#this is the first story I've written

[unidentifiedbs]

The first thing I do is hug them. Judge me all you want, but who knows how long they've been trying to revive me. How many of my other minions were sacrificed to do this. My memories- My sentience is completely intact, which you can't do without a massive sacrifice.

I allow myself a week to mourn for my dear companions before turning back to the Elder Lich. Their name tag has music notes around the border and their name, Melody, in elegant cursive.

I remember Melody. It's embarrassing to admit this, but I crushed on her hard when we were children and she always wanted to be a musician. But the orphanage she was raised in didn't have the money to buy her the instrument if they even wanted her to in the first place. She was always headstrong and had a deep sense of loyalty, which would get her into trouble when her friends were adopted into abusive homes.

Then one day when I visited to play with her, the director said that Melody was adopted and like the naive child I was, I believed him.

I found her years later frozen in the snow. There was just enough intact of her for me to recognize my old crush. I had started on my journey as a necromancer at that point, but I threw myself into my craft.

I too, almost shared the same fate. Sold off through marriage and not adoption when I told my parents that I liked women. Most of the skeletons I revived are like that, those with a tragic past. I couldn't bring them back with their memories, but I could give them a chance to exist without the fear and bad memories.

After I collect myself, I ask Melody about what she knows about the world now. After all, who knows how long I've been dead.

You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.

[butterfi]

Danger

I wake to chatter from outside. Getting up, I walk out and drum my hand on the door and crack it open.

"Pyria! It's about 7 o'clock, you might want to get up." She starts to wake up and mutter an ‘alright’, so I leave her, leaving the carved wood slightly open.

The house is eerily quiet, I brush it off. Looking outside the magpies are about, it's not spring so we're fine, there are other bird calls out there, like the willy-wagtails, it's how it always is.

Those people outside were still loud, what were they doing? It's better not to look or ask.

"You alright Ryllae?" My sister asks, bringing me out of my daze.

"Y-yeah nah, I'm fine, just thinking," I reply, started by her sudden appearance next to me. I start making our lunch for later.

"Looks like rain, we should stay inside today," Pyria remarks, glancing outside.

"What abou-"

"Oh, it's fine, I'll call and say we can't go." She walks off leaving me by myself.

I brush it off, better not to continue this conversation. Through the windows, I could see shadows of people, and the banksia trees do screw my sight up. I should continue lunch, even if we don't go outside today.

"Yep.... y-yes will do. Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow... everything is fine." I could hear parts of her call. I shouldn't interfere or listen in; I've learned from my mistakes before.

"If we're not going out, I'll go and do the work I need to do in my room!" I holler out to her, she's finished her call so it's fine, I think. I walk up before she can say anything else.

The chatter can still be heard.

I should go check it out, maybe see what's going on, maybe a festival is on, or a rally, a march perhaps. I shouldn't though, I need this work done. I sit at my desk, staring at the craft tools laid out on the workbench.

I look up, it's been hours, maybe three or four, those people can still be heard, and the birds are quiet now. I get up from my desk, I can't hear Pyria, I doubt she would have left, she said we weren't going out, perhaps we don't have bread or milk, though I swear we had enough this morning.

I look at the old clock hanged on the dark wooden wall, it’s been about three or four hours since I sat down. The house is quiet, thought Pyria would be carving, or making some noise at least. The birds who were loud, are silent.

I need to walk; I want fresh air. It couldn't hurt to go outside, maybe the backyard will be fine, I should still check with my sister though.

Circling the house, she is nowhere, with no noise or any indication she is there. It’s too quiet.

Stopping by the front it's so empty, it's only me and Pyria so why did I think there was more? Outside is a mess of trees, bushes, and weeds, all overgrown. Someone has deal with this it’s out of control, maybe Pyria or I should send something to the council about it.

There's still no sign of her. Stepping quietly through the house we share, as if there would be someone inside, the mirrors are dusty, the whole house is, it feels like it's been abandoned.

I step outside, the backyard a mess, a desolate place that shows no care put into the placement of the plants and trees, them both being overgrown, moss growing on the once intricately designed stone paths. It won't matter if I chose to neaten this up, I'm supposed to stay inside, the clouds on the other hand, show no sign of rain and I can clearly see the sky, it’s clear just like the ocean.

Chirp, chirp.... Chirp, chirp...

Those sounds continued kind-of like a bird, and they got closer. I could go back inside. I turn around seeing those beady eyes staring, making those chirps, and other small noises.

The weird thing is, it looks elvish, has it tricked people, does it think it can trick me, and maybe it has?

I walk closer, no longer thinking, although I'm not walking, it's pulling me. I look down at my abdomen, vines and roots entangled themselves around me.

"Oh... No, you c-can't le-eave." It chokes out, I didn't dare to look into its eyes as I tried to rip those vines from me, "You already left, y-you can undo this... mistake." Its voice barely made any incoherent sentences, it could atleast choke out the last word, 'Mistake'.

Chirp, cracking followed, as it tries to move closer, as is gets closer.

I try moving backwards, just to keep my eyes on it but failing those roots from before tripping me, I bring my head up to look at this thing in its eyes.

It's already staring, I look behind there's more behind, why wouldn’t I move?

Those eyes, the hair coloured like the fire burnt trees and their pointed ears, maybe it was my imagination. I don’t think it would be, but I can’t take any chances.

"Pyria..."

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

The first chapter of my sci-fi dystopian Team Rancher au, Finality’s Fault, is here! I worked really hard on this first chapter and am very proud of it, so comments and rbs (feedback in general) would be greatly welcomed!

Also, asks are always open if you wanna ask me about it, theorize, or just chat in general :)

[anna-scribbles]

thirteen update 💕💍🍽️🩸

chapter 5: february

summary:

“These things do not concern you,” Papa told him flatly. “I will run my household however I see fit. Your concerns are with your schoolwork and your modeling.” Blood pumped heavy and fast through Adrien’s heart. That wasn’t—fair. Concern was about all he was capable of these days. “And what about Maman?” Adrien asked, exhausted, reckless. “May I be concerned about Maman?” Something shifted on Papa’s face, all his emotions smothered in stone.

excerpt:

The best day of Adrien’s life was eight months and six days ago. No contest.

It was a crisp kind of cold that day, the Paris sky blooming a bright and brilliant blue overhead. The sun pierced right through the brisk February air, a shock of spearmint and adrenaline in his veins. He couldn’t stop widening his eyes, couldn’t stop smiling. The city was so alive. Strains of love songs poured out of open cafe doors and onto tourists, their hands full of red roses and lovers’ hands. The cobblestones sang with the patters of paired footsteps all down the street. It was the city of love always, but today especially. Today Adrien was made of the stuff, just bursting with it.

And, like every other day in the running for the best of his life, Marinette was there.

“You’d better not pull anything,” she warned, tightening her grip on his hand as they passed by a tourist couple looking very… engrossed with each other in the middle of the street. “And—and if you do, you have to tell me. Right now.”

Marinette’s brow was lightly furrowed, the bridge of her nose just barely scrunched up. Her hair was pulled half-back with a pink ribbon, matching the shade of the skirt she wore beneath her velvety black peacoat. Her Mary Janes clipped anxiously down the road and Adrien’s heart danced and swelled and spun in his chest.

“Pull something? Me?” Adrien stepped aside so their arms were outstretched, and then pulled at Marinette’s fingers, sending her tumbling back into his arms. She looked up at him, trying to frown, smiling. He grinned. “I would never.”

“I’m serious.” Marinette untangled herself from his arms and interlocked her fingers again with his. Her hand was the warmest thing in the world. She looked at him sternly, wagging a finger in his face. “I need to know so I can—prepare. Especially if it’s something crazy. No funny business.”

“Marinette,” he moaned, draping a wounded hand over his heart. One corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, eyes darting to meet her gaze. “You think I’m funny?”

She groaned. “I think you‘re—I think you’re ridiculous, and sappy, and romantic, and I think it’s Valentine’s Day in Paris”—this part she shouted, which drew a few stares—“and I think you’re about to take me on an insanely adorable date, and I think Alya took me to get my nails done last week—!”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Adrien remarked, swinging their hands back and forth. “And observant. What a beautiful mind you have, my lady.”

“You have to tell me,” Marinette insisted. She stopped them on the street and frowned at him, pink flushing the apples of her cheeks. “Is it—are you—?”

“Hm?” Adrien murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Marinette’s cheeks went ablaze.

“I—you—you know what I mean!” she spluttered. “Are you gonna…you know!”

He tilted his head to the side. “Am I…?”

read on ao3

[shaylogic]

"Oi, don't wait up for me, yeah?" Charles informs Edwin, "I'll be in Crystal's room all night."

"Charles! I'm surprised at you," Edwin exclaims, looking flustered.

"It's not like that, mate--she's been having nightmares about David and I've agreed to keep her company. Said she feels safer with a friend looking after her, y'know?" He shifts from one leg to the other, one hand rubbing his other arm, absent-mindedly. "It's not a big deal, alright? Just didn't want you wondering after me." He shrugs non-chalantly and gives his partner a gentle clap on the shoulder before re-entering Crystal's room.

She's already changed into her sleep clothes and curled up under the covers. Crystal meets Charles' eyes and pats the bed beside her. With a small smile, he approaches and sits on the side of the bed, leaning on one hand and looking down on her.

"Would you like to talk before bed, or should I leave you to it?"

Seeing him only sit on the edge, she takes his hand and guides him to lay down next to her. "C'mere. Just lay with me, okay? If you don't mind. . .?"

His eyebrows raise and a twinkle of excitement crosses his eyes that he fails to suppress.

Crystal rolls her eyes at him and he chuckles. She pulls his arm over her side and holds onto him as best she can, letting out a long sigh. Charles feels a fluttering sensation in his chest, like a memory of a quickening heartbeat.

"Thanks for doing this. I'm sure it'll be less interesting than however you usually spend your nights, and I'm not much company to you when I'm asleep."

He grins, fingers attempting to brush lightly along her back. "I wouldn't say that."

She looks him up and down. "Oh, geez, you're not gonna' like, stare at me all night are you?"

"Well, I don't sleep, but I could try closing my eyes and laying here with you. Seems restful, anyway, doesn't it?" Her brow furrows, and he mirrors her expression, sobering up. "I'm not sure, uh, what your plan was?"

". . .I guess I'm not sure, either. I just didn't want to be alone in this big, empty room tonight."

"You could invite Niko across the hall for a sleepover," he teases, tempting her to explain why she chose him.

She recognizes this immediately and narrows her eyes playfully, pursing her lips, and refusing to take the bait. "You've got a cricket bat handy if any other ghosts or demons decide to pop up overnight. Niko would probably just talk their ear off and try to set them up with each other."

He chuckles. "Tough to argue with that."

. . .

After a while, Crystal's breathing slows, her chest rising and falling in smaller increments. Charles does observe this for a moment, before realizing he's doing exactly what she told him not to do. He shifts so he is staring up at the ceiling.

He can't feel Crystal's breath and warmth beside him. Without looking at her, he could forget she's there. He could just be laying alone in this bed for no reason.

He turns onto his side again, facing her and snuggling as close as he can without phasing into her. He has to focus to keep his form solid enough for her arm to rest on.

He closes his eyes and replicates breathing, concentrating on being present, and trying to remember old sensations. How would this moment feel, if he still had his body?

A cold chill runs down his core and he tries to focus on the memory of body contact sharing warmth.

While Crystal has one of the best nights of sleep she's had in weeks, Charles struggles to remember how it felt to be alive.

[tyriongirl]

Genesis 4:1-5, translated by S. R. Driver, from The Book of Genesis, 1905

A Clash of Kings, Prologue - Maester Cressen

Emanuel Krescenc Liška – Cain (1885)

Claus Westermann, Genesis : a commentary, 1984

Arthur Segal - Kain und Abel (1918)

A Clash of Kings, Prologue - Maester Cressen

Natalie Diaz, A Brother Named Gethsemane, from When My Brother Was an Aztec

Lovis Corinth - Kain (1917)

Genesis 4:6-9, translated by S. R. Driver, from The Book of Genesis, 1905

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 33 - Catelyn IV

Odilion Redon - Cain and Abel (1886)

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 33 - Catelyn IV

Genesis 4:9-14, translated by S. R. Driver, from The Book of Genesis, 1905

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 31 - Catelyn III

St. Omer, Benedictine Abbey of St. Bertin; c. 1190-1200

A Storm of Swords, Chapter 36 - Davos V

S.R. Driver, The Book of Genesis, 1905

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 42 - Davos II

Lazzaro Pisani - Death of Abel (1885)

S.R. Driver, The Book of Genesis, 1905

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 42 - Davos II

A Clash of Kings, Chapter 42 - Davos II

Cain and Abel - City of Zeven - 2015 (source)

Genesis 4:14-16, translated by S. R. Driver, from The Book of Genesis, 1905

[intramoon]

Nes + Erin: partners in crime & platonic soulmates & always dressed coded (+ Erin all grown-up. ;-;)

[therentyoupay]

im completely feral over all your jelsa stories!!!!!! do you ever write established relationship jelsa or have any headcanons about what they would be like together in a serious relationship or marriage????

THANK YOU SO MUCH. 😭😭😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💕🙏 thank you thank you nonny for this super sweet ask and this really lovely question and all of your love and support!! 💕💕💕💕💕

i have... never actually written established!relationship (in any fandom), now that i'm thinking about it? that said, i guess i can come up with a quick list of some headcanons, maybe? 😂 i will have to think about this more, but for now, here's a quick drop:

elsa is an early riser; elsa helps jack create more sustainable sleeping patterns and habit formations 😂

when jack gets Impetuous Urges to Do Something Rash and Impractically Spontaneous, elsa will ground jack, reminding him to think before acting. (he occasionally Still Does It, anyway.) elsa knows what she signed up for, lol.

jack loves to play Harmless(!) Pranks, just to watch elsa’s reaction. (he is no longer allowed to sneak up on her after The Incident).

they also quibble over the definition of "harmless" and the specific logistical implications of that; for a while, jack was banned from further pranking, but then he got more creative at showing elsa that pranks could be wholesome and genuine, in which they could both be in on the joke. however, due to elsa's deeply-rooted Need to Excel and her (Not-so)Secret Competitive AF Streak, her retaliation in escalating the Cleverness Prank War quickly resulted in jack's prompt implementation of the Prank-Free Zones and Time Periods. (no, he was not scared.)

elsa, usually reserved, has learned to let her playful side show more often with jack. she might still pretend to be exasperated by his antics, but sometimes it's part of the game (or habit).

elsa sill struggles with opening up emotionally sometimes, but she progressively feels safe enough to share her innermost thoughts and fears. with time, she confides in him more about her worries. she still never likes the idea that jack sees her Imperfect Parts, but at least she can tolerate the discomfort (and, yes, take comfort in it) now

(jack loves elsa's Imperfect Parts, and jack admits that he is Weirdly Proud and Competitively Honored to be one of the only people, even including anna, who gets to see them. he also is strangely Comforted and Validated that elsa is, in fact, not perfect because for a while there, he was pretty freaked out and intimidated by how fancy she is.)

until he realized that no one ever let her actually be a Weirdo before, and once he realizes the Truth of Elsa Also Being a Secret (albeit perhaps more Subdued) Weirdo, the Universe Aligns.

jack listens to elsa's Big Conversations intently, activating varying levels of Serious Mode.

jack is getting better at recognizing the moments when elsa needs him to play and needs him to listen or Give His Opinion or any combination of those things.

jack learns that it's not always about Saying the Right Thing (which he is not very good at, anyway, or so our Serially Unreliable Narrator thinks), but rather being able to read elsa's mood and anticipate what she might need (even if she is not aware of it herself yet).

elsa is meticulous about planning and preparing for special occasions.

elsa likes traditions! jack likes tradition only because elsa likes them, lol, and hey, okay, these are more fun than he thought?? (who knew fun could be organized??!!?)

so he really wants to show (off to) her by pulling off Incredible Planning Feats in her honor, too (they do not go as smoothly, lol).

jack will often go out of his way to spontaneously create something meaningful, a moment or a gift or a gesture, that reminds elsa that he cares. he is big on words of affirmation, gift giving (but like, souvenirs that he collects on adventures like, "i saw this rock and it reminded me of your cousin olaf, we should put it on the window after we paint his face on it"), and acts of service, as well as physical touch and quality time. HE WANTS LOVE. he wants TO BE LOVED. he wants to prove that he is worthy of being loved.

(and elsa has to get him to Chill Out sometimes, remind him that he doesn't have to Do Things For Her/Anyone in order to be deserving of care; he is more than what he provides for other people.)

(jack gets its, and appreciates it, but also, the Urge to Provide and Protect is still strong, even after so much time, and sometimes Old Habits Die Hard.)

i get the sense that he'd be the type to he wake elsa up in the middle of the night to take her on a surprise adventure, or convince her to Do a Fun Thing without any preparation (/warning).

and she would Be Alarmed at the Lack of Plan (especially if/when jack Did Not Think This Through), but he also took precautions to ward off Concerns by pacifying her with tea, or reassurances that yes, he did call ahead to make sure the restaurant was open before they left the house, of course he did, he would never just leave home without double-checking beforehand (and frantically googles it two minutes later when he thinks she's not looking; she is, naturally, and even occasionally pretends not to be).

elsa approaches conflict with a desire to resolve things Calmly and Logically. she tries to understand jack’s perspective, even when she disagrees, and she’s careful with her words, not wanting to escalate the situation.

however, she can sometimes withdraw emotionally, fearing that she might say something hurtful if she’s too overwhelmed.

jack was initially (and, honestly, still is, even though he understands more now) hurt by her tendency to shut down when she Feels Too Much, and understands (although it's still hard) that elsa needs time to process her feelings and organize her thoughts.

jack also helps elsa actually Feel her Feelings, instead of just trying to intellectualize and analyze them. (she hates it, BUT sees the value. jack lives for these moments in which he realizes that he's actually contributing positively to her life and helping her in some way, rather than just being a burden or a nuisance, as was/is his fear.)

his initial reaction might be to push for a resolution quickly, but he’s also deeply afraid of Creating Distance between them, so after the first few fights, he really makes an effort to find the right balance between Pushing Hard Enough and Not Pushing Too hard, so that he doesn't drive a wedge between them as they work things out.

jack FEELS intensely, and can be so stubborn. he does not always have the most precise vocabulary or tools to describe his thoughts and feelings, or identify the root causes of what is actually going on inside him; sometimes elsa asks a lot of insightful and guiding questions that help jack come to the conclusions himself, and other times, she Puts Into Words the very thing that he had been thinking or feeling, but could not name, and it is very reassuring to have someone who understands him well enough to be able to do that.

after conflicts or arguments, they take time to Decompress and reassure one another (especially if at least one of them, if not both, was Overthinking again).

when they argue (and healthy couples do, remember!), it’s a dance of patience and understanding: elsa might need a moment to Collect Herself, and jack learns to give her that Space while also making it clear that he’s ready to talk whenever she is, and that he is going to try very hard to be Rational and Patient About It.

in the end, they both prioritize their relationship over any disagreement, always finding a way back to each other.

[bambiraptorx]

Okay, since there was some interest in seeing this short story, here it is. The working title is Foot Quest but I might change that lmao

— — —

The Dragon cracked open an eye at the distant sound of footsteps echoing faintly down the halls of its cavern.  A group of several people, accompanied by hearty squabbling and crass insults.  Hm, it hadn’t had visitors in quite some time.  Perhaps these ones would be entertaining before being eaten.

It closed its eye and curled deeper into its golden hoard.  It would find out soon enough.

— — —

Another sound roused it shortly after, the sliding click of coins and jewels being displayed. Whether from a not-so-sly attempt to pocket a few of its gold pieces or to scale its prodigious hoard, the Dragon did not care.  It cracked open a different eye.  It was always better to observe one’s meal a bit before consumption, after all.

The figure below (rather far away, at nearly the bottom of its hoard) appeared to have sat down for a moment, possibly on one of the treasure chests that stayed down there.  The wooden boxes were always a bit too odd and lump-like to do anything other than inhibit quality rest.  From the Dragon’s best guess, it was likely a human.  No beard, ears too small to be one of its cave goblins, and none of that insufferable stench elves carried with them wherever they went. That made it edible.

The biped shifted a bit, then jumped off the chest completely, flourishing what appeared to be a tiny dagger.  It was too far away to truly tell.  In any case, they seemed to realize rather quickly how ineffective their speck of a blade would be, and lowered it shamefacedly.

“... …. ……. ..?” What was that?  The Dragon tilted its head at the human’s distant mouth sounds.  Given that such things were distinctly less worthy of its attention than sounds like footfalls or clicking gold pieces tended to be, it wasn’t used to attending to such tongues.  How did human speech go again?  It hadn’t tested its vocal cords in some time.  

“Ahem.  Speak louder, puny thing.”  It freed an arm from its bed, glittering jewels cascading down the hills of hoard.  Pity, it would have to pick those up later.  Preferably after a snack.

The human took a step back.  Then raised their hands to their face, cupping them around their mouth.  “I apologize for the intrusion!”

Not the typical first words of a prospective breakfast.  “Do those companions of yours offer the same?”

The biped made some small motion with a hand.  “I think the goblins got to them!”

Well, good.  That was what the Dragon kept them around for.  Cleaning out the tunnels.

“You realize you shan’t leave, morsel.”  The Dragon flicked a few eyes open and shut, blinking away the sleep-grime.  “Intruders are only welcome if they become… long-term guests.”

A rather clever way to put it, if it said so itself, but if the human agreed they were unfortunately too far away for it to tell.  Instead of answering, the two-legged thing displayed a tremendous amount of stupidity by beginning to climb up the steep slopes of the hoard, even daring to come closer to the side with the Dragon’s head clearly visible.  A deliciously foolish endeavor.

The human stopped once more over a small rise in the glittery piles, still rather far for the Dragon to reach unless it really stood up and stretched its neck out to catch them.  Perhaps not so unintelligent after all?  “There!  Can you hear me better now?” 

The Dragon stretched for a moment, the gold covering it slowly giving way to its limbs.  Ugh, this was a most encumbering way to have fallen asleep.  “You must be exceptionally stupid or desperate to approach me.”  Evidence pointed to the latter, but of course the former would be the tastier option.

Their face moved strangely, an awkward display of baring small, flat teeth.  “Oh, I just came to ask a question.  Care to share a small amount of your wealth with a humble orphan?” “Not a chance.”

“...perhaps a loan?” “Mm… no.  Loans are for goblins only, which you clearly are not.”  The Dragon shook its head, shiny objects spinning away with loud crashes as they tumbled downwards and smacked against things.  Its neck was that much more mobile with the gold around it lessened.

“And at any rate, little thing, you’ve interrupted my sleep.  And so—” it worked the other forelimb free, its tail almost there—“You are to be my dinner, as is the way of things.”  Unless they did something worth its attention, but it was rapidly growing bored.

“Wait wait wait, please, I beg you, don't—your arm,” the human babbled.  “Leg.  Limb?”

It spared a glance for its stump, the limb most likely visible from the human's current location.  “Yes, that.  Staring is not appreciated, insect.”  The last human to make it this far had said something annoyingly rude, and had needed to be eaten immediately as a result.  A pity, wizards never tasted too good.  All the thick wooly robes got caught in its teeth.

“No, I mean—” quite unexpectedly, the human sat down again, this time on a rise in the piles of gold, and did something to one of their lower limbs that appeared to involve undoing numerous straps, then held the limb out towards the Dragon. 

…It didn’t know the smaller races could do that.  It had never paid them much attention, to be sure, but weren't their limbs supposed to stay attached to their bodies?

“Here, my prosthesis.  I lost the leg as a girl, it was some sickness the local apothecary couldn’t cure.  Better limb than life, I think she said.  And a while after that, I got another one to help me walk, but I’m still—we’ve got that in common.” the human explained breathlessly.

The Dragon lowered its head (interesting, how this ant-like creature barely flinched at its approach) and turned a set of eyes towards the thing.  A facsimile of a leg, carved of wood with fabric and that cow-skin two-leggers were so fond of hanging off in thinnish bits and pieces.  It even had a shoe to match the other one the biped wore.

It huffed, a gentle stream of smoke escaping its jaws to envelop the small figure.  “Mildly interesting, I suppose.  But why should I care?”

“The people outside haven’t seen you in over a century. It would do them well to remember your presence here,” the human said.  Some small expression, too quick for the Dragon to read, crossed her face.  “And… I know what it’s like.  Losing a limb, figuring out how to live afterwards.  Besides, the gnomish craft cities aren’t too far from here, and you know they love a challenge.  You’ve got plenty of gold to spare, and they’d think it an honor to craft something for you.”

The Dragon reared its head back.  “I have no need of gnome workmanship, you little asp.  I am a great thing, powerful and fearsome!  There is nothing here that needs to be fixed!”  Its wings were yet buried, or it would have beat them dramatically for emphasis.  Perhaps the brat was back on the menu.

“Please, it’s—it’s not—it wouldn’t be for fixing!” The human yelled, her hands lifted to shield her face.  “It would be a tool!  To make things easier!”

It stared down its nose at her.  “And why should I bother with such a… tool?”

“You don’t have to,” came the answer.  “Lots of people don’t.  But I know the merchants from here to Ocean’s Crest, I know the metalsmiths and leather workers and tailors, and there’s dozens of ways that a leg can be built.  And look, I can tell you it won’t fix things all the way.  It might create other problems.  But I can tell you this much—it works for me.  And it might be able to work for you?”

The human held her hands outstretched above her head, a gesture something like a plea.  For mercy, perhaps, or more time, or some other petty human desire. If the Dragon was already awake, it might as well move around a bit.

The Dragon blinked three eyes at once, snorted and began to stand, gold slithering over its scales as it shook itself free of its hoard.  “You have piqued my interest, ant.  I shall embark with you on this journey of yours.  Now put back those coins you have in your pocket.”

[rosenfey]

things that are hard to find: writing advice that isn't condescending.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[rebouks]

in the space that's in between of what's real and what's a dream i fear not those things unseen but swim upstream from what has been the future lies ahead agleam distracting minds from what they've seen and though the slate is left unclean it's not too late yet to redeem those caught forever in between

[problemswithbooks]

BNHA Ch. 429

So, I guess Toga is dead, and people are losing it.

I get why people liked her--she was actually queer, being pan/bisexual. She was representation for them and that's rare in shonen manga. But here's the thing--she was bad representation at best and insulting at worst. Nor do I think she was made queer because Hori really wanted to represent a queer girl. Himiko was always the author's poorly hidden fetish--she just was. She liked girls as much as boys because Hori wanted to draw a girl touching sexually on another girl. You can see this in how he draws her and Ochako in solo pics together.

I mean, people seem to understand this when it comes to Momo and her outfit being overly sexual or that both Himiko and Hagakure's Quirks either leave them naked or they have to be naked to use them. These are excuses to draw girls in a sexual manner. Himiko being into other girls is the same thing and that's the kindest interpretation.

Given how Himiko acts and her Quirk being heavily coded sexual desire, and therefore her use of it against someone unwilling being sexual assault, it could just being playing into harmful stereotypes of predatory gays.

As a queer person myself I just found Toga insulting. She was designed to be overly sexual and give the male author a female character that he could draw being suggestive with his other female characters. When he did flesh out her character, her backstory was eventually the trope/fear of straight people, that gay people will be so overcome with their lust that they end up sexually assaulting them.

In the end Ochako accepts this part of Toga and says she'll giver her blood forever, but as much as a lot of readers took that that as some deep lesbian confession, for me it really fell flat. Hori never really gave any of the main kids time to actually learn about their villain or show how that changed their minds toward them. Shoto only works because Touya is his brother (even though he admits he barely remembers him). But Ochako goes from not thinking of Toga at all pre-first war, to one thought about her during her speech, to suddenly caring about her so much she--given how Toga's quirk is coded, is willing to essentially fulfill Toga's kink for the rest of their lives.

It's weird and it comes out of nowhere. It's made even stranger because Toga doesn't actually change or show remorse for anything she did, which included personally hunting and murdering people before she joined the LOV. None of the death and destruction she is also partially responsible for is brought up either, something that Ochako was rightfully upset about during the first war when less people and property had been destroyed. Ochako just accepts everything about her suddenly and her past serious crimes are forgotten so they can cuddle and cry.

Am I shocked Toga died--a little. I didn't think Hori would have the guts to kill off a young girl character, especially one that he clearly got a lot of joy drawing in sexy poses. But at the same time, once he killed off Shigaraki and ended Touya's story with his slow death, I'm not surprised he went the same route with Toga.

This isn't Naruto--Hori isn't really kind to characters that do something wrong, especially if they don't try and change. Enji, Bakugo, Hawks, and Aoyama all sort of got punished for what they did. Enji is the worst off, being permanently crippled, missing an arm and burned everywhere. Bakugo's hand is damaged, his heart weaker, plus he feels bad that Izuku lost his Quirk so they can't compete the same way he wanted them to. Aoyama, despite doing way less wrong and even helping his class during the forest raid, still leaves school because he doesn't feel he earned being there yet. Hawks lost his Quirk and even though him running the HPSC could be seen as good for him, Hawks always wanted a break, but now he has one of the most time consuming and stressful jobs out there.

So, if this is what characters who actively did good things and even changed and fought to be better get, what would characters who never changed and never did anything positive for anyone but their friends/themselves get?

Before the last Arc started, when so many people said the LoV were 100% going to be redeemed I had doubts and always thought it wouldn't make sense with how the story presented redemption or treated other non-LoV villains in the past. That if the main LoV did get some happy ending where they were bffs with the main cast it would clash with how other characters had been treated.

That doesn't mean that I think how Shigaraki, Toga, and Touya ended up in the manga was well done. I think their endings fit far better then a last minute redemption would have, but at the same time you can feel how rushed everything has been since the end of the first war arc. Hori was done with this story months if not years ago, yet he was contractually obligated to finish it. Because of that I think he left out as much as possible. As much as I think he's written some pretty obsessive stuff, particularly towards women, I can't really fully blame him cutting corners or the story being shit at the end.

We know Manga authors, particularly those that work with Jump are treated like shit. That they suffer incredibly long hours at times not even getting to go home for days. We've gotten messages for Hori saying he's sick quite a few times. On top of that, weekly story telling is not a great way to tell a cohesive narrative. Ideas probably change week to week or at least month to month and you can't go back and change the last chapter no matter how much you need or want to. Then you remember he also gave a lot of ideas to the people who made the movies, which would also change his plans for how he wanted the main story to go.

The story is bad--it has been for a while, but I think a lot of people put their hopes on their favorite characters getting a happy ending, even when there were signs that probably wasn't going to be the case. I know how much it sucks when a character you love gets a shitty ending (Stain was my fav, but he got an absolute dogshit ending) but at least, knowing what I know about the industry I can't really blame Hori the way I see some other people doing. Criticize it, sure, but saying Hori hates his readers or is horrible writer isn't true. BNHA was popular for a reason--he's great with characters and the beginning of the story had some great pacing. We'll never know, but I wouldn't be surprised if BNHA could have been amazing if Hori had been treated better and the story hadn't needed a chapter every week.

If anything BNHA has taught me how much a story suffers when authors/artists are treated like crap and forced to work past burnout.

[eerna]

Hii wanted to bring this up to you because i love your tfota discussions(and other fandoms as well). i've noticed that a lot of the target audience for this series is very superficial and don't really appreciate and understand the series in its entirety but you always have great points.

so anywaysss with that being said. something that sort of made me side eye tpt a little was jude and cardan. obviously characters change overtime and i think the fact that jude and cardan sort of started to resemble each other in indirect ways is a nice little detail but i felt like some of their interactions were very unnatural. it felt like hb was feeding into how a lot of the audience sees them which isn't terrible but it feels the slightest bit out of character. like what did it for me specifically was in the end when jude excuses herself by saying she was going to go yell at people. i mean jude has always been very sarcastic and witty but it seemed weird for her to say that, it felt like one of those incorrect quotes. like yeah she probably would be yelling at people but would she really say that? like basically it's just very small things that seem like fan service more than intentional writing ya know? now don't get me wrong i love them and i shamelessly enjoyed all of their appearances i also think they were still pretty consistent as characters but it's basically that it seemed like things they said were only there to please the public which fed onto the whole superficial view the general audience has of them.

Hiiii! I definitely miss a lot of stuff so I wouldn't dare claim I get an entirety of anything, but I am very glad you enjoy my discussions nevertheless~

I get what you mean! For me it was that Jude "knife wife" line, and Cardan complaining about the snake thing. Knife-wife could have been funny if it was written smarter and not literally quoting a fandom meme. If we wanted to have a comedic moment where Cardan complains about something gross and Jude shuts him down, it could have been a new thing instead of an event that happened ages ago that we've seen on-page. It reads like a parody, the self aware "haha"s are so awkward. HOWEVER. In theory I wouldn't mind them being written as funnier than they used to be. Like you said, they are a decade older than the last time we've seen them, and they've solved most of the issues that made them not want to joke around during the trilogy. And it's also amusing bc HB said she had problems figuring out what an almost-thirty-years-old Cardan would be like, so the fact that she settled on "clown uncle" is hilarious.

Which leads me to my main problem with it: The things that make them fun aged-up epilogue versions of themselves also make them worse main characters. Jude and Cardan in their late 20s are by default much less interesting than Jude and Cardan in the middle of their young adult angst unsolved trauma roller coaster. They should join Roiben and Severin in the lineup of side characters that are still plot relevant, but no longer the center of attention, which would make their shallower presentation less noticeable.

[immunetoneurotoxin]

ENTANGLEMENT | Part I, Chapter I

A Portal/Half Life Universe Fic from Chell's Perspective Rating: Explicit Overall Word Count: 10,730 Chapters: 1/20 Where to Read: AO3 | Google Drive | // ?UN?/KN@?#WN

SYNOPSIS

Location Unknown, Michigan, USA.  Aperture released her, set her free. That ought to have been the end of it. But cast out into a world rendered unrecognizable after a mass extinction level event, Chell is forced to fend for herself, navigating a war-torn world in the aftermath of the seven hour war that devastated the states in a bygone era.  Mere days into her newfound experience on the surface, Chell finds bizarre technology inside a Michigan radio tower, discovering that the same interdimensional forces that started the war were still around, scouring the area in search of technology from the facility she hoped to never see again — Aperture Science.  With no choice but to go back to the facility to deliver a dire warning, Chell tightropes on the cusp of two worlds, unaware of the consequences of pursuing the past and surviving an uncertain future alongside an unlikely ally.

It's finally here!! A former roleplay thread with @sarcasticgaypotato turned novel, this story follows the events of Half Life 2: Episode 2, and is an inspired continuation of the ending of Half Life: Alyx from the perspective of everyone's favorite Aperture-dwelling characters. Chell, whose mission is to protect Aperture technology from getting in the hands of the Combine, must also act as GLaDOS's protector and keep her safe. GLaDOS, on the other hand, has to figure out the complicated ways of the world from a new perspective - literally. This story is friendly to those who don't know Half-Life lore, and a treat for those who do! This story is a close-to-canon survival novel fic with ChellDOS as a major focus. Full of survival, interactive elements, complicated feelings, and a beautiful slow burn robot/human love story. <3

[anghraine]

Even for me it's a petty nerdy complaint, but there's a thing where a bunch of historians were consulted to construct an image of what Darcy would look like at the actual time, and:

They went with a 1790s setting for P&P, which I strongly approve of. I think P&P very definitely shows its 1790s origins (iirc it was originally written in 1796-7), both in details and in the pretty stark contrast between the setting/atmosphere of the earlier and later Austen novels.

Buuuut while I am not a historian (and I have gripes with even literary historicism despite using it in my dissertation lol), I think it's a mistake to give him longish powdered hair. I have reasons!

See, I actually like the idea of pushing back on popular images of Darcy. I support this on general principle! But the de Bourgh-Darcy-Fitzwilliam family are pretty blatantly coded as Whigs IMO. And by the point that Austen was writing P&P, Pitt the Younger (well, Parliament, but ...) had recently instituted an unpopular tax on hair powder. Unless I'm totally misremembering, many Whigs of the Fitzwilliam type stopped using hair powder as a quick result (eventually, it would die out altogether, but that hadn't happened yet).

Now, it is possible for P&P to be set several years before it was written, which would place it before the powder tax and make that image of Darcy more likely. And you could argue for that based on some of the militia/Brighton stuff, but I think its setting is more of a loose "now" (when written) than assigned to a particular year, especially considering that only some of the dates can be reconciled to any single almanac year.

So I would place the beginning of the book at or after 1795, and if the Internet can be trusted in this respect, the Act was instituted in May of 1795, and would be months past by the time Darcy shows up in Meryton.

So in my personal opinion, Darcy would have worn hair powder when he was younger, sure! But by P&P? I don't think so. He's young, opinionated, and comes from an extended family pretty clearly referencing one of the most powerful Whig families of his time. He'd probably enjoy thumbing his nose at politicians he doesn't like or respect, lbr.