#gratuitous use of the words “dragons” and “humans”

[nartml]

Toothless (and generally most dragons) lost all his personality in thw.

Gone was the loyal, protective, intelligent, curious, silly, expressive, understanding, and sassy/snarky dragon we adored more and more through each new installment in the franchise.

Who is this puppy in thw and what did he do to Toothless?

Look me in the eye and tell me that if anyone, dragon or not, was to pluck Hiccup off his back and send him into the ocean to die, they wouldn't get a minimum of two blasts in the face.

Yes, Toothless is playful and silly and adorable, but only around the people/dragons he trusts, and especially around Hiccup specifically.

Otherwise, his guard is up, he is wary, and he himself has to evaluate whether or not someone is safe to be around.

"Hey, I guess Dean dumbed him down because he wanted to show the effects of domestication—"

Woah there, big words.

Domestication? The definition of domestication is "the process of taming an animal and keeping it as a pet or on a farm".

That is not what's happening on Berk.

Dragons were never pets to humans. (If anything, humans were their pets.)

They stood by the Vikings' sides out of their own volition, and were free to come and go as they pleased.

We see this clearly in GoTNF.

They wouldn't let a human they didn't trust so much as touch them, let alone allow them anywhere near their backs.

They are the ones that choose their riders, or if they even want one, not the other way around.

And they weren't exactly "tamed" either. Or rather, nobody tried to alter their nature and innate instincts.

In RoB, we clearly see that Vikings are the ones who adjust, who adapt accordingly, because dragons are gonna do what dragons do.

And those instincts of theirs were honed. They weren't tamed, they were trained.

The notion that wild dragons are more powerful because they're wild makes no sense to me, because while wild dragons have raw power and raw instinct, trained dragons arguably have more than that.

They learn to work with other dragons, and they're able to pull off some incredible moves, because their bodies are, well, consistently trained.

They go on dangerous missions on the regular, for fuck's sake. During which, they also have to think. The dragons aren't told what to do, nor are they steered by their riders constantly (and when they are, the dragons trust them to do so)

They can take the reins as well (and when they do, the riders trust them to do so), but most of the time, they both move together in sync, understanding what, and how it, needs to be done.

In what world would such a lifestyle weaken them, or threaten to erase their aforementioned instincts?

I don't get Dean's point.

And Hiccup? What's up with the poor decision making?

Because I know damn well Hiccup wouldn't let dragons take over Berk to the point where, within the first ten minutes of the movie , half of it collapses. An event which apparently everyone is used to, because nobody worries about it.

He put an ocean between Garff and a couple of dragons because of how incompatible they were, in terms of needs and way of life.

He relocated dragons constantly, so as not to overcrowd and/or to protect the Edge.

Even when he was, what, 15 in RoB/DoB, he was mindful of the way he handled situations, to ensure Berk and the Vikings wouldn't be overwhelmed with dragons.

He understood that it's impossible for thousands of dragons to cohabitate with humans, and with each other, peacefully and without chaos.

Not to mention, he respected dragon culture and understood that some spaces were not made for the human eye. He made such a big deal about revering Vanaheim, and you expect me to believe he'd be okay with just exposing a place called The Hidden World, a delicate draconic paradise?

And wow, way to go, let's uproot the ENTIRE village, and go searching for this place that we don't even know for sure exists? Yes, very responsible.

And why not just make a life-changing call without consulting anyone, or thinking it through, based on what you alone think is best, while you're at it? Sounds like a great idea.

It's not like in previous installments he always made sure to have a team huddle to discuss (or at least inform the group of) their next move, even in the tightest of spots and with the littlest time; no, of course not.

His leadership abilities, his tactical and strategic thinking, his caution, his conviction and determination? Gone. Erased.

Who is this guy in thw and what did he do to Hiccup?

And as for Toothless and Hiccup's dynamic in this movie, something that Astrid said bugs me to an unfathomable degree.

"You gave him his freedom back, what did you expect?"

Woah there, big talk.

This paints a horribly ugly picture. It makes Toothless seem like he'd been held captive by Hiccup, that if he could've flown on his own, he would never have stuck around this long.

Which, much like the rest of this movie, is a load of horseshit.

Toothless is just as free, if not free-er than, as the rest of the dragons. Because while all dragons love and trust their riders, and vice versa, nobody has a connection quite like Toothless and Hiccup (save for perhaps Valka and Cloudjumper).

Toothless could've been flying on his own for a long, long time now. But he didn't want it. He was vehemently opposed to the idea.

Why? Because to him, flying was no longer worth it if Hiccup wasn't right there with him. Because Hiccup took the loneliness out of flying. Because Toothless wanted nothing more than to be by Hiccup's side. Hiccup was the one that made flying worth it.

A major theme of this movie is learning to fly on your own. Toothless had to learn how to fly without Hiccup, and Hiccup had to learn how to fly without Toothless (I mean, personally I'd rather them remaining inseparable soulmates that are mildly codependent. I recognize it's not necessarily the healthiest dynamic, but fuck if I care)

Toothless did this through meeting his mate, and falling in love (no matter how horribly written and designed she is, and no matter how I personally would've preferred for the Hicctooth bromance to remain undisturbed).

He met a creature that he wanted to follow and be alone with, a creature that made flying alone, with nobody on his back, worth it.

And more importantly, Hiccup had to realize that he's not who he is because he has Toothless, and subsequently the dragons. It's the opposite.

This is growth, and the realization that they don't need each other is important.

But why the fuck does that mean they have to say goodbye?

I don't need most of the people in my life. That doesn't mean I don't want them here.

The point was that Hiccup doesn't need Toothless in order to be someone.

Not that he didn't need Toothless, period.

(Even if the point was simply that he didn't need Toothless, which I could concede to, that again doesn't mean that Toothless had to leave, and take the entire dragon population with him.

To me, that sends a message of "if you don't need them, then they gotta go".

It's not what outgrowing a friendship looks like, despite the fact that many people choose to interpret it as such.

Sure, this movie shows what outgrowing a friendship is; if outgrowing a friendship means making room in your life for other people. If outgrowing a friendship means you found romance. Which is ridiculous.)

___________________

To further clarify:

I am well aware the shows aren't canon.

This, however, doesn't change the fact that all these series tie in with HTTYD 2 really well, and that they make sense.

They expand on the characters and give us a better grasp of the world in httyd. They allow us to understand everything better.

When you only have, at most, 150 minutes to tell a story, every minute of it needs to somehow add to the plot. To further the narrative. There is very little time for fluff.

In a movie, it's practically impossible to properly explore the characters' different dynamics, to give everyone their own arc, to let the audience bask in the slow moments and to let the characters just be.

In a series, however? Well. You've definitely got time.

For someone who only watched the movies, it would be pretty damn difficult to understand the mis-characterization in say, Snotlout, Fishlegs and the twins.

You don't know these characters that well. You don't know the well-established dynamics between the gang in the same way that someone who's watched the series does.

Which is exactly why I think that people who've watched them are the ones that dislike the hidden world the most.

I, too, am usually opposed to using non-canon material to make a point, but RoB, DoB and RTTE are the only spin-off series from a successful movie franchise I can name that make perfect sense. That succeed in accurately portraying the main cast, in realistically expanding on the secondary characters (like Fishlegs, Snotlout, and the twins, who now have the space to become part of the main cast), and in smoothly integrating new characters.

