need to stop staring like a fool.

I often visited Powell’s on my days off. It wasn’t hard to spend hours upon hours among the books, exploring each floor of the store. I rarely bought anything; I mostly came for the experience. I loved the smell of a new book. A thrill always came with picking up a random one and delving into what it had to offer between its two covers.

I was doing just that in the World Religions section when I heard his voice.

“Excuse me.”

My eyes snapped up from the current title intriguing me. There he was, clearly trying to get by me. I had absentmindedly parked myself in the middle of the aisle making it impossible for anyone to pass me. My ears grew hot as I mumbled an apology and took a step back.

He laughed lightly and glanced at the book in my hands. “Buddhism, huh? Let me know when you figure out the secret to enlightenment.” He chuckled again.

This is when I really got a good look at him. He was tall with lanky arms and legs to match, and a torso that looked like it never ended. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that revealed many, many tattoos decorating his arms. My eyes instantly locked in on an anchor inked on the top of his left wrist. My exploration led me down to his hands, adorned with multiple rings. Finally, I brought my eyes up to his face. My god, did it take my breath away. His jaw was sharp and covered in stubble. His brunette curls sat atop his head in an impossibly perfect way. His smile though. I nearly dropped my book. If I believed in angels, they would have been singing at that moment.

I made a weak attempt at laughing and stumbled over my words, but nothing that resembled English came out of my mouth.

He flashed an even brighter smile and said, “Let me know if you need any recommendations.” And just like that, he turned the corner and disappeared. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until my chest started to hurt from the lack of air to my lungs. I bought the book in my hands and hurried out of the store.

He consumed my thoughts well into the night.

Now, as if a gift from the heavens above, this god is standing in my workplace. I suddenly become very aware of my lack of makeup and haphazard bun.

He catches my eyes once more before turning away from the register and walking out the front door. He was gone. I just let this act of god walk out the door and I would never see him again.

“Um, earth to Grey?” Lana playfully pokes me in the ribs.

“Huh, what? Shit.”

“You need me to finish up that cappuccino there?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I robotically step back from the espresso machine and let her take over. She finishes the drink in less than a minute and apologizes to the visibly impatient customer as she hands it over the bar.

Lana turns to me. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

I stand with my mouth hanging open, still trying to grasp the past five minutes. “Well, long story short I think I royally fucked up letting that guy walk out the door.”

“You’re telling me, babe, he was gorgeous. Do you know him?” I detect a hint of jealously in her voice.

“No, uh, not really. We had a short interaction at Powell’s a couple of days ago but it was nothing. I made a fool out of myself more than anything.”

“And how do you think you did this time around?” Her laugh rings in my ears.

“Okay, in my defense he ambushed me at my workplace so that is not my fault!” I huff. “You weren’t much help either,” I point out.

“What was I supposed to do?” She is still laughing.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “He was staring too though, right? That wasn’t my own delusion?”

“Oh yeah, babe he was staring alright. He looked like he wanted to take you right then and there on the counter.”

I bite my lip. That didn’t sound like half a bad idea. My ears grow hot at the thought.

I feel a gentle pinch on my arm and flinch away. “Hello! Grey! Hate to interrupt your fantasy but we have customers.” I glance over her shoulder to see a small line has built up.

Three o’clock finally rolls around and I’m free. Lana had gotten off an hour earlier than me, but couldn’t stay to talk more. My thoughts are too preoccupied with that handsome stranger to be much company anyway. The manic side of me wants to walk straight to Powell’s in hopes he would be there. I get ahold of myself however and make my way back to my apartment.

Charlie greets me with vigor the second I walk through the door. She seems to have gotten this idea that whenever I come home means dinnertime for her. When I don’t give in, she destroys shit. Exhibit A: this morning. It’s not like she’s starving. My neighbor had discovered this little kitty outside of the apartment complex one morning while taking her dog for a walk. The landlord only allows one animal per apartment, so she couldn’t keep her. At the time, Charlie practically sprouted angel wings and a halo so I couldn’t say no. A week into having her revealed her true nature: demon. She’s into everything all. of. the. time. She frequently digs the dirt out of my houseplants and eats it. Her favorite game is launching herself onto the screens in my windows to attack bugs. She even tries to shower with me. Despite her faults though, I can’t help but love her. Living by myself can be lonely. I find myself trying to have full conversations with her sometimes shortly before questioning my sanity.

I change into an oversized band tee and settle onto the brown leather sofa in my living room. Charlie jumps up beside me, purring loudly. I pull the yellow blanket neatly folded next to me onto my lap and try to shut my brain off. The rest of my shift exhausted me and thinking about that guy did not help much. I have to accept the fact that fate was really doing me a solid and in return, I gave it the finger. This beautiful stranger entered my life twice in 48 hours and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Charlie climbs into my lap and curls into a ball, content.

I wake up hours later to a dark apartment. One glance at my phone reveals I dozed off longer than I intended to. Miraculously, Charlie let me sleep through her dinner. The moment she notices I am awake, she starts yowling at me for dinner. I oblige with a small scoop of food in her bowl. I then venture to the fridge and heat up leftover pasta for my meal. I sit at the small table in my narrow kitchen and stare out the window. My view isn’t much - just a look onto my neighbors’ balconies who also live in this complex. I make a mental note that the plants on the windowsill need water. I rinse out my bowl and leave it in the sink, not bothered to do the dishes tonight. I’m exhausted and welcome the softness of my bed.

I open the next morning and it feels like actual hell when my alarm goes off at 4:30. Charlie loves days I’m up this early though, she gets an early breakfast. I don’t bother to change out of the band tee I slept in and pull on a pair of ripped denim shorts. True to Oregon’s style, today is supposed to be a direct contrast of the previous day: blue skies and sunny. Summers in Portland never fail to keep me on my toes. I quickly fix my hair into messy French braid pigtails on either side of my head and throw on a coat of mascara for good measure.

I never have an issue with opening during the summer. The sun has risen enough that there is a soft morning light to guide me on my walk to the bus stop. Winters freak out because it’s pitch black and weird people ride the bus this early in the morning.

The shop is dark when I arrive. I turn my key in the lock, step in, and lock it behind me. The one time I forgot to do this, a homeless person wandered in and refused to leave. He didn’t want anything, just continued to have a conversation with himself. I always make sure to double-check the door now. I turn on the lights and flip on the espresso machine. I set up the freshly baked pastries in the front case in an attractive manner. Just as I open the register to count the till I hear a tap on the front door. I don’t look up. It’s either a customer trying to come in early or another homeless person. I quietly count each bill out loud, enter the opening total, and tap “open” on the screen. Again, I hear a knock on the door. I look up in irritation. Whoever thinks they need their coffee this early in the morning can wait another 15 minutes until I formally open the doors.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s him.

[callmemythicalminx]

Book Review: Lessons In Corruption by Giana Darling

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Where do I begin to describe how much I love this book, this series and this incredible author. I can’t count on both hands how many times I’ve re-read each book in the Fallen MC series, that’s how much I dearly adore them. As a frequent reader of taboo and motorcycle club romances, I was especially siked when I first read Lessons in Corruption to hear that it was an age gap (which all the books in the series are) and was student-teacher too.

Cressida Irons has spent the better part of her youth living a life never fully her own. Groomed to be a perfect, higher society housewife by her parents, she married her much older next-door neighbour at the age of eighteen, believing she was going into a marriage of excitement and adventure. Quickly, however, she realised her naive teen fantasies wouldn’t come true with her husband. After having an epiphanic glimpse into a more fulfilling and exciting life after seeing a man who could only be described as a chrome king, she leaves her secure husband and family behind. Starting over on her own two feet, she never expects to see the man who inspired her to escape her meagre life, never mind fall in love with him. But when she truly meets him, a man destined to be a king of the lawless and free, rearing to show her the world at his feet, she can’t help but want to be his rough and tumble queen. Only one problem- he’s her student.

‘Before King (B.K), I’d enjoyed my books, going on long walks through Stanley Park and hanging out with my parents. A freaking pathetic list. Now, I loved riding on the back of King’s black-and-chrome customised Harley Davidson with my breasts to his leather jacket and my hair in the wind’

King Kyle Garro, a man of only eighteen, who holds the weight of his predestined path to become the president of the Fallen MC on his shoulders like a bad omen. Forced to be a protector and adult from a young age by the world around him, he’s mature and intelligent beyond his years, with a desire to be more than is expected from him. When he saw Cressida gazing enraptured at him across a sun-soaked parking lot, he knew that she would be his, even if it meant he’d have to corrupt her in the process. Their age gap or the fact that she’s his teacher does nothing to deter him from seducing and showing Cressida how to truly live, he’s a man that gets what he wants and with her, he’ll stop at nothing to get his queen.

“Got shit for it when I was a kid but I’m a romantic. Read fuckin’ Wuthering Heights when I was eight and got hooked on the classics. Always knew I’d meet a girl, want her, take her and keep her forever. That would be it for me”

Though this is, of course, a romance and this story does include snippets of all the usual love tropes, the budding romance between these two characters is beautiful, exciting and brutally realistic. Every encounter they have through the book is filled with passion, something which Giana does exceptionally well with all of the romances she writes. Something the geek in me particularly enjoys is her use of fantasy and mythological tales in her stories. Her characters are often reminiscent and akin to greek gods and goddesses, but this doesn’t make them feel any less real. They all feel so much more special, sexy as sin but as loyal and powerful as the mythical beings that once ruled the world.

‘A king at home in a grocery store parking lot, his throne the worn seat of an enormous Harley’

In many romances I read nowadays, I always find that the heroine is in one of two categories- she’s tough as nails, an independent woman or she’s fragile, needing the protection and adoration of her hero.  Cressida is a perfect blend of these, fierce yet vulnerable, strong yet willing to be soft in the arms of her King. She can defend herself when she wants and depend on her man too. She yearns to be adored and loved by a man who takes what he wants and will give her that roughness she’s always desired, to be taken and made to do the most sinful things. She finds that man in King, who is single-handily the most romantic and lyrically spoken hero I’ve ever read. He can be both dirty and swoon-worthy, reciting his own beautiful poetry in his seduction of Cress. He’s family-driven, just like his tough yet loving father Zeus and his fierce yet fun sister Harleigh Rose, who both get their own stories also. When we meet him, he’s young but has the maturity, talent and intelligence of a man twice his age. His seduction of Cress is beautiful, as he pushes her to accept him with his own assertiveness while giving her the freedom to grow and live free after escaping the restrictive clutches of her ex-husband and parents.

‘King was everything I’d dreamed a man should be: a real man built of loyalty, tenacity and verve, who laughed like the world was made just to entertain him and loved like crazy’

If there’s one thing I really love about this book, it’s definitely Cress’s character growth. She goes from being a social recluse, looking down on the world around her to a fun-loving, ready to take on the world babe. She’s still the same nerdy chick, using cute curses like ‘for Pete’s sake’ instead of swearing, but she’s wilder, ready to experience new things with her King at her side and the Garro clan at her back. Giana does this so wonderfully with all her characters, making them feel so realistic and complicated, that you can’t help but be drawn into their stories, feeling the pain and happiness of every moment. The different spoken text by the two characters, though a simple technique, adds so much to their character. Cressida speaks eloquently, tight-lipped in a way at the start of the book, as though the shadow of her old family is still present, but then she’s braver, louder, voicing her opinions and speaking from her true self. King is rough yet smooth even in tone, speaking in long sentences, choppy yet at the same time lyrical and poetic-like. Other characters, like Zeus for example, have this amazing tiny detail, creating even more personality for these characters and I simply adore it. Giana’s writing has quickly become my favourite thing to read, as each new story feels familiar but exciting and new. Though I’ve now ready countless MC romances, this series especially feels so special and memorable to me in particular, because I feel like I experience everything these characters do. As Cressida breaks free of the mental chains her ex-husband and parents restrained her with, we feel the same excitement when she takes her first ride on the back of King’s motorcycle and every moment between them after.

‘It didn’t really feel like me, not the new Cressida who rode on the back of motorcycles, got drunk on weeknights with strangers and let teenage boys feast on her pussy in the middle of her classroom’

And let’s not forget how good this story is steam wise- it gets real hot when reading any of Giana’s books. When you read as much smut and steamy romance as I do, sometimes you can find that sex scenes are lacking or just don’t live up to the building tension author’s have been creating with their characters. With this book though… it’s everything you’ve been waiting for and more! Each encounter is exciting and passionate between King and Cressida, placed beautifully in the story so that it feels exciting and new. What I’ve noticed especially with miss Darling is that her sex scenes never just come randomly. They always add more to the story, either it be by advancing the character’s personality or adding more fire to the burning romance we’re reading through. Each of Giana’s stories feel so well thought out and miraculously detailed that when you start to read her other books you begin to notice all the extra details she’s been hiding that lead on to new romances with her characters and events that were foreshadowed three books ago, that finally accumulate and cause havoc upon release. It’s exhilarating. It’s also genius writing and it’s just one of the reasons I love Giana’s work so much.

‘I’m asking you to risk everything to be my partner, to stand by my side and rule the Fallen men of Entrance, to lie, cheat and steal, to breathe my fucking breath, take my kiss and my cock and rule with me’

With Lessons in Corruption, it feels like I’m being introduced to the whole idea of a motorcycle club once again, especially with one so focused on family and love. Because of this, as you learn each member’s story, you begin to feel like your part of the family yourself and it’s such a lovely, warm feeling to have associated with these books. It feels like coming home when I re-read King and Cressida’s story and each one after. Giana’s beautiful writing and storytelling shine so brightly in this first story, sucking you into the world of The Fallen- I cannot recommend this story highly enough. For both newbies and well-versed readers of MC romances, this story is a stellar example of great characters, storytelling, steaminess and beautiful writing.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟/5

[xaz-fr]

I’ll edit links for previous chapters later but you know how Tumblr feelse about links but they’re all in the zs tag

Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancers, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. Though Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged for future posts a like or reblog will get you on the next pinglist. Reblogs (especially with a dumb comment but not required) are way more appreciated as it allows other people to see the work

@deadpool-scar-bro @starry-ampelope @golden-lionsnake @massdestructionn @frxemriss

Finally y’all get to meet Diylan, the last pretty major character of the story. He doesn’t have a super lot to do right now but in future things he is SUPER important. Also he’s basically the boy version of Tassa: a real slut and I fucking love him

It was pouring out. Not exactly surprising. Spayar had his rain coat hanging on the back of a chair just outside the family shrine. In the Alliance most Feylon went to temples to pray. Spayar was the first born of immigrants and hadn't been raised the same way. He knew the process of going to a temple and leaving offerings for all the gods, like he'd taken his siblings to yesterday but it wasn't how he worshipped, not how he'd been taught by his parents.

In Dirin everyone had a patron god that chose them at a young age. Sometimes in a dream or in an event in their life. While free worship of the other gods awas encouraged most Dirinians primarily worshipped only their patron god. They kept shrines to their gods in their homes. He had older aunties and uncles from Dirin who had their gods tattood or branded onto their bodies as a form of constant worship. 

The family shrine had six statues, one for each of the children, and one for their parents, in an elaborate alcove his father had added onto the house when Spayar was small, when Calli was but an infant and Spayar was just starting to really talk. He'd built it around the same time they both stopped talking in Dirnine exclusively around him so he'd learn Feylian better and without their accent. The shrine was a gilt table covered in Dirin motifs: palms, hyenas, crocodile, and great sand dunes that cupped the western part of the country. A sphinx sat with raised wings in the backdrop. The statues of the gods were arranged by size with the largest being Spayar's and his parents and then his siblings’ being smaller.

Relora’s goddess had one eye in the middle of her forehead and was shrouded in veils that concealed most of her body. Her name was Dehvonokoz, she was a seer, a counterpart to the Feylon Belldha. Spayar Sr.’s statue belonged to the god Enko, the god of fire and willfulness. He leaned against a long spear, balanced on one leg, the other foot resting on the calf of the standing one. Enko had no true feylon counterpart but seemed to be a male version of Galaia.

On one side were Anora and Duren’s personal gods. Duren’s was the Feylon god Maldrin, god of makers and a bit of a trickster. He had a wide, grinning, mouth, and balanced a knife on the tip of his finger. Anora’s statue was to the Feylon goddess Pacia, goddess of mercy and was always depicted as a young woman wearing full plate armor. To the other side where Calli and Spayar’s gods. Unlike their siblings Calli and Spayar had Dirin gods, as they were more Dirinnan than their little siblings. Their parents had decided it was better this way. Calli’s statue was of the goddess Nuvokon, goddess of wells and springs and held a jug that poured ever flowing water onto a parched earth. She also had no true Feylon counterpart but Calli hardly ever prayed to her either.

Then there was Spayar’s. Densinn, or as his mother called him: Sevok, the lying crocodile. No matter what pantheon he resided in Densinn always looked the same: an iconography that spanned the continent. He was a young man with a charming smile, mouth sewn shut, hands cut off at the wrist and wrapped in golden fleece. Densinn was not a god most people wanted to associate with. He was a trickster godmwho would lead you down a path you didn't want to go down if you weren't careful. Spayar had dreamed about him when he was a boy. A haggard man with eyes like fire, bloody stumps for hands, still trying to open his mouth despite the stitches. 

Densinn was not a benevolent god but appeared in many stories of the gods especially around the brothers Lemp and Anceion as one of the first gods they wove into being along with Can'dhe, Perunez, Galaia and Tipal. Densinn was the god of language and had been the first one to utter a word and whisper it into a human's ear. He'd taught humans to speak, write, and create sign language. He had a gold and poison tongue that spoke truth as often as it spoke lies. He'd been the first thing to lie as much as the first to sing and orate. Once he'd been a powerful god like the other first borns but earned his fathers’ ire because of his lies and tales, and his promises to teach dogs and fish to talk like he had their precious humans. So the brothers had ripped out his tongue, sewn his mouth shut and chopped off his hands so he could never speak again.

Mostly under protest Spayar worshipped Densinn and called him that out of spite. He might have a personal god like a Dirinnan but he wasn't and knew he wasn't going to give Densinn the satisfaction of using his Dirnnan name. He also didn't pray often but he'd been meaning to lately, especially after what had happened to him lately. Talking like a man possessed. Like a man unafraid of death.

“You did that when I saw Teldin, didn't you?” he asked the statue. “And with Pale Cross. You're going to get me killed at this rate.” Densinn was a liar but great at saying whatever he needed to get the job done. “I’m not a use to you dead.”

The statue was unmoving. Spayar sighed and looked up at the ceiling in annoyance. “You’re not even listening are you?” he huffed softly. He'd seen the statue move once or twice as a boy. He'd told his mother and she just said his god was watching him, which with a god like Densinn was not always a good thing.

Spayar went to his rain coat and grabbed his coin purse. He found a golden atrin and brought it back to the painted wooden statue. He made a slight face as he bent the atrin and pulled it with his mattallurgist magic. Elemental magic wasn't a weave or a spell, it was just an extension of being and Spayar was not very good at it. The trick back at King’s Casket where he'd pulled Pale Cross’ knife out of his belt had been a fluke and a lucky one at that. Even he'd been surprised it had worked. Not cutting himself hadn't been, but his ability was limited. He fiddled with the soft metal, shaping it in his hands before he got it to look approximately like how he wanted. It was a pair of roughly made golden hands. He added a spike to the end and lifted the little statue to pin them into the wrists. He put the statue back down.

“Don’t ignore me, Densinn,” he said seriously. “I’ve seen your shrine on Swan Island; I'm your only worshipper. Don't ignore me.”

“Spayar, mazuk, the cabbie is outside,” his mother called from the door.

“Coming!” he called back. “Don’t let me die, Densinn. You need me,” and he went to grab his rain coat. As he pulled it on he glanced back at the statue. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad the statue was different. Densinn was winking at him. “Great,” he muttered and grabbed his hat from the chair seat and went out to meet the cabbie who was standing at the doorway with an umbrella ready for him.

—

The sand the wyrm landed on was warm even though Spayar’s boots which he was grateful for. He was cold! After the all day flight up north on wyrm back at high altitudes he was close to shivering despite purposefully layering up like he was going to Surassa for the winter. Being a fire warlock Von had been a blessing as he was able to keep them warm for a while but even he had difficulty with the high cold winds. No wonder flighters wore such thick jackets and pants all the time.

The sun was just starting to set when they arrived and were given over to a man who gave them a room and meals and said the Wyrm Lord would be alerted they'd arrived but were free to do as they pleased.

The room they'd been given was a shared room which Spayar did not like. He hadn't slept in the same room as Von since he'd hit puberty and wasn't looking forward to starting now. Von was just busy stuffing his face. They'd stopped once briefly for lunch but normally postal flighters even ate their meals awing if going across the country. Spayar couldn't say he was particularly hungry. The height and motions of the great wyrm had made food the last thing on his mind.

“Are we just going to see him tonight?” Spayar asked, picking at the steamed fish seasoned with more lemon than Spayar knew was possible. 

“Yes. We aren't staying long,” Von said. “Teldin has the cooperation of the White Foot so there is nothing north or west of use to me.”

“The Norths,” Spayar said.

“I think they've had their share of war for a few more generations,” was all Von said. Spayar didn't disagree. “I want to get in and out of here.”

Soayar finally ate some of the fish. It was good, very sharp, which he wasn't expecting. “This isn't about the Wyrm Lord is it?”

“It is.”

“You just want bully him into giving your Diylan,” Spayar said, seeing through him.

“Okay maaaybe I am,” Von said with a slight grin. “But he has no alligence to my family other than that my mother is Asuras. There's no Conflicy yet so he hasn't picked a side.”

“That you know of.”

“Well are you not sharing information, Spayar?” Von gave him an annoyed look.

“No. I haven't heard anything either.”

“Exactly. Which is why I'm here now before my siblings show up. Once they learn I have the Rosalia they will try for the Drake just because the Drake hate them and want to fight them.”

“Which is stupid,” Spayar said blandly.

“Yes,” Von agreed. “Now are you done? You know how Diylan is. The sooner we see him the better we'll find him in his room.”

Spayar ate four more bites, which was about as much as he could stomach. “Okay, let's go.” He made sure to take off his coat before following Von. 

The Wyrd was an old, mostly dormant, volcano. Most of the mountain was in some way hollow and the central cone was a great shaft that ran up through the entire mountain to the sky. When they left the tunnel it was just barely still light out and Spayar glanced up, the circle of sky was starting to turn indigo as night approached. At the bottom of the cone was a large grounds filled with hot sand, warmed from underground to help keep the Wyrd warm even at this altitude. A ring had been cut around the bottom of the cone for foot traffic and two long, spiraling, staircases ran up the entire length of the cone in opposite directions with damaged landings at regular intervals. Down on the first floor the walls were covered in mosaics of orange groves and the sky, the ground paved in circular designs. Spayar had to admit, though there were no real buildings in the Wyrd the place was still beautiful and covered in the wealth of the Drake.

"So, Diylan?" Von asked as they stood for a moment under the cut overhang of the central cone, both trying not to gape at the magnitude of the Wyrd and failing a bit. "Which staircase is he again?"

"The red one I believe," Spayar said. The staircases had the front facing side of each step painted red or blue and where they  overlapped was purple. "Two curves up?"

"Why don't you just stop acting like you don't know exactly where he is?" Von grumbled, Spayar grinned, "You're completely insufferable."

"Come along my princeling," Spayar chuckled and started for the red stairs. At each landing there were huge grooves cut into the rock and Spayar knew they weren't there for decorative purposes. Climbing stairs sucked even for Von, who lived five floors up, so it was just much easier to get your wyrm to fly up to your landing, grab on, and climb off, than to have to walk up the stairs to your landing.

They were both out of breath and Spayar's legs were sore when they reached the proper landing. No matter how in shape you were stairs were still rough, especially with how many they'd just climbed. "Show off," Von grumbled as across from them on the blue staircase a wyrm landed on the wall, great claws digging into the wall, and their rider sliding off and onto the landing without incident. They then opened a portal and the wyrm crawled in and was gone.

Spayar chuckled, "C'mon, we're almost there," and he went into the tunnel on the landing. Here the lights were magical in nature, growing brighter as people neared them. They walked down the hallway, along the curve of the mountain, to a door. Spayar knocked. No answer. Spayar knocked again, louder this time. Von gave him a look and Spayar traced a new weave into the door to check to make sure he was at least in there were magic, just giving a brief courtesy inspection of the room and yes, Diylan was indeed in there.

"Well?" Von asked.

"He's in," Spayar banged his fist on the door. "Diylan, open up, I know you're in there," he yelled.

There was a moment and then the door opened. "Who the hell is- oh... you two," Diylan wasn't wearing a shirt and barely wearing any pants, which were holding onto his hips for dear life.

"Did we interrupt?" Von asked though with the air of someone who really didn't care.

Diylan gave Von a look, "Yes actually, you are," he said irritably. "But the royal family doesn't care if they bother the common people do they?" Diylan was the only one of their friends who gave Von the same amount of shit Spayar did. Diylan wasn't afraid of Von like most of their friends were, even if they didn't realize they were. 

"Nope," Von said, "We require you now and they can wait."

Diylan gave Von a look, "You know when people normally tell me that sort of stuff they're usually promising me more than a hard time. Unless you're up for that," and Von rolled his eyes even as the tips of his peaked ears turned pink. "Didn't think so," Diylan looked at Spayar, "What about you junior?" he asked.

"I'm far too good for you Diylan," Spayar said. Not that Diylan wasn't nice to look at without a shirt on. Diylan was hot, tall and huge with pale white skin, green eyes with gray scleras, short, messy copper hair with a silver streak along one side and more freckles than you could count. Too bad he was a bit of a man whore and even for Spayar that was too much.

Diylan leaned against his door frame, Von now completely forgotten. "That so?" he asked, his green eyes gleamed with challenge. "And who's to say that, hmm? Too good to lower yourself to some flighter?"

"More I don't like easy men," Spayar said.

Diylan smirked, "I can be hard for you Spayar-

"You two," Von interrupted, mortified as he realized what his friends were doing. "Can you not?"

"Awww? What's wrong Gard? Don't like me encroaching on your territory?" Diylan asked.

Von actually flushed a little, "I don't need to watch you two flirt," he said irritably. Spayar rolled his eyes a little.

"Ah... seems your lord doesn't like the idea of you having any fun, junior," Diylan said.

"Oh lay off Diylan. He's only sixteen and still a boy.” He and Diylan laughed. "Okay that's enough fun at our prince's expense," Spayar said.

"Yeah yeah, come in, I'll get dressed," Diylan moved out of the way and they went in, Von trying to control himself better but it was nice for Spayar to see Von actually get flustered. It also made him glad Von seemed so against Spayar getting with Diylan. There was a small sitting room in the front and half a wall between it and the bedroom. "Get up love, got more pressing things to attend."

"What? But we were-

"I'm quite aware what we were," Diylan interrupted her, "But I have important guests. So get dressed a see yourself out," and Diylan was pulling on clothes. Spayar and Von sat while he was talking.

A minute later a woman came out from behind the half wall, dressed, and glared at the both of them. She wasn't really pretty but had huge breasts. Diylan was way too predictable. She left the room in a huff, slamming the door after her. "You sure know how to pick 'em Diylan," Spayar called.

"She's not my wife, so why should I care?" he called back and Spayar heard leather moving against itself.

"She could have been," Von said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Diylan came out from his bedroom, "Please. I might be easy but I know how to keep myself sonless if at all possible."

Von looked him up and down, "Quite a thing that. A flighter who doesn't want a son. You sure you're a Drake?" he asked.

"Children are horrendous little monsters. I'll gladly save myself the trouble of ever having one," Diylan made a face and finished buckling his thigh length flak jacket before falling into the remaining chair gracelessly. "So, what do you two want? You didn't come all the way from Assarus for a personal call. If you had I would have gotten a letter demanding I come to the capital," and Von smiled a little. At the very least Von didn't make friends with idiots, say what you wanted about their habits in bed.

"One is I need to speak to the Wyrm Lord-

"Good luck with that."

"It's important."

"Yeah, what about?" Diylan said and picked at his nails. "Jollen doesn't make idle chatter with princelings."

Von scowled at him, "A Conflict is coming. I am trying to get ahead of it," Von said.

Diylan stopped picking his nails and turned to Von. He put his elbows on his knees, face serious. "Come again, Gard?" Diylan said.

"I know you're not a fool, Diylan. I'm sure you've heard an inkling of a Conflict," Von said, "Teldin and Tallalsala and Dellin are also making preparations. Forces are being mustered. If I wasn't here one of them would be. Unless they have been?"

"No," Diylan said, "None of your siblings have come to the Wyrd."

"Good. Then I need to speak with Jollen."

"About what?"

"A mutually benefitting alliance for us," Von said.

Diylan leaned back in his chair, looking huge and menacing with his flak jacket and steely grey eyes save for the circles of pale green. Diylan was not a skilled fighter, instead his skills were in desk work, which he gladly did. Diylan was one of the apprentices of the Overseer and a potential successor. A man who obeyed only the Wyrm Lord they knew everything about everything in the Wyrd. As a junior overseer that meant Diylan knew more about everything than a normal flighter. "What did you plan?"

"I'll discuss that with Jollen-

"You will tell me," Diylan said. "The Wyrm Lord only meets with people who have been cleared by the overseers. Prince or not you are still a man."

Von scowled, "I want his assistance in my coup. For his cooperation I'm prepared to make all sorts of promises for when I'm Asuras."

Diylan looked at Von, then Spayar. "You know about this?" he asked Spayar. Spayar nodded. "Who else is on your side?"

"Galinsum, the Shade, praetor X'vazior and his army, as well as a smattering of lower lords."

Diylan appraised Spayar, "That's all?"

"So far," Spayar didn't mention the Rosalia. No need to start an argument.

"You're lying about someone," Diylan said, narrowing his eyes a bit, "You're a good liar Spayar I'll give you that but I'm supposed to tell the good liars from the bad ones. Who else have you gotten?"

Spayar thought quickly, who the hell could he say instead of the Rosalia? If the Drake knew Von was already friends with Helida not only would they not agree to joining with them but they might also get thrown out. "Lord Addling," Von said, and Spayar didn't look at him until Diylan did.

"Why would you omit Lord Addling?" Diylan asked.

"It's not official," Von said. "He has agreed to nothing, so we aren't counting his number, but we want him."

Diylan looked contemplative, steepling his fingers, and looked at Spayar again, Spayar made his face unreadable. "I'll get you a meeting with Jollen," he said.

"Thank you," Von said.

"Don't thank me yet. Jollen likes your mother. He might not take kindly to your proposition."

"How's your crop this year?" Von asked.

Diylan blinked slowly and looked suspicious, "Why do you want to know?"

"You know my mother isn't going to help you," Von said. "Trade is still regulated to the normal limits on importation across our borders. Your oranges looked lackluster this year. I've heard from other cities that their harvests are so bad they'll have to ration it this winter if they want get food imported in the quantity they need. My mother needs to die, the sooner, the better, for the entire Alliance. If I don't do it my siblings will. We won't let our people starve because of our mother."

Diylan gave him a look, "... You have a point," he conceded. "Was that all you came to the Wyrd for?" he asked.

"Haven't seen you in a year or so," Spayar put in.

"Well, two years on you," Diylan said to Spayar.

"I was serving time."

"And you didn't even write. How rude," and Spayar laughed.

"I wasn't going to waste ink on you," Spayar said.

"That hurts junior."

"Hurts what? That icy thing in your chest you call a heart?"

"I'll have you know my heart is the only thing that is icy," Diylan gave him a look.

"Ahg! Stooop," Von cried and covered his eyes. "Anceion's gaze above, please stop flirting," he said miserably.

Spayar and Diylan laughed, "I think your little princeling needs a taste of what its like," Diylan said.

"What? What what's like?" Von demanded.

"He's really rather stupid sometimes isn't he?" Diylan asked Spayar.

"He’s still got his virtue what do you expect?” he teased Von a bit.

“Spayar!” Von cried, a flush high in his cheeks.

"What?" Spayar asked him, grinning, sometimes it was too much fun to have a laugh at Von's expense, especially with Diylan around. It was, effectively, like having two of them around and while sometimes Diylan annoyed the hell out of Spayar they were very alike and both of them knew how to poke Von without actually pissing him off. Von frowned deeply at him.

"And what I meant was," Diylan continued, having the decency to at least not laugh, "that Spayar has to suffer through all your flirting, I don't see why you can't suffer through his," Spayar gave Diylan a dark look for that. Spayar wasn't sure if most people were just stupid or obvious but of their friends Diylan was one of the only ones who really noticed Spayar had a thing for their prince. It would be just less painful for everyone if Von didn't know though since he'd make it weird and awkward. "Unless, you know," Diylan quirked his head at Von, "you're some sort of homophobe."

Spayar barely reacted fast enough to grab Von's arm when he lurched out of his seat. Diylan jerked back, pressing into the back of chair when Von stood up and looked ready to strike him across the face. "I can take a lot Diylan," Von said, voice hard "But don't ever insult me like that again," and he tugged his arm out of Spayar's grip. "Now go get me that meeting with Jollen," he ordered. Diylan swallowed a little, looked over at Spayar and then got out of his seat. He'd never seen Diylan slink in his life, but Diylan positively slithered out of the room, just to get away from Von.

"Von-

"Can you believe him?" Von cried once Diylan was gone and turned to Spayar. "Accuse me of being that. You're my best friend," his voice quieted quickly after his initial outburst. Spayar just looked up at him, honestly he didn't know what to think himself. Diylan had been pretty out of hand there. "And I don't care who the hell you, or anyone takes to their bed. But by the gods there is nothing worse than watching Diylan flirt because he's a slimy creep when he does it."

Spayar grinned a little, "I'll agree with you on that," he said.

“That's the part I forgot with him,” he sighed. “He's better not doing that.” Von looked contemplative for a moment, "You-" he paused, hesitant. "Would you? With him?" he asked awkwardly.

"Uh..." Spayar said, "No, he's not really my type.”

Von deflated a little, "Okay," and he sat down abruptly.

"You alright Von?" Spayar asked him.

Von looked at him, "I just... don't think you should sell yourself short. You're too good for him."

Spayar laughed a little, "Von, the last thing you need to be worried about is my love life-

"Well I do! Sometimes," he hunched a little, "I just want you to find someone who makes you happy," and Spayar was so stunned he couldn't speak. "You don't really... like anyone and sometimes I get concerned."

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"I'm a prince," Von said, "and... too young right now to think about that," he swallowed. "No one wants to be with a prince.” Everyone attached to princes or princess were usually cast aside after the coups, the ones who didn't die fighting for their prince or princess usually never dealt with politics again, or went near the capitals. It was better, because they would never bend to another Asuras . Some of them went to a temple of Lemp in their grief and shame to be brought to the Shadow Lands. "You could still be something without me," Von said.

"No," Spayar said, "I couldn't. Because if you go to the Shadowed Lands I'd be in front of you. Because to get to you, they'd have to get through me first," Spayar said in a hard tone. He wasn't fooling around. Whoever wanted to kill Von would have to kill him first, because he wouldn't let any harm come to him so long as he drew breath.

Von sighed, "Thanks," he said quietly, not smiling but looking at Spayar gratefully. 

—

When the Wyrm Lord agreed to see them Spayar was cautious. Of course he was. It was no secret that Jollen liked Virilia, and at least thought her competent, or perhaps more he thought her benefitting. He was waiting for them in his office but didn't stand when Von entered. He had one of the few views in the entire Wyrd with his office having an open air window to the volcano cone.

"Your highness," Jollen said when Von stood before his desk. There were no chairs, everyone who came here was expected to stand.

"Wyrm Lord, I trust your fairing well-

"I didn't agree to a meeting of pleasantries, boy," Jollen said harshly. "I am a busy man with a busy house and many things to do. Get to what you want and then you may be on your way."

Von swallowed, he hadn't been expecting Jollen to be so harsh. The man was like a wolf, his hair a shimmering silver with black shot through it and his eyes ice blue inside black scleras. Every feature on him was sharp and lean and he didn't have a scrap of fat on him. Sitting down he didn't look too big but like most flighters Jollen not only reached six foot, he exceeded it by far. "I'm sure you can hazard a guess why I'm here," Von said.

"The same reason Dellin wanted to speak with me."

"Dellin's here?"

"No. But he tried to speak with me regardless. Then he insulted me and made me very upset."

What was with the Le'Acard children and pissing off noble houses lately? Spayar didn't understand. They should know better, but it seemed like all they were doing was misstepping. He hoped Von didn't misstep. Spayar also wasn't sure Jollen wasn't lying. Diylan said no other princes had come through here. Unless it was earlier. Or maybe Diylan didn't know. "I'm not my brother," Von said.

"Well I certainly hope so," Jollen said, leaning back in his chair and folding his fingers together.

"Do you like my mother, Jollen?"

"She has her uses," Jollen said.

 "And what are those?"

Jollen smiled a small, wolf, smile, "That would be between me and the Asuras, your highness."

"I want your help Jollen," Von said, "You're not stupid, I would never accuse you of that. You know why I'm here and what I want from you."

"The Drake are not interested," Jollen said.

"I can offer you things Jollen," Von said.

"And what when you die, little princeling?" he asked. "I was a boy when your mother took the throne and I saw what siding with the wrong side did to my father, to my house. My father sided with her brother-

"Who should have been Asuras and you know it," Von said.

"Of course he should have,” it came out as a snarl. “Only the weak take the leftovers. But your mother is Asuras now. I like your mother, because she is weak. The Drake offer nothing in these schemes. We want, nothing."

Von bit his lips, he sucked his teeth a moment in thought and then said, "Not even be on the same field as the Rosalia?" he asked.

"What do those bitches in the west have anything to do with it?" Jollen growled.

"Helida is on my side," Von said. "She doesn't back the weak either. When I win she'll have played a valuable role in helping me claim my throne. Do you want to be cut out by them?" he asked.

Jollen's eyes narrowed, "Tell that slut of Lemp to go to do us all a favor and kill herself,” Jollen said.

"I'll be sure to. And maybe when she retaliates against such slander I'll just... look the other way," he turned his head a bit like he was thoughtlessly averting his eyes.

"Are you threatening me, boy?" Jollen asked.

"Of course not, Jollen," Von said. "But when I am Asuras it will be Helida with me. I've never known a Drake to let a necromancer get one up on them," he said and Spayar didn't look at Von, though he wanted to. Von was out of his mind right now. He'd just threatened Jollen, one of the most powerful men in the Alliance. And he was baiting the man. Not even Densinn’s influence would have made Spayar say something so wreckless. Right? He was starting to regret asking Densinn to pay attention to him. Jollen wouldn't hurt Von but Spayar was a commoner despite his position as d'aelar and easy pickings for a Governor. "You've been rough on the Rosalia since my mother decided she liked you better than them. I doubt Helida has forgotten, or that she'll be kind in her retaliation."

"You'd threaten me with civil war?" Jollen said.

"Unlike you, Jollen, my accenion is not given to me in the Book of Bloods. I don't plan on dying," Von said cooly, "I am not my siblings. I am Vondugard Le'Acard and let me tell you; I live up to my name," now Jollen swallowed. The hero of old, Vondugard, had been Archon and personally led every battle of the Asuras that had claimed most of the eastern provinces. He'd been relentless, ferocious and showed no mercy to his enemies. Most eastern provinces, like Dodorum where the Wyrd resided, had many tales of Vondugard both good and had. "You are either with me, Jollen, or you are against me. Which is it so I know if I need to keep wasting my time in this tiny province out in the middle of nowhere. If so, when I'm Asuras you can stay here and rot for all I care. So what is it Jollen?"

Jollen stared angrily at Von, "If I join you I want assurances," Jollen said.

"Name them."

"We'll think about them," Jollen said. "When the time comes you'll have your answer. In the meantime I want you out of my Wyrd."

"Fine. I want one of your flighters to accompany me home," Von said, Jollen's eyes narrowed.

"Fine I'll assign-

"I want Diylan Rastin," Von said, "a junior overseer, you won't miss him."

Jollen's mouth went thin. "Fine," he said through grit teeth. "He will be ordered to stay out of the affairs of the Le'Acard," though Spayar knew Jollen saw what Von was giving him. With Diylan with them he'd have a constant eye and ear on Von to report his doings, and Von would gain a protection of a flighter. Diylan wasn't a good fighter, but most people didn't know that, all they'd see was a flighter, a warrior mounted on wyrm-back, standing at Von's back. "Take him and get out of my Wyrd."

"We'll be in touch Jollen, I'm sure," Von bowed a little to him. Spayar was caught off guard enough do that as well. Then Von turned on his heel and walked out. Spayar took one last glance at Jollen and then followed after his prince.

"Have you lost your mind?" Spayar hissed once they were outside Jollen's office and headed for the offices of the Overseer.

"I got what I wanted," Von said dismissively. "I don't care if Jollen does or doesn't back me," Spayar grabbed Von's arm.

"Excuse me?" he asked, turning Von to him. He lowered his voice, "You don't care?"

"I wanted Diylan, that was all. And I wanted Jollen to know that he'd better start picking sides. The Drake can't afford to be bipartisan," Von said quietly.

"And you thought the best way to do that would be to piss him off?" Spayar rubbed his forehead.

"He told me everything I needed to know, and got me Diylan. Everything went exactly as planned," Von said, pleased with himself and started to walk towards the Overseer office.

"Yeah, plan you didn't tell me," Spayar said, watching him go but didn't follow.

Von stopped and turned back to Spayar, "I don't tell you everything Spayar. Just like you don't tell me everything."

"Not about this," Spayar hissed. "This is our lives. You tell me everything." Von was being unreasonable and just now he'd used Spayar as nothing more than a show of force. Jollen knew Spayar was d'aelar and despite saying nothing that entire time him just standing behind Von said enough. Spayar had never felt so used. Von was his friend but in that moment all he felt like was a prince’s primary vassal. He didn't like it at all.

Von looked at Spayar, "I do what I have to." Spayar glared after Von as he continued towards the Overseers offices. "Come along Spayar, we need to tell Diylan the good news." The words from his mouth didn't even sound like his friend. Either he was just barely keeping it together or instead of Spayar Densinn had indeed decided the best way to pay attention to Spayar was through Von. Neither option was pleasant and it didn't make him feel better either.

Spayar grit his teeth and followed after Von because he was too good a friend to keep this up. And what else could he do? Nothing.  "And what's that?"

"That he gets to go to Assarus, and," he added this with a devious look, "he gets to go to my sister's naming day," he grinned a little. "If we're lucky he'll get into her bed and give her some vinerial disease-

"Von please, have some class," Spayar sighed. "She's more likely to give him one," and Von had to cover his mouth so he didn't laugh too loudly.

[toasttz]

How to make games: RPGs

Hey! You like RPGs, right? If you don't I have to wonder how the hell you found FAN, given our two most-active subboards being vidya and tabletop RPGs, but, whatever! Let's, for the sake of argument, assume you like RPGs. If you don't, fuck off, Greg! ... I don't know anyone named Greg, I just wanted to see if I could screw with people named Greg. Anyways, RPGs, like the houses in Harry Potter, come in four distinct flavors: traditionalist, gonzo/comedy, h-game, and "Inspired by EarthBound/The Mother Trilogy". And much akin to Harry Potter, only two of these houses actually fucking matter and the other two are just hangers-on of different genres and ages. If you're going to waste the player's time by making your H-game an RPG, you are going about it entirely wrong. Please stop dumping this unabashed garbage-fire of a subgenre on Steam, the market is beyond saturation point and requires arm floaties to compensate. And for those of you who played/know of EarthBound and want to make a "spiritual successor"... just stop. Please for the love of God, stop. There never really was a demand for this kind of thing and EarthBound was not a commercial success, so just stop if you have any humanity left in you. I don't think I can stomach anymore fucking quirkiness after the last installment - anymore stuffed down my gullet and I'm gonna shit out a My Hero Academia OC next time my bowels move. So, in truth, you have two flavors of RPG: the traditionalist and the comedian routes and both can be equally terrible. Traditionalist RPGs range from the swords-n-sorcery setting found in Ultima, Dragon Quest, and good Final Fantasy installments to the sci-fi, cyberpunk, steampunk, and emo shit found in bad Final Fantasy installments - it's a wide gauntlet. The only prereq is that you take your own storytelling relatively seriously, with some level of gravity involved in the overall major story beats. Since traditionalist RPGs are made by people with crippling insecurities about change, and the game will largely succeed or fail on the quality of its characters, I'll go ahead and make your cast for you. I'll avoid giving them names so you can customize them: I mean, some people like their fantasy heroes to be named something like "Bulk McUlraeoth Sword Arm of Jupiter" and some people like their fantasy protags to be named "Jim". Who am I to judge your self-insert fanfiction? Sword McHero Man - The guy with short brown or black hair and a generic face done by a B-list manga-ka and, depending on if you want to make him a chillaxed everyman or an edgy edgelord, you can add or subtract belts, zippers, pouches, and black clothing items according to need. He'll almost always use a generic one-handed sword and have fairly short hair. If your game strongly favors an element system, he'll be either fire or light-affinity, but not have any actual strong convictions beyond the fact that he hates 'bad guys' and probably gets his head dunked in toilets by at least 3 NPCs in the starting town. Anything else about him is ultimately superfluous and interchangeable with the next Sword McHero Man over. Childhood McBestfriend - Oftentimes a female foil to the above, but not required by law to be so. Sometimes this doubles as Sword McHero Man's Suave Cool McLancer. They will usually fill a supplementary combat role in the party, either the thief or the healbot as the story requires. If they are the love interest, they are required to be Worst Waifu(TM) by law and be replaced as soon as a competent party member fills out the roster. Typically wind or water elemented in nature, they'll either help calm the hero-man down if he is the hotblooded sort, or cheer him up if he's currently got his head dunked in a toilet. Suave Cool McLancer - Either a rival or thematic foil of the hero and maybe a rival for Childhood McBestfriend's affections, depending on story necessity. He will be a more specialized unit, either the rogue, the heavy-armor knight, or the attack mage. If male, this character will be Best Hasbando and be incredibly pretty or horrifically scarred and/or disfigured with no potential in-betweens. If female, uncommon but not unheard-of, she'll be the team's big sis figure and likely the most powerful, physically speaking. Potential for Best Waifu(TM) is high, but can also potentially double as Back McStabberton. Back McStabberton - The dark, angsty, clearly-untrustworthy one who the player will see their betrayal coming from a mile off, but will completely blindside the naive heroes. Usually they'll have stats inconsistent with the party (being either over or under-powered depending on context) and clash with their bright, anime-esque color scheme by wearing blacks or dark purples. Either a thief or attack mage of some flavor. Almost universally a male or a "devilish handsome rogue" if they get redeemed at some point. If female, they will always be DOUBLE AGENTS acting with the hero's own good in mind and will promptly be forgiven. Usually dies before the game is out. Grandpa McTeacherperson - Some plot-pivotal character who exists to either give the party a special tool, weapon, or ability they wouldn't have gotten otherwise, or elsewise transfer their own talents to the party in some fashion. Virtually irrelevant as characters since these exist exclusively as jaded props to die off to make the villains' actions more personal. Please stop using this archetype or at least TRY to subvert it into something interesting, you talentless lazy fucks. Sexy McFaceTurn - Invariably one of the bad guy's hot ladies will see a boyish charm in the hero, even if the hero is supposed to be projected upon and therefore would actually have the social skills of a duck - or worse, me. What? I did that joke already? Fuck you, this joke's still more inspired than the Tales games RPGs. Anyways, upon getting wet for the hero, she will abandon her post and all its luxuries and join the party, clad in tight, black leather and probably using either knives or whips and will be your prereq dark-affinity character. She will be the sex appeal your game sells on, so be sure to slap her on all your promo materials even though she doesn't join until the mid-late game. Male versions of this idea die. I can't explain it - it's some straight-up Mr. Poofers dark magic, they just die. Annoying McMascot - Your game needs something bizarre to round the party out with. A talking dog is common. A fantasy creature with bright neon colors is also acceptable. Just make sure that players hate it with every fiber of their being. If the design alone isn't enough, give it an annoying speech habit - like a verbal tic or a lisp - and have it talk a lot and repeat the obvious a lot. It is by law that this must be implemented. However, unlike any of the above, this, coupled with the hero, cannot be killed off. And that should more or less do ya, unless you're the type who wanted to pour dozens upon dozens of dudes into your game. In which case, congrats, you understand that doing the absolute base minimum to be called a "game" isn't the bar you should be shooting for and therefore are already on your way to being better than Squeenix. Next, you need to get to codin'! So go on Steam and buy the latest RPG Maker software when it goes on sale. You won't need to wait long, between the Summer and Winter sales. Once you have that, you already have built-in art, music, and character makers. Fuck it - creativity is hard, so let the software tend to that itself. Make some characters and name some locations, jot up a map with some landmarks and treasure, then make a bad guy. Bad guy making is easy, they all wear black or dark reds and purples and tend to always call themselves "The [Whatever] Empire". You don't even need to be arsed to make a motivation for their evil schemes. Have you seen how much Fire Emblem Fates raked in just on the goodwill left over from Awakening? I'm surprised JRPGs aren't made by fucking algorithm these days! Anyways, that just about does it for the traditional RPG. Comedy RPGs aren't quite as bound to the above and are, in fact, encouraged to break the mold. If you need some ideas to get the creative juices flowin', there's a game you can try out, you might have heard about it since I haven't stopped fellating the damn thing since I did the LP back in 2013: Hourai High. Your plot doesn't need to make sense and is better off if any causality is merely coincidental. Your characters shouldn't really be trying to 'save the world', per se, but should do so by side-effect of their selfishness and/or incompetence. Your team should have robots, aliens, fucking CheetahMen, I don't fucking know, but take everything I said above this paragraph and throw it into a shredder, make it confetti, and wail on established convention! Sweet fucking mother - BE CREATIVE. I'm gonna temporarily break facade here for just a second and say this: you know how you bitched about Final Fantasy 15? How it's a fucking boyband music video with a fucking car commercial crammed in it?! How you hated the hallway simulator of FF13? How no one bought Bravely Second? How Dragon Quest keeps getting away with remaking the same fucking game?! Here's your chance. Flaunt on the establishment. Fuck what is "popular". Make something new. Don't try to be Shigesato Itoi. Do your own thing. Break the conditioning. Get out there and make a fucking game. Make it so when people say "RPG Maker Title" on Steam, they aren't saying it like it's a four-letter word. Put some God-damn soul into it, people! And now, off the soap box. Bonus points if you add a dating sim. Just saying. Rune Factory 5 just got announced. Now, get to work. Congrats. You now know how to be the most fucking boring milquetoast thing on the planet and how to avoid that ass-cancer and do something that actually expresses your individuality and possible talent. This is the one time I'm allowing these rants to be somewhat uplifting. You're welcome.

[cobaltsage]

​while I Def agree there are some issues with timelines I always like the idea that because it’s fantasy that every time a civilization tries to get out of the Middle Ages because Magic and Dragons and shit exists it’s just too easy to be like “ and I have discovered steam power! What’s that? The Grand arch mage of water and the Coal Demon have teamed up on my city specifically because I have abused what they deem to be their powers and now the entire city is being literally boiled alive? Well fuck! “ or “ I have built a little glass box that can make shadows disappear at night! Tomorrow, I will unveil my latest creation to the king and have these glass boxes installed on all the streets of town! Tomorrow, at the special magic festival where the veil between worlds is at it’s thinnest and ah fuck I’m just gonna be killed by a multiplanar being along with most of the city. “

Like, In Legend of Zelda, the actual tech never really changes much ( even though sheikah tech in BOTW is the most tech we’ve had save the robots at the very start of the timelines ), but it makes sense because every hundred or so years a demon reincarnated wrecks shop, usually kills the king, and Hyrule either gets burned to the ground, flooded, or taken over by Ganon or Vaati. Add in that the local government / ruling family is ACTUALLY LEGIT PARANOID AF and you have a country that tends to reject the technology and changes that can be made ( or even the magical power of its sworn allies ). The stars literally have to align for a large Cistern to actually be built - and it will inevitably be taken over by Ganon in the next hundred years and filled so full with monsters it won’t be usable.

TES also has the same thing, as it was the point of Oblivion, a ragnorock crisis that set back the in game culture and history so long that the only tech that exists is a bunch of security bots that belong to a culture that literally said “ screw that noise “ and ascended to a higher plane of existence, leaving their sentries in full murder mode. With worlds that are this tense and chaotic, it’s no wonder that the most important and stable trades are “ keep everyone alive because if we can’t grow food we all die “ , “ Make swords and junk so the dragons can’t kill us as quickly “ and “ Be an adventurer who does all the exploration we need because these tombs are filled with monsters and we need to know if the monsters there want to come to the surface and kill everyone“. Oh. And “ Make and sell a lot of alcohol because Eric Dragonfucker actually lived up to his namesake and I wish I wasn’t hearing him sing about how he lubed his dick up with fire resist potion so I need to immediately forget tonight “

Historian: How long do you think the Middle Ages lasted?

Fantasy Writer: 8000 years?

Historian: …

Fantasy Writer: 10,000 years?

Historian: …

Fantasy Writer: All I know are knights and lords and stone castles, please don’t be mean to me.

[misscrawfords]

Ugh, you're SO RIGHT about the Sherlock tag. I would have LOVED to hear people's thoughts/ opinions on the ep, discussed them etc, but a quick venture into there quickly changed my mind! What did you think of the new episode? I would be so, so interested to hear all your thoughts! I always love reading about how you found things, whether they're how I feel or not, you just do it so well!

I think it’s time to answer this. Anon, buckle up! And I hope you’re still here…

As a bonus, you get my thoughts on all three episodes. Isn’t it your lucky day…

You’re also going to get reaction gifs. Because I’m on my laptop and I can do them. It’s my lucky day tbh. I’ve just watched an hour and a half of the purest shit that’s ever appeared on my TV screen, green lit by the BBC and with piles of money from my licence fee spent on making it and paying the writers salaries.

Writers who I basically imagine look like this:

So I need a treat. So I have my tea and some cake from my cousin’s baptism party earlier today (so pure! so good! so help me God if I ever let him watch this trash show!). Let’s get going.

Under the cut because

Sherlock was an entertaining, clever(ish) show at the beginning. It was a modern AU of Conan Doyle’s stories and it was fun to see how they were updated, like any modern AU. The mind palace was original, Moriarty worked as a different kind of villain and the way the episodes were updated was interesting and overall successful. I remember enjoying The Hounds of Baskerville particularly. I’ve never shipped anyone with anyone so, y’know, I’m going to talk about that aspect of fandom and the show. (At least not yet.) It’s not my arena.

And then at some point Moffat and Gatiss let success go to the head and this happened.

This gif, incidentally, could also sum up the level of plot explanation and coherence from many episodes. Sherlock’s mind palace basically becomes super powers and nothing makes sense any more.

Because Moffat really loves writing stories about unconventionally attractive, misunderstood super geniuses saving the world while implausibly brilliant, psychologically disturbed hot women fall in love with them.

So anyway. You asked about the first episode of this season. Uh, I’ve already forgotten it tbh. Something something weird girl on the bus something is John cheating something something aquarium something MARY GETS SHOT.

Oh now I remember.

So Sherlock is obsessed with Moriarty despite the fact that he is dead. (Probably?) I mean, he might not be because Moffat is famous for refusing to let characters stay dead and he’s basically unaware which show he’s writing for, DW or Sherlock, at this point. And he also likes to suggest things to the fans which aren’t the case but the fans which they were. Apparently that’s what being clever means.

Anyway, he’s waiting for a message from Moriarty and he’ll know it when it comes because… he’s just that good and there’s all these hints that Sherlock can basically predict the future using… science and his phenomenal brain?

And the whole episode is bookended with a riddle about a merchant going to Samara which is the equivalent of a trashy YA fantasy quoting Hesiod in the original Greek at the beginning of the volume to try to look cultured. I mean, it basically doesn’t mean anything or even necessarily make sense but for a time you’re bamboozled into thinking you’re reading/watching something really incredibly intelligent. Just because literary allusions and alinear narratives can add depth to something doesn’t mean the addition of them automatically improves something!

AKA the viewers to Moffat. So long, and thanks for the meta.

Back to the episode. There’s the disappearance of boy that Sherlock solves in five seconds because he can do that? It makes no sense and by this point I don’t even try to suspend my disbelief. I mean, what’s the point?

Sherlock gets obsessed with the 6 Thatchers and thinks it’s to do with Moriarty but actually it’s connected to Mary Watson who is actually an ex-assassin because being a complex human woman living in the real world is too far beyond Moffat’s comprehension to contemplate writing.

Meanwhile John can’t cope with fatherhood and starts texting a random girl on the bus who is clearly sinister. Then Mary dives in front of a bullet to save Sherlock despite having recently become a mother. I’m not a mother but from everything I understand, a mother’s primary instinct is to protect the child, especially a vulnerable baby. Mary is consistently presented (ha lol consistent characterisation jk who dis) as loving John and valuing their life together above everything else. So… what conceivable motivation could she have for depriving her child of its mother in this way and prioritising Sherlock’s life over her own? Her affection for Sherlock is ultimately baffling except in the context that all women love Sherlock, despite him being condescending, rude, manipulative, dishonest and emotionally unavailable.

But hey, it’s pretty original stuff to kill a female character to advance the character development of the two white male protagonists who’ve been queerbaited since the beginning of the show, right?

So yeah, that’s the first episode.

Second episode was all about Sherlock concocting another plan involving him turning into the Sybil of Cumae with no rational explanation in order to make John come and save him. Because Mary told him to in a video message presented to look like it was from Moriarty. Yes, it makes just as much sense as it sounds.

Credit where credit is due, Culverton Smith was a really chilling villain and unmasking him would have made a great S01 episode. This episode was really actually not bad in many ways if you ignore most of the stuff beyond the main plot.

But then! The ending! John’s therapist was the girl from the bus in the previous episode and she’s Sherlock’s insane sister! Called Euros! (Which isn’t a girl’s name wtf that’s a masculine ending.) Which means East Wind! Which has apparently been referenced to in previous episodes! And everything was building towards this! 

Because what could be more predictable and obvious than Sherlock having a long lost sister who is even more clever than he is who is introduced as an even bigger villain than Moriarty? Spoiler alert: She was also an American transfer student to Hogwarts and Draco Malfoy fell in love with her.

On a more serious note, the reason this “twist” is hilarious and predictable is because it is yet more of the same. Each threat is escalated beyond belief and Ebony Euros is just the latest in a long line of dangerous, genius women set up as foils and/or love interests for Moffat’s genius/emotionally stunted heroes.

Arguably Mary might be in this category too. Moffat hasn’t progressed beyond the characterisation of women of a basic fairy tale: in other words, they either help or hinder the hero on his journey. If they help, they are either old (Mrs. Hudson) or in love with him (Molly, Mary in the sense that she is willing to DIE for him and make him the centre of her universe despite her husband and baby) and if they hinder him then they either do it by being utterly unappealing and monstrous (the woman in the aquarium whose name I’ve forgotten - she’s old and she shoots Mary - there’s something grotesque about her in that scene) or they use sex as an entrapment (Irene). These women simply cannot exist beyond these binary roles towards the hero.

Eunos in episode 3 obviously can’t fancy Sherlock due to being his sister, but she nevertheless falls into the category of being quick-talking, psychopathic and her sexuality is expressed through an odd sequence with Moriarty. Like Moriarty, she claims to not care or even notice the gender of the person she’s boning which just sounds weird as opposed to liberated, which I suppose was the intention. In fact, Eunos’ characterisation is hardly different to Moriarty’s. Perhaps this is intentional, considering the role Moriarty is playing in Eunos’ plans but it just feels tired and not half as slick and clever by this point. 

At the end, Eunos is revealed to be the little girl on the plane WHICH MAKES LITERALLY NO SENSE FROM A NARRATIVE POINT. How even? And how did they end up at that house? I mean, I just really have no idea. By this point I’m just praying for it to be over soon.

But anyway, she’s the little girl on the plane and thus turns into another one of Moffat’s tropes from DW of the little traumatised girl whose entire existence is built to basically revolve around the hero.

Anyway, most of this trash episode is Eunos playing games with Sherlock, John and Mycroft. How they are manipulated beggars belief and therefore there is no suspense. Obviously she’s going to kill the governor’s wife anyway! She’s a PSYCHOPATH - why do you trust her to play by her rules?

So I really have no idea why they play along with her for so long. It makes the whole thing very boring.

Anyway, one of her games is to force Molly Hooper to say “I love you” to Sherlock and I’m not dwelling on this because I find shipping on this show very tedious because the whole thing is a manipulated construct by the writers and nothing is genuine and it’s obvious they were never going to end the show with Sherlock and John locked in an embrace so, honestly, what were you expecting? I guess this is another example of a tease that isn’t actually fun but rather a cruel bait to the fans of the show. A fake declaration of love - that actually never develops into anything and confirmation that Molly is in love with Sherlock because she simply can’t not be. I’m so angry. This is so many things and I can’t even be bothered to discuss it further.

Anyway, I’m running out of steam. What else? The plot is a giant mess, Cumberbatch playing the violin is an embarrassment to violinists everywhere. The whole thing is a self-conscious nod to and slap in the face to its fans. Its smugness is utterly insufferable and entirely unjustifiable.

I think what makes it totally laughable rather than just plain bad and insulting to everyone who isn’t Moffat’s demographic is the fact that for at least this season and quite possibly longer, the show doesn’t even have internal consistency. It’s impossible to suspend disbelief when watching it. I don’t even know what kind of show it is. It is impossible to believe in any of the Sherlocks because they are incomprehensible, not quite human in a universe that doesn’t allow them to have special powers. And no amount of trying to give Sherlock emotions can change that. None of it hangs together at all.

[the-eng-circle]

#camelsurf #psychiatrys_4_rings #sill_mar_ill_lion It's Sunday today, the 14:th of October and maybe it should've been a "funny" hunt on Red Octo-bear by the screwed up Goat once. But he's mutulised badly within and can do nothing good at all. He will die for what he destroyed and never could mend or repair/recreate again. The four rings of the winning sign of a car brand called Audi is what it's all about - it's four evolved eras of psychiatry (the "sacred tree") and which father of all christmases lit on fire, make a hold-on-to-something-trip ("hall-i-dig" in swe), a sleigh-ride out of. It include the "so forgotten" burning of a strawman-goat out on the entry-way (a "walkway that was sanded" as swe says) inbetween the weekends - and the story-telling around an old evil child in a little "box". SILL (the first era) - is about childish humour, a "lip-sill" is either a weaper sour child or/and the one stretching out it's tounge as a jokeful snake-move and some kind of taunting/mocking act depending on which way the boy/girl show it's so fake "love". The third perspective is in the sack/workshop - a "guppy" of a rapist believing in many and hard hip-shakes will do it for the believe to kill the pray/catch in bed. In english the word "her-ring" should be added. MAR (the second era) - is about a mar(e), a feminine horse that yet no had a child. It is seen as a pale(-r) horse in comparison to other mothers/fathers as it should be pretty immature in descicion (because of it's lack of experience in parenting children into grown-ups). The jokes here are also of a "foolish kind" (a horse child in swe), maybe more mature than stretching out a tounge - but not in class of a so called "kings foil", which is self-irony in memories of being a boy. Sex-wise is also a lesser of a stallion (or "horsemaster's cock") than other men from any higher region or mature age.0 ILL [-ER] (the third era) - is about a mammal-like and in persona a deceitful and treacherous character. Here psychiatry starts "cooking misery" within old blackie (a muscular horse spirit) and the witch-pot, africani-pot and Gehenna/Olymph is "born". Psychiatry is making somatic (physical) illnesses/diseases/deceases on this very Earth. It was the evolution of psychiatry that started with a 'fever' of having a fantasy-goat forced into cooking within and after that came the 'cough', when some ego who were responible could control the aggitation of a lung-sack with black arts/-magic through black sourcery (eating the "brains" on those creators who could think). The humour is of the illminded, sick and too cold - something called "bi-frosty" in nordic old high-songs. An imbecill's dumb humour. That is when those NOT reaching for power is supposed to be redicouled (something only ment for those who climbing ladders to reach the top position) - the slightly alike humour is the so called "mocking" or what the mob do, on schoolyards, workplaces or in media when mobwars starts in a media-controlled world. Sex-wise the sex is of all ill, sick or wierd kinds you can imagine - it's hurtful and abuseive sexocrats in (or from) a very strange region. LION (the fourth era) - is about a "winning" strategy of a "lion breed", the polygamic "fathers" who like the roosters live one man and many women BUT there the women kills and feed the parasitical "leader" of a tribe/group or collective. The "lion" is supposed to conquer "lien and lian", the grimreaper and the one who by nature was appointed to be the "death-doll" of a very special kind... a hidden women in a game not fun for anyone to (unvoluntarily) forced into. The "lion"-strategy of success (and sex-wise) is to "stay in bed" as the name itself says and the humour is of that irreversible method of "keep on lying" to everyone - an irony that in it's simplicity will come back and "bite you" in the "end". A room 101 solution and too smart for it's own good. This is about how far the psychiatry go in "methods of thinking"... and it ends with everyone eating their own shit - or someone elses if chimps (they who come after the whimps) throw shit at eachother and they eat shit from "another mother" all the time, in their try to survive or to reach success. The logos in front of cars will be what you need to successfully be + cook to destroy the evil (multi-)headed dragon of fantasy protecting it's house that this leader-serpent built for himself in hell... always called a "sacred tree". "Volvo" means "I roll" in latin... and that's about what an old steam-engine and/of a lo-co(-with)-motive do... you just don't think you should follow others patternelised tracks... then you're an easily descepted (fooled) machine.