They also manage to beautifully explore this magical universe full of dragons, adventure, and mystery, while firmly establishing the dragons as an important part of ecosystems all around.

Whether it's subconscious or not, they create an unshakable image of how all the characters think, act, and interact. You spend a hell of a lot longer with the characters in a lengthy eight season series than in two movies.

But it's not a bad thing, because this image carved by the series fits in nicely with the image carved in all the canon installments of the franchise.

Well. Except for one, cough cough.

#and don't get me started on the rest of the cast's characterization #along with their dynamics and interaction with each other #my anti thw agenda #thw criticism #thw slander #thw salt #this rant is a mess #and possibly nonsensical #and i possibly veer off topic a million times #not sure #hiccup haddock #toothless #exactly because i love them so much do i hate this movie with such vitriol #analysis #long post #gratuitous use of the words “dragons” and “humans” #the hidden world #rtte #httyd rob #httyd dob #besides #if the series were canon then thw would make significantly and i mean SIGNIFICANTLY less sense #still the fact that you don't even NEED to bring them up to explain why the movie sucks is a pretty good indication #that even without their existence thw would still suck #though it would be less obvious #hictooth

[thehorrortree]

Deadline: December 31st, 2023 Payment: 8 cents per word and royalties Themes: 'Familiar': Familiars of any type (cats, dragons, etc) for any genre of speculative fiction and for 'Last-Ditch': Science Fiction or Fantasy stories of back-against-the-wall, desperate purpose--Hail Marys launched when hope seems lost for spies. The FAMILIARS, LAST-DITCH, and AMPYRIUM anthology Kickstarter (back us at http://tinyurl.com/ZNBKickstarter2023) has hit its goal! If you have a story idea that fits one of the anthology themes for FAMILIARS or LAST-DITCH, write it up, revise it, polish it, and send it in for consideration. I've posted the abridged guidelines below. You can find more detailed submission guidelines at http://zombiesneedbrains.moksha.io. AMPYRIUM will NOT have an open call for submissions, since it is establishing a new shared fantasy world. We hope to do an open call for submissions set in this world next year. The FAMILIARS and LAST-DITCH Submission Guidelines Zombies Need Brains LLC is accepting submissions to its two science fiction and fantasy anthologies FAMILIARS and LAST-DITCH. Stories must be submitted in electronic format to the Zombies Need Brains Moksha site for the appropriate anthology at http://zombiesneedbrains.moksha.io. Please send multiple manuscripts in separately; you may submit up to three stories to each anthology, so a total of six stories if you submit the maximum of three stories per anthology. Manuscripts should be in manuscript format, meaning double-spaced, 12pt font, standard margins on top, bottom and sides, and pages numbered. Please use Times New Roman font. The first page should include the Title of the story, Author’s name, address, and email, word count, and Pseudonym if different from the author’s real name. Italics and bold should be in italics and bold. Stories for these anthologies must be original (no reprints or previously published material), no more than 7,500 words in length, and must satisfy the theme of the anthology. FAMILIARS is to feature science fiction, fantasy, or urban fantasy stories where the story revolves around some type of animal familiars (or human familiar). We would like a wide variety of genre settings for this anthology. In other words, we don’t want the entire anthology to be urban fantasy settings. As always, we are looking for a range of tones, from humorous all the way up to dark. We welcome submissions from diverse voices. We DO NOT accept anything that includes gratuitous violence or sex. If you really want to know what we like, read our previously-published themed anthologies. LAST-DITCH is to feature military science fiction, fantasy, or urban fantasy stories revolving around spies, espionage, and last-ditch Hail Mary efforts to turn the tides of war. We would like a wide variety of genre settings for this anthology. In other words, we don’t want the entire anthology to be science fiction settings. As always, we are looking for a range of tones, from humorous all the way up to dark. We welcome submissions from diverse voices. We DO NOT accept anything that includes gratuitous violence or sex. If you really want to know what we like, read our previously-published themed anthologies. DEADLINE and TIMELINE: The deadline for submissions is December 31st, 2023. Decisions on stories should be completed by the end of February 2024. Please submit at the Zombies Need Brains Moksha page here: http://zombiesneedbrains.moksha.io. You will receive notification that the submission has been received from Moksha, with a link to keep track of its progress. Notices about decisions on the stories will be sent out no later than the end of March 2024. If your story is selected for use in the anthology, you should expect a revision letter by the end of April 2024. Revisions and the final draft of the story will be expected no later than the end of May 2024. These dates may change due to the editors’ work schedules. Zombies Need Brains LLC is seeking exclusive world anthology

rights (including electronic rights) in all languages for the duration of one year after publication/release of the anthology, non-exclusive world anthology rights (including electronic rights) in all languages after that. Your story cannot appear elsewhere during that first year. Pay rate will be an advance of a minimum of 8 cents per word. The anthology will be published as an ebook and an exclusive mass market paperback edition, distributed to the Kickstarter backers. The book would be available after that to the general public in ebook and trade paperback formats. Advances would be immediately earned out by the success of the Kickstarter. Royalties on additional sales beyond the Kickstarter will be 25% of ebook cover price and 10% of trade paperback cover price, both split evenly (not by word count) among the authors in and editors of the anthology. Questions regarding these submission guidelines should be sent to [email protected]. Thank you. Via: Zombies Need Brains Moksha.

[nahasready]

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[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry Round-Up Post | Week 4

This is our last round-up post for LCDrarry 2021 ;D You have time to catch up on the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators. Reveals are on 15 June! Wheeeee!

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information and more detailed warnings. Thank you!

PPS: Here are all round-up posts of LCDrarry 2021:

Round-up Post Week #1 

Round-up Post Week #2 

Round-up Post Week #3 

Round-up Post Week #4 (you're here ;))

***

Art

***

In the Shadow of Your Heart

Prompt: Howl's Moving Castle, 2004, Hayao Miyazaki Prompted by: the artist Author: Anonymous Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: General Warnings: sectumsempra scars, memory loss

Summary: When the recluded ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy finds Harry Potter wandering around the hills, with no memory whatsoever of who he once was, he and Teddy decide to welcome him into their little family.

View "In the Shadow of Your Heart" on AO3.

***

Fic

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Sesame Seeds and the Entire Spectrum of Human Emotion

Prompt: "The Proposal", 2009, Anne Fletcher Prompted by: @prolix- Author: Anonymous Word Count: 9,530 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Nudity, Boat Incident, references to past abuse/neglect

Summary: Faced with exile, Draco pretends to be engaged to Harry Potter, who agrees to play along for Narcissa's sake. When they're forced to spend a weekend together celebrating the engagement with the Weasleys, they might try to kill each other, or... they might just fall in love. . Based on the movie The Proposal (2009), though you don't have to have seen the movie to understand the fic!

Read "Sesame Seeds and the Entire Spectrum of Human Emotion" on AO3.

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My Fair Gentleman

Prompt: "My Fair Lady", 1964, George Cukor Prompted by: @ziezie13 Author: Anonymous Word Count: 20,766 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: light alcohol use and mentions of child neglect by Dursleys

Summary: After an extended stay at Charlie's Dragon Reserve in Romania, Harry returns to London and makes a fool of himself at his first Ministry Gala. Minister Shacklebolt orders Harry to seven months of etiquette lessons with Draco Malfoy. Will Harry pull through and become an expert in PR? Will Draco manage to make over the biggest PR disaster the wizarding world has seen in years? Wouldn't it be loverly?

Read "My Fair Gentleman" on AO3.

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saying yes (instead of no)

Prompt: "Schitt's Creek", 2015, Series Prompted by: the author Author: Anonymous Word Count: 21,022 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: canon typical alcohol and drug use, marijuana use, explicit smut

Summary: “It’s a general store that’s also a very specific store,” Draco grumbled. “Most people won’t realise this, but I want to market Muggle goods to the Wizarding world as well. I want something that will help boost the economy of the Hamlet and Muggles have so many amazing things we don’t have.” . Draco sighed again. “I think it would benefit everyone.” He glared at Emily. “But there’s not a single witch, wizard, or wix who will shop at a place owned by Draco Malfoy.” . “What if it’s owned by Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?” Potter asked. . “That would be preposterous,” Draco mumbled. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would kill each other before the store opened.” . “What if you didn’t?” Emily asked. Draco opened his mouth to let her know, they would indeed kill each other, but before he could say anything, she continued, “What if it turned into a lovely business?” . “There’s only one way to know,” Potter said. “I really think this is a good idea, Draco."

Read "saying yes (instead of no)" on AO3.

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A First Look Into Resurrecting Mummies With the Aid Of the Chosen One, and Why It Should Be Advised Against (an Essay by Draco Malfoy, Assistant Archaeologist)

Prompt: "The Mummy", 1999, Stephen Sommers Prompted by: the author Author: Anonymous Word Count: 21,948 words Rating: Mature Warnings: minor violence elements

Summary: Draco hopes to find an ancient spell book rumoured to be in Hamunaptra after Astoria found a map to the lost city. If he makes this discovery, maybe the Magical British Museum will finally look at his application, and his annoying colleague will finally leave him alone. It’s a good plan, until Draco is reunited with Harry Potter for the first time in ten years, as the man is about to be hanged.

Read "A First Look Into Resurrecting Mummies With the Aid Of the Chosen One, and Why It Should Be Advised Against (an Essay by Draco Malfoy, Assistant Archaeologist)" on AO3.

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Wicked Game

Prompt: "Jumanji", 1995 or 2017 Prompted by: @MysticKitten42 Author: Anonymous Word Count: 22,044 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Sexual Content, Implied PTSD

Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy crossed a line during one of their late-night Astronomy Tower Bonding Sessions and neither are sure what that means. Not that they got particularly far, considering they were caught and assigned detention for their antics. And, now, they've been sucked into a boardgame. That's just fantastic...

Read "Wicked Game" on AO3.

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Love in Three Parts

Prompt: "Bridgerton", 2020, Series Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 24,172 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Canon-typical content

Notes: Thanks so much to my beta, L, for all her help and her encouragement as I wrote this fic. Thanks to the mods for hosting this fest and to the Anonymous prompter who inspired this fic.

Summary: Draco has everything needed to be the diamond of the season. He has the looks, the pedigree, and if he should be short on the money end, well, it isn't up to him to convince anyone they want to marry him. And yet, he finds himself with no prospects and no suitable matches until Harry James Potter, Wizarding Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor, makes his first appearance in proper Wizarding society for the first time in five years. Together, they hatch a plan to secure Draco a husband and keep the debutantes' mothers away from Harry. And if someone should develop feelings along the way, well, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Read "Love in Three Parts" on AO3.

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Outwit, Outlast, Outplay

Prompt: "Survivor", 2000-ongoing, Series Prompted by: @eletriptan Author: Anonymous Word Count: 30,976 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Brief homophobia, mentions of past health issues

Summary: Draco loves Survivor. Loves it. So when his job at the Dept. of Mysteries offers him the opportunity to go on as a contestant, he can't think of anything that could go wrong. He is sorely mistaken, but a little chaos turns out to not be such a bad thing. Featuring gratuitous descriptions of Survivor game-play, really jargon-y magical theory I got way too excited about, and Draco's best friend Isabelle being an absolute QUEEN.

Read "Outwit, Outlast, Outplay" on AO3.

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Advantage Rule

Prompt: "The Queen's Gambit", 2020, Series Prompted by: @prolix- Author: Anonymous Word Count: 42,738 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Character death, Parental neglect, Brief references to eugenics, Sexual content, Mild homophobia, Alcoholism, Drug abuse

Summary: Draco's life has been struggle after struggle. He was exiled as a baby, his mother died, he was forced to live with muggles... Need I go on? Quidditch was supposed to be his escape, but how is he supposed to beat Victor Krum and take the world title if he can't even beat Harry Potter? ~No knowledge of The Queen's Gambit required~

Read "Advantage Rule" on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Author and artist reveals are on 15 June.

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[angelicamerlinbarnes]

Albus Dumbledore being an awesome teacher and human being

Bubblegum Bitch - MARINA

(Imma be honest with y’all, it’s mostly just him being a crackhead.)

He tells stories about Grindelwald, about their marriage and their beliefs and their lives together. All of the stories have lessons - sure, a lot of those lessons are about how NOT to make pasta, but they’re still lessons!

He likes to matchmake students using seating charts and certain magical spell assignments. He’s very good at it. I mean, he’s shit at figuring out who likes each other, but he is great at meddling, so Mcgonogall tells him who to mess with and he does as he’s told. They make a great team (and are invited to a lot of weddings). Couples they’ve helped include but are not limited to: Dean and Seamus, Luna and Ginny, Hermione and Harry and Ron, Sirius and Remus, Peter and Maxwell Needles, Peter and Regulus (that was later), Lily and Severus and James, Fred and Lee plus George and Lee, Charlie and Newt (queerplatonic), Leta and Newt (queerplatonic), Harry and Luna (queerplatonic), and Sirius and James and Remus (queerplatonic). They’ve been very busy.

He and Mcgonogall have teatime almost every day. They talk about their students and work on their matchmaking plans. There’s a lot of sass and deadpanning involved. Sometimes they invite Remus, Sirius, and James. (Not Peter. He doesn’t need the same level of torturing that they do.) Bubbles of all shapes and sizes and colors float around the room the whole time. It’s fantastic.

He accepts gossip in exchange for extra credit. He’s a really good secret keeper too, so a lot of students go for it. (It hasn’t broken any friendships. There’s an understanding among the student population that Dumbledore is like Ms. Potts from that Muggle film Beauty and the Beast - well-meaning and trustworthy, but terribly, terribly bored.)

Everything in his classroom is pink. And glittery. And covered in sequins. Once a student asked him why and he just smirked for a solid minute before whispering, “Lemonade.” (As if that makes any fucking sense.)

He once taught class in a full-fledged glittery ballgown that faded from light pink to deep purple. He did not once acknowledge it or act like anything was out of the ordinary. One student raised their hand and asked timidly, “Professor? Why are you wearing a ballgown?” And his brow furrowed as he frowned, looked down at himself, and muttered, “Thought it was a bathrobe.” (Harry does not let him live this one down. His dad is not much help - Severus took many, many pictures.) (Not that it mattered. On Wednesdays Dumbledore wears pink (glittery ballgowns).)

He speaks to kids who have parents, friends, and relatives in prison, whether for being Death Eaters or otherwise. He chaperones visits to Azkaban for them so they can see their loved ones. He casts protective and invisibility charms on them so only the one they’re visiting can see or hear them, and he teaches them Patronuses (with Remus’ help, of course). He often spends these visits on the other side of Grindelwald’s bars, playing wizard’s chess against him. (Sometimes Grindelwald gives him flowers. It always makes Dumbledore smile. There may be no one left in the world who understands why they love each other, but they don’t need to understand it for it to be true.)

He stands at the front of the classroom and makes funny faces during tests and waits to see how long it takes for a student to look up. His latest record is seven minutes.

When he’s teaching Grindelwald’s history, he makes snarky comments about his husband. They range from “I mean really. Who the fuck thought wizards ruling Muggles was a good idea?” (Rest in peace that one student who thought it was a good idea to say, “You did, Professor.”) to “Honestly, that man has no concept of romance. I ask him for a nice night out and he takes me to a Muggle rally about witchcraft and tries to impress me by playing practical magical jokes on the speaker. A toddler could do that.” (He often gets mushy during those stories though, usually trailing off like “But that time he took me to my childhood home for my birthday was sweet… brought me flowers for Ariana’s grave and everything. Sure, he killed her, but… he has a sweet side…” and from there on out he’s basically a lost cause and you might as well go to your next class because he’s not going to stop humming that fucking Elvis song).

He “loses” his glasses all the time by casting an invisibility charm on them and forces his students to search the classroom for them when they’re on his face the whole time. He thinks it’s funny. Harry does not. (But Severus and Mcgonogall do, and that’s really what matters.) (Severus and Mcgonogall and Dumbledore are  a fantastic trio full of snark and sarcasm and shit, I have just decided.)

He makes little animals out of multi-colored magical dust and they fly around the classroom and perch on his favorite students’ heads. Once a dragon fell asleep on Newt’s head and wouldn’t leave even when class was over. Newt had to wait for the magic to wear off so it would disintegrate. (Of course, he had named it by that point and had a meltdown when it disappeared, so Dumbledore recreates the dragon (Robert) every class and just lets Newt coo at it, even during tests.)

He conjured and charmed two giant (I mean Egypt half-animal half-man guard statue size giant) fluffy pink teddy bears that are alive and stand on either side of him like bodyguards during class. A Slytherin student punched one in the stomach once and it vomited enough M&Ms over their head to completely bury them. The student’s partner, a Ravenclaw student, punched the other one in an ill-advised burst of illogical thought and received the same treatment, but in Skittles. (Luckily their Gryffindor aro-ace friend and nonbinary Hufflepuff friend stayed after class and ate until they could move again. Safe to say no one has dared punch the bears again.) (Though I hear they do give very good hugs. And they eat homework if you ask nicely enough!)

He has a bunch of cloaks that act as portals to realms like Merlin’s Celestiums (S.G.E., Soman Chainani). He gives one to each student for tests, and they are transported to their ideal test-taking environments, complete with whatever song they feel like listening to at any given minute playing all around them. Unsurprisingly, his students have the best grades in all of Hogwarts. (He also has a secret cloak that he uses for himself, to see Grindelwald. Grindelwald has his own matching one so he can always make it home for Thursday date night.) (They have been caught. Of course they have. But no one is going to challenge Dumbledore for his right to see his husband, even if he did marry a murderer.) (Sirius and Remus used to steal the cloak for their own dates. And later on James would steal it to take the two of them on friend-dates. Inspired by that, Dumbledore made a special cloak for Mcgonogall that he gifted her on her fiftieth birthday. The smile she gave him then is his favorite of all time.)

He bickers with Fawkes constantly. This often evolves into full-fledged screaming matches with spastic hand gestures, gratuitous spit, and angry hops on both sides. Once Dumbledore drew wand on his “useless babbling bastard of a bird”. No one has bothered to tell Dumbledore that Fawkes probably can’t understand a word of their arguments. (They do evacuate the classroom when these fights start though. The last time they stayed their hair was gone for a week, and when it grew back it was glittery and pink.) (Harry looked especially fantastic. Sirius thought he looked great. He laughed until he was in tears. Harry was not amused.) (Remus was.)

Sometimes he’s absent from class and Mcgonogall teaches them instead. When asked if he’s alright, Mcgonogall simply answers, “My partner is away on personal business for the day. Now, turn to page -” Soon enough people figured out that “personal business” meant “conjugal visit with Genocidal Maniac Husband™ in prison”. They stopped asking.

He gives all of his students the red button test (without knowing what it does, do you press the red button?). Those who pass get automatic A’s and a lollipop. Those who fail get a talking pet pygmy puff. The thing that usually trips people up is that Dumbledore considers the “correct” answer to be pressing the goddamn button. (Seamus is the only one who has ever passed (enthusiastically too!). Newt half-passed because Niffy the Niffler sat on it.) (Sirius and James would have passed too if they had not been the life partners of one Remus Lupin, whose creativity with threats and extensive curse-word vocabulary rivaled Mcgonogall’s even at the tender age of fifteen.)

He has floating war maps just lying around. He plays battleship with his students on them. What he neglects to tell them is that their moves have actual consequences in the world, as the maps are magical and reflect real battles and places. When Harry finds out (he blew up Denmark, completely unawares) he shows up at Dumbledore’s door soaking wet at five-thirty in the morning with a newspaper, his fists clenched, his face red, and his chest heaving. He wouldn’t stop glaring for weeks. (Alas, Dumbledore’s glorious beard has great resistance to fire spells.) (Following an incident involving the original four Marauders in their third year. Shhh… we do not speak of that.)

He has a habit of walking into random classrooms, gesturing for a student to come with him with his finger, and then taking them to his office for teatime. He usually asks them inane questions about a specific theme (fish, pasta strainers, socks, throw pillows, mooses, etc.) for hours until finally dismissing them. It drives Mcgonogall crazy. (She’s yelled at him plenty for “kidnapping students to ask them questions you know you could easily find on that Muggle infer-het thing! They have exams, Albus -” but he just smiles at her while calmly sipping his tea and she always ends up collapsing in the chair across from him with a sigh, taking the tea from his hands and chugging it before wiping her mouth, slamming it down on the desk, and asking, “So. Fish. What’s up with them?” and Albus just beams.)

He spends half of his class lessons babbling on about how Merlin was gay for Arthur and Arthur was gay for Merlin, but not in long tangents. Just a bunch of random comments without context, warning, or explanation. (He mentions “poetry” a lot and waggles his eyebrows for some reason, so… what’s up with that? (Merlin BBC))

He overshares A LOT about his and Grindelwald’s lives. It’s a problem because 90% of the time it’s something sweet or innocent like “Oh, he brought me a tiger lily that bloomed open to show a gold and ruby ring nestled inside on our first anniversary. That’s how he proposed to me” and “He used to hum while he did the housework, you know? He’d stand in the middle of the house and close his eyes and just hum. Almost entire symphonies too, just waving his wand in the air like a conductor” to “This one time in bed he…” and there is NO warning. The amount of things these poor children’s ears have had to endure… (*shakes head in mock disappointment*)

He often cooks during class using wandless magic. The pots and pans heat themselves and float around in the air. Sometimes Dumbledore dances and then they start dancing too. He whistles and creates a base beat for the sizzling, popping, clanging, and other kitchen noises to follow. This usually happens during tests. Oh joy.

He leaves the windows open when it rains, but somehow nothing ever gets wet. Harry and Hermione have a theory that it’s protection charms. (Really it’s a spell Severus made up when he was drunk because he was angry that umbrellas don’t have enough room under them for three, and he’s always been the most self-sacrificial person in his marriage.)

He regularly makes bets with Mcgonogall about the students’ love lives. Not money, but little things the other doesn’t want to do or buy. Dumbledore usually has to handle the Marauders’ detentions or give up one of his teddy bear guards for Mcgonogall’s experimental enjoyments. Mcgonogall has to do something embarrassing or let him borrow one of her glittery hats. They should really stop making bets at this point; the stakes and the winners are dreadfully predictable. He always wins when the bet is on a student’s sexuality or gender and she always wins when the bet is on who a student will end up with. Nonetheless, the bets continue. So too does their grumbling amusement.

He figured out how to make a broom invisible when he and Grindelwald first fell in love, so they could be showy with each other at their Greater Good rallies. They later used it for dates, prison breaks, and daring escapes complete with kisses under the moon. Once Grindelwald went to Azkaban, Dumbledore used it to find some privacy where he could grieve. Now, he uses it to travel around his classroom and Hogwarts and trick everyone into thinking he can fly by sheer will. Only Mcgonogall knows his secret. (And Severus, but Dumbledore doesn’t know that because he told him when he was black out drunk. So.)

He lets pygmy puffs sleep in his beard. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

He once taught class while teetering on his feet because he had somehow gotten himself tangled in Christmas lights from shoulders to ankles and couldn’t move. (Sirius wandered in and saw this, cried he was laughing so hard, and then warbled his off-key way through as many Christmas carols as he could remember for the rest of class.) (Dumbledore tried to Silencio him but just fell over trying to make the wand movement. He broke his nose. Sirius almost had a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe from how hard he was laughing. By the end of this he had curled up in a fetal position on the floor, Remus was lying down next to him and muttering jokes to him, Mcgonogall was trying to fix Dumbledore’s face, and Severus had taken over the class. Not that they got much done - James was visiting that day. And him, Sirius, and Remus all laughing about the same thing rarely leads to a quiet and calm learning environment.) (They gave him a joint present of rainbow Christmas lights for his birthday - “Happy Gay Day, Professor!” - and he was not amused.) (Grindelwald was though. So was everyone else.)

He tends to mix up holidays in his head and often decorates for the wrong one. He goes all out too. He’s kind of a disaster, and so is his classroom. It became such a problem that the Marauders actually took pity on him and made him a very big calendar with all the holidays marked on it in glitter and fake jewels and flowers. It sits behind his desk and occasionally works.) (Occasionally.)

He’s queerplatonic partners with Mcgonogall. They held a friend-wedding and forced Severus to be the flowergirl. Harry officiated, Remus was Dumbledore’s best man, Sirius was Mcgonogall’s, James wasn’t given a job cause he was crying too much, Lily was in charge of taking care of James, and Peter was the ring bearer (he only lost them TWICE and they were ring pops anyway). Mcgonogall screeches at him a lot and Dumbledore can be depressive and neglectful because he misses Grindelwald but they love each other so it works. (And they’re the prime source of advice for James, Sirius, and Remus regarding their own queerplatonic relationship, for better or for worse.)

He puts his feet up on the desk even though it’s bad for his knees. Mcgonogall told him it’s bad for his knees and he has stubbornly put them up there every class since. (His knees are killing him but he will not give in to “a paranoid, batty old witch who doesn’t know shit about what’s good for me and wouldn’t if she was hit with an Imperio and I told her -” “I’M YOUR FUCKING PARTNER, YOU BLASPHEMOUS ARROGANT BRAT OF AN OLD FART!”)

Instead of walking around his classroom, he struts. (Yes, it worsens his knees.) He does strike poses, he does make obnoxious expressions, and he does look fabulous. WORK! (Yes, that was a Hamilton reference.)

He once taught class without a  face because Mcgonogall cursed him for “fucking up the alphabetical organization of my tea, you old twit. Honestly, Albus, it’s not that hard”. (How did he teach without a mouth, you ask? Easy, he used intermediate BSL (deaf students, plus Azkaban isn’t great on old men’s ears and he and Grindelwald are both gettin’ up there) and Sirius interpreted.) (Incredibly wrongly, crudely, and foul-mouth-ly, but nonetheless he interpreted.)

He has difficulty understanding the straight people in his class. He is fully accepting of everyone and wants the best for all of them, but when it comes to relationship advice, he’s shit.

Excerpt pulled from Pensieve of a conversation he had with a student who identified as female:

Dumbledore: “So your boyfriend is a dick, is what you’re saying?”

Student’s best friend: “Yes. Merlin, he’s such a dick. Would you believe he -”

Dumbledore: *looks at student and points to her best friend* “Why don’t you just date her?”

*cue red faces and sputtering*

(They did not take his advice.)

He wears bowties ALL THE TIME. If he’s not wearing a bowtie, there are bows in his hair and tying the ends of his beard together. Once he wore pigtails. It was great.

He has a habit of bursting into song randomly and performing full-blown Broadway musical numbers (yes, he can rap Guns and Ships at full speed). This usually involves all of the complex moves to be expected in a musical - dramatically climbing up the stairs while looking forlorn, leaping onto the desk and squatting as you launch into a whispered limerick, speedy costume changes - you know, the works. Sometimes Sirius and James back him up, if they’re there. Severus will take over teaching with a bored look on his face (“What are you looking at, Harry?” “Dad, there’s -” “I don’t see anything interesting happening, Harry.” *glares*) while Mcgonogall screeches at Dumbledore to “GET THE FUCK DOWN, YOU NARCISSISTIC HEATHEN!” It’s a problem.

When the Marauders challenge the dress code, Dumbledore is the first Professor to encourage it. While Sirius is perfectly confident in a skirt and Regulus isn’t far behind (neither is Severus, surprisingly), James and Remus are far more insecure. Dumbledore wears a tutu to class one day to show his support, and Remus wouldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day. (James just turned bright red and beamed when Sirius started laughing.) He also backed Lily up when she wore pants (along with Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary) by convincing Mcgonogall to wear pantsuits for a week. (Sirius, despite being a hardcore gay, was quite affected by this. Remus did not appreciate the water spit in his face and refused to kiss Sirius for a week.)

He plays Cecily Smith (Will Connolly) on the ukulele on late nights and stares out at the stars thinking of Grindelwald. Sometimes he forgets to turn off the Sonorus from earlier that day and ends up broadcasting his little song to the whole school. Sirius and Remus will dance to it in the common room while James watches his partners with a happy smile on his face (and Peter sleeps, because he’s tired and doesn’t force himself to stay up simply for the purpose of being cool or finishing that one assignment that isn’t due for another two weeks) (I’m sorry, do you feel called out?).

This man has weed brownies stashed away in his desk and he does eat them during class. He also offered one to Remus once, who is the only student that knows about the stash and tends to use marijuana for medical purposes (helping with anxiety and pain regarding the full moon, courtesy of my beautiful girlfriend who has never read nor seen Harry Potter but nonetheless insists to me that Remus Lupin is a stoner who wears red beanies). This prompted Sirius to ask for one, which Dumbledore refused, but then James joined in and they started a riot by standing on their desks and pumping their fists in the air and screaming, “BROWNIES FOR ALL!” while Remus giggled into his hand and was no help at all, so Dumbledore gave them each a brownie just to shut them up. (Sirius wouldn’t stop rambling about how pretty Remus’ eyes were, James was babbling on about unicorns, Severus was hissing at something no one else could see, Regulus was hissing at the same thing for some reason, Peter was crying because he couldn’t tell the difference between hamsters and gerbils and guinea pigs, and Lily was muttering pi under her breath until she fell asleep.) (Mcgonogall was unimpressed.) (No teatime for eight weeks. Damn.)

Dumbledore cares about all of his students, however little he shows it. He wants them to lead a better life than he did. And maybe fall in love with better people than he did.

#albus dumbledore #albus wulfric percival brian dumbledore #mcgonogall &x dumbledore #&x means queerplatonic i have just decided #grindledore #wolfstar #james &x remus &x sirius #severus & mcgonogall & dumbledore #james x lily x severus #albus dumbledore is a crackhead 2021 #i dunno please enjoy this shit #i'm really fucking tired #harry potter #have a nice day y'all

[allisondraste]

Announcing: Ambivalence

It has been exactly one year to the day since I published the final chapter of my Nathaniel Howe/F!Cousland long-fic, Temperance, and I could not think of a better time to unveil it’s first sequel, which I have had on the back-burner while I took a much-needed hiatus from writing. 

This will be a far briefer story than it’s predecessor, but tells an important part of Nate and Liss’ story.  

I hope you all enjoy!

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe x Female Cousland 

Story Summary: It has been just over a year since Nathaniel Howe and Elissa Cousland were reunited, childhood friendship forged into a love that endured a decade apart.  However, every love is tested at some point. Presented with circumstances that could either make or break their relationship, Nate and Liss are no different.

[AO3 Link]

Chapter 1: Pity and Pride

Chapter Summary:  It is no secret that there is trouble in paradise, and Nathaniel is quickly becoming tired of his friends’ concern.

Vigil’s Keep, Solace 9:33 Dragon

Sunlight poured into the room, undeterred by curtains carelessly drawn open the night before, forming a halo around the woman who lay next to him with bare limbs draped comfortably across his body.  It was rare that he awoke before her, rarer still to catch a glimpse of her sleeping peacefully, features unmarred by the nightmares that so often plagued her rest.  It was difficult to fret over their privacy when the uncovered window painted such a beautiful portrait.  How many years had he longed  for moments such as this, fleeting and perfect, always just out of his reach?  

And now Liss was there, snoring softly and tangled in bedsheets.  Unable to quell the urge to touch her, to make sure she was real, he reached forward and brushed a lock of hair from her face before allowing his fingertips to settle on her cheek.  She stirred, thick brows pressing together as her eyes flickered open, rich, brown, and sparkling with a groggy smile.

“Good morning, Nate,” she said quietly, voice hoarse as she shifted beneath the sheets and brought her hand up to cover his, an intricate ring glittering on her finger.  

“My love,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to blink closed just briefly.

Then, he awoke.

Nathaniel sighed as his eyes opened, not to a lovely sun-soaked room in Antiva, but rather to his own tomb-like quarters in Vigil’s Keep, with nothing but low-burning sconces illuminating the depressing stone walls and floors.  It was too cold, and he rolled over to be closer to the warmth of his bed partner, stretching out an arm to drape across her.

However, his arm fell only against a mound of blankets, his dreams having played a cruel trick on him once again.  This was not the first time in recent days that he’d woken up to find his bed empty, the woman who had lain with him the night before gone without a trace other than the turned back sheets and coverlet on her side of the bed.  In fact, it seemed that he woke up alone more often than not.

“Liss,” he asked the empty room, as if it could summon her for him, as if he did not know she was already up and running about the Keep pretending that everything was fine.

When the room did not answer him, he sighed and sat up begrudgingly, shivering as the chilly air met his bare skin, and slid out of bed.  Without any windows, discerning the hour proved difficult, yet he figured it was past time that he got ready and behaved as an acting Warden-Constable anyway.  

In peace, vigilance , and all of that.

A rustling from his closet drew him from his thoughts and his head darted toward the direction of the noise out of instinct.  Cautiously, he made his way over to the door and placed an ear up against it, hoping to get a better idea of what lay inside.

Meow .

Nathaniel sighed and shook his head as he opened the door, glancing down to a pair of bright green eyes examining him.  Ser Pounce-A-Lot was a ridiculous name for a creature who only ever snuck about and examined the world with cold calculation, pouncing very little, if at all.

“This,” he grumbled, stepping out of the animal’s way, “Is how curiosity kills your kind . ”

The cat tilted his head in an almost unnatural way before mewing again and sauntering forward, snaking himself around Nathaniel’s leg and purring gratuitously for several long moments.

“You are keeping me from my duties, Your Lordship ,” Nathaniel said, glaring down at Ser Pounce, who appeared wholly undeterred, before stopping, blinking up at him, and then chomping down on the back of his heel.  He hissed in pain and pulled away reflexively.

Reaching down to give the cat a scratch behind the ears, Nathaniel said,“Perhaps you were meant to be a war beast after all.”

Ser Pounce nuzzled into his hand, gave a final meow, and pranced out of the room as if nothing had transpired. He wondered how he had ended up caring for the damnable creature in the first place.  Then again, it was not as if Anders had been in any sort of condition to care for a pet when he fled the Keep, nor was Nathaniel certain Justice would have allowed him to.  He shook his head free of the disappointing, bitter memories of his friends. He had more pressing matters to attend.

It took him little time to dress himself in his Warden attire. The days had been short and peaceful since The Mother and her spawn were destroyed, yet he preferred to dress the part of a Grey Warden, armed and prepared for an attack at any moment.  In the aftermath of Loghain’s slanderous campaign against them, and with the decision to allow Amaranthine to fall looming over their heads, the Wardens had ample other enemies now, enemies that the Darkspawn threat had once held at bay.  Anything could happen.

Appropriately equipped, Nathaniel straightened his posture and stepped out into the hallway.

It was an odd experience to reside in his childhood home, yet on an entirely different floor and wing. When Delilah assumed control of the arling, she had kindly offered that he keep his old room, as part of the Howe family.  He promptly declined, having no fond feelings for the room to which he’d been unfairly banished more times than he could count.  Besides, he preferred to stay with the other Wardens, his new family.

Nathaniel made his way through several dark corridors and down multiple flights of stairs, feet guided more by muscle memory than sight, until he’d reached the ground floor.  He couldn’t say for certain he would find Liss in the great hall, but it was as good of a place as any to start.

The largest room in Vigil’s Keep, was the only room with any semblance of warmth.  One of the longest-standing, impregnable fortresses in Ferelden had no use for stained glass windows, open courtyards, or natural lighting of any kind.  His father had always declared that it was called a keep and not a castle for a reason, an underhanded criticism of the things Nathaniel pretended not to love about Castle Cousland when he was a child.

He scanned the space before him, nearly vacant with the exception of pages and scouts milling about waiting to be assigned tasks.  He thought to approach one of them to ask if they’d seen Liss, but thought better of it.  They likely had no idea who she was or what she looked like, and they no doubt had better things to do than participate in this unnecessary game of hide-and-seek.

“Morning, Nathaniel,” called a voice off to his side, a voice he did not particularly wish to hear at present.  He turned to see Alistair standing several feet away, wearing that lopsided, cheerful grin that usually occupied his face.  The younger man had thickened up slightly since they’d first met over a year prior, an effect of safety, security, and not carrying the weight of a Blight on his back.  He looked healthy and happy, and Nathaniel envied his ability to bounce back.

“Morning, Alistair” Nathaniel replied dryly.  He paused, eyes darting around the room in another cursory sweep before returning to the other man. “Have you seen Liss, by any chance?”

Alistair flinched at the question. “You mean, you  haven’t seen her this morning?”

“No.”

“Damn...” he shifted his weight, laughing nervously and bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head, “I, um.. I haven’t seen her either.”

“Wonderful,” Nathaniel muttered, shaking his head.

“Listen, you know how she is,” Alistair said, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder in what was undoubtedly an attempt at reassurance, a gesture of pity. “She probably just got one of those wild hairs of hers, ran off to the library in the middle of the night, and is now passed out under a pile of books.  I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Nathaniel blinked at him several times, then looked down to glare at the hand that was resting on his shoulder. “Uh…huh.”

The other man withdrew his hand awkwardly, frowning. “Sorry,” he remarked pointedly, holding his hands up in defeat, “Remind me to wait until you’ve woken up properly next time I decide to show you basic human decency.”

Nathaniel deflated at Alistair’s words. “No, I apologize.  I am just a bit tense as of late.”

“Yeah.” Alistair looked down at the floor and kicked at the stone with the toe of his boot before looking back up. “I know.  For what it’s worth, if I was in your shoes I’d… I don’t know what I’d do.  Probably fling myself into the nearest body of water.”

Nathaniel snorted derisively. “Thanks.”

“That sounded bad didn’t it? What I meant is--”

“I know what you meant.”

“Right.” Alistair let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “I’m going to stop talking now, before I put my other foot in my mouth.”

Nathaniel offered him a hint of a smirk to indicate that there had been no real harm done, then teased, “I believe that is a wise decision.”

Alistair smiled in return and nodded. “Anyway, I was actually meant to inform you that the commander would like to speak with you. She’s in her study right now.”  

“I shall see her at once.”

“And if I run into our Dear Lady Cousland, I will tell her you were looking for her.”

“Please, do.”

Concluding his conversation with Alistair, Nathaniel headed immediately toward the corridor that led back to the commander’s study, the room that had previously belonged to his father’s portraits and trophies.  As a child, he’d spent many hours hiding away in that damned room, dreaming himself up a better father than Rendon would ever be.  He was grateful Lucia now occupied the space, her solemn kindness and humility painting over the history that had once lived there, and he hoped that with time, she would eliminate his father’s stain completely.

The large wooden door  was left slightly ajar, a small band of lamplight leaking out into the hallway.  He still stopped and decided to knock, rather than just entering as others would have.  Despite her open-door policy, he refused to startle her without need. Three quick raps, and he waited for her response.

“You can come in, Nathaniel,” she called just loud enough for him to hear her.

He pushed the door open and entered, laughing. “How did you know it was me?”

Lucia looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “You’re the only person I know who knocks when the door is open.”

“Right,” he replied, pressing the door closed behind him.

The young woman he called his friend and commanding officer stood bent over her desk, despite a perfectly adequate chair sitting just behind her.  She propped herself up with one hand flat on the surface of the desk, as she thumbed through pages of some antiquated tome with the other.  Though her long, dark hair was styled in a low ponytail, it still fell down and cast a shadow over her face.  Surrounding her were stacks of other old texts and scrolls.

Lucia had been rather consumed by research as of late. An unassuming journal had found its way into her hands, one with writings that had been identified as Warden-Commander Duncan’s.  In it, he had documented an encounter with their very own Architect.  She hoped the record would provide them with some valuable information about the unsettling creature, and it had.  But it had also made mentions of an unnamed Grey Warden, a mage, who was freed from her calling, tainted blood healed and unable to be re-joined.

Ever since, Lucia had been pouring over Grey Warden lore and history and manuscripts about obscure magics, no doubt searching for something they all wanted deep down: A cure.  As honorable as membership in the order sounded, the same power that granted them their Blight-stopping capabilities became an unbearable curse in peaceful times, each moment that passed one breath closer to The Calling.  The commander was so young, and he understood her newfound compulsion to find a solution.  She was not the only one struggling to cope with the reality of a Grey Warden’s fate.

“You asked to speak to me,” he stated tentatively, almost as a question.

Lucia’s gaze darted up to him, and she straightened her posture. “Yes, I did.”

“And?”

She walked around her desk to stand in front of him, piercing eyes searching his face for an answer to a question she had yet to ask.  “How are you holding up?”

A twinge of irritation sparked through him. “Holding up?”

“Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to say as your commanding officer, but we are also friends, and as your friend I feel obligated to point out that things with Elissa have been a bit… tense since you two returned from Highever.”

“That is presumptuous,” Nathaniel replied through his teeth, “Even as my friend.”

Lucia stood, unfazed and blinking. “You can be annoyed with my concern if you wish, but that won’t make it go away.”

“Your concern is wasted.”  His words were clipped, and he crossed his arms.  “I am fine.”

“Nate,” she urged him, dropping her typical formality and reaching forward to place a hand on his arm, a gesture of which he was quickly tiring.  Still, they were friends, and he wondered if it might give him some clarity to discuss the matter with the woman.

He opened his mouth, prepared to provide a more honest answer, but clamped it shut as a knock rang out on the door behind him.  He released the breath he’d been holding, never more grateful for an interruption.  

“Who’s there,” Lucia asked.

“It’s Liss.  I just spoke with Alistair, and he said you wanted to see me.”

Nathaniel glared at Lucia waiting for an explanation that she did not provide.  Instead, she released his arm and moved to sit down in the chair at her desk. “You can come in.”

The door creaked open slowly, and Nathaniel turned to see Liss.  She froze in the doorway when their eyes met, wincing as if his presence had inflicted physical pain. Then she blinked suspiciously between him and the commander before flashing a smile and bouncing into the room. ”

“Good morning, Lucia,” she announced cheerfully, as she moved to stand beside Nathaniel, giving him a confusing, playful nudge with her elbow. ”Hey Nate.”

“Now that you’re both here,” Lucia began formally, “I have an assignment for you two.”

“Oh?”  Liss perked up, and fidgeted excitedly.

“Some sort of Warden business, I presume,” Nathaniel asked, making every effort to hide both his discomfort and his relief.

“Yes. ” Lucia nodded.  “As you know, a new Junior Warden was transferred to us from the Warden Fortress at Montsimmard last week.”

“The woman from Kirkwall?”

“Her name’s Bethany,” Liss corrected with a quick laugh, “I met her in passing near the baths.  She didn’t seem too keen on having a conversation with me at the time.”

“Warden Bethany has been through quite an ordeal in the past six months,” Lucia explained, “She is an apostate who was living as a refugee in Kirkwall with her family after they fled Lothering during the Blight.  She was Joined by a contingent of Orlesian Wardens after an encounter with darkspawn in the Deep Roads.”

Nathaniel frowned and brought his hand to his chin. “The Deep Roads? What was she doing in the Deep Roads?”

“It seems pretty fortunate that she would have stumbled into a group of Grey Wardens, too,” Liss chimed in.

“It had nothing to do with fortune,” Lucia continued, words stern and direct.  She stood up, clenching her fists at her sides. “Bethany and her older sister were part of an expedition into the Deep Roads to search for artifacts and treasure, accompanied by one of our own, who provided them with confidential Warden maps to help them navigate.”

The palpable vitriol from Lucia meant one thing, and one thing only.

“Anders,” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes,” she responded defeatedly, “According to Bethany he’s been living in Kirkwall ever since he deserted, running some sort of healing clinic.  He is the reason they were able to find the other Wardens.”

“Wow,” Liss remarked, “That all seems uncharacteristically noble of him.”

“Uncharacteristic of Anders, perhaps,” Nathaniel stated, “But not of Justice.”

“Right.”  Lucia’s gaze was fixed on the ground, deep in thought.   She looked up at them before sighing and speaking again, “As unorthodox as it may seem to assign a mission based upon personal feelings, I believe my reasoning is sound.  Anders is still a Grey Warden, one who I conscripted, which makes him my responsibility. I would like for you two, along with Bethany, to travel to Kirkwall and pay him a visit. ”

“And do what exactly,” he asked, annoyed by what felt like a waste of time, “Drag him back to the Keep by his collar?”

“That would be a sight.” Liss chuckled at his side and he rolled his eyes. “Ten silvers he sets your little chin hairs on fire.”

“He would have to catch me first. Twelve silvers.”

She smiled and winked at him. “It’s a bet.”

“If I am being completely honest about my intentions, I just want you to check in on him, “Lucia continued more softly, paying no heed to their irreverence to the task, “Make sure that he is safe and warn him against sharing too many delicate Warden secrets.”

“So this is not “official” Warden business then,” Nathaniel asked.

“I’m not sure the Wardens ever do anything ‘officially,’” Liss stated flatly.

“This is just for my peace of mind,” Lucia answered with a sad smile, “Besides, I thought you two might enjoy some time away together.”

Her investment in their relationship shamed him, causing his face to flush.  Lucia had so many other things that she could and should have been fretting over instead.   He flicked his eyes over to Liss, wondering if she felt as he did.

She only frowned and shrugged out a reply.   “I could use a vacation.”

“Kirkwall is a shithole,” Nathaniel told her frankly, words more pointed than he’d intended,”It won’t exactly be a vacation.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t be,” she chirped, not missing a beat.

“Will you go,” Lucia asked.

“Of course,” he replied, with a reassuring smile.  Liss nodded along with him.

“Thank you both.”  Lucia seemed to relax, and sat back slowly into her chair. “You all should prepare to head out to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.  I’ve arranged passage for you there.”

Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement, noticing Liss do the same as she spoke, “Is there anything else you needed, Commander?”

“No,” she shook her head, “You are free to go.  Safe travels.”

When he turned to face Liss , she was biting her lip and appeared to be lost in thought, a small wrinkle between her brows.  It was ridiculous to ache for someone who slept beside him each night, to miss her.  And yet he did.  Maker did he miss her.  That their companions sensed some sort of tension between them was not inaccurate, and had he been honest with Alistair and Lucia, he would have admitted that things were not “fine.”  He just was not ready to broach the topic of what happened in Highever with anyone other than Liss, and she had been all but avoiding any opportunity they had to discuss it for the better part of two weeks.  

Shaking himself free of his own thoughts, he nudged Liss with his elbow and held his arm out to her.  There was no guarantee that she would accept it, but he would be damned if he did not offer it to her.  When she glanced over to him, then down at his arm, and back up to meet his gaze,  her face lit up, bright and warm, and relief washed over him.  Thank The Maker he could still make her smile.

Without hesitation, she looped her arm through his and blinked up at him expectantly. “Shall we?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him.  “Of course, my lady.”

Liss had always been adept at filling silences, or at the very least making them comfortable; however, as they left Lucia’s study together, arm-in-arm, an oppressive and awkward quiet fell over them.  Nathaniel was no stranger to uncomfortable silences, but to share one with Liss was an entirely new experience.  He racked his mind for anything to talk about that would not cause her to withdraw from him, but came up short.  Hopefully he would be able to suffer his own discomfort until they made it back to their shared quarters.

“So,” she spoke up suddenly, much to Nathaniel’s relief, “Kirkwall. Just the two of us… and that Bethany person, of course.  This’ll be fun.”  She held his arm more tightly and let her head fall to rest against his shoulder.

“You really think so,” he asked, amused at her optimism.

She pulled away suddenly to look up at him, a pain he did not intend to inflict buried in her expression. “You don’t?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, immediately frustrated and attempting to keep his composure— “It wasn’t meant to be serious.”

Liss continued to glare up at him, tears welling in her eyes, and he did not have a shred of an idea how to respond.  She had never been a rational person, but this was a bit extreme.  He squeezed and released his hands at his side as he fought the urge to reach out to her.  

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, looking down at the ground, “You’ve done nothing wrong.  I’m just—”

“Liss,” he urged, hoping that she would finally open up to him, give him some clue as to why she kept pushing him away and erecting walls between them that had never been there before.

“Nate,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her lashes and rolling down her cheek.

Without thinking he reached forward to wipe it away with his thumb, allowing his hand to linger on her cheek.  Her gaze softened at the touch, and for a moment he thought her defenses might falter, that she might let him in.  She brought her hand up to cover his, briefly allowing her eyes to flutter closed.  When she opened them again, there was steel in her expression and she grabbed his hand, gently pulling it away from her face.  With that, he withdrew his hand completely and stared back at her in disbelief, jaw clenched.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, voice hushed, “Please.”

“I can’t… do this right now.” She shook her head frantically, emotions barely held beneath the surface. “I’m sorry.”

“This is not something you can run from and hope it disappears, Liss,” he replied tersely, his frustration getting the better of him, “You can’t keep avoiding me.”

“I’m going to get some air,” she snapped, indignant and completely ignoring his remarks, “We can prepare for our journey after I come back.

“Liss, wait—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Nate,” she interrupted as she turned to walk away toward the front door.

They had done this dance too many times for him to be taken aback or even confused.  No, the only thing he felt at the moment was exhausted.  Countless times since they’d returned, he’d tried to get her to discuss how she was feeling, or to at least listen to how he felt, but she’d consistently found excuses or other ways to escape an actual conversation.  It was ridiculous and immature, and he was at a complete and utter loss.  

Ego bruised and chest aching, he made his way over to the bench along a nearby wall and sank down, resting his elbows on his knees as his face dropped into the palms of his hands.   What was he to do next except give her space and hope that things would be sorted out with time?

His ruminations were cut short as his ears caught the distinct shuffle of footsteps that slowed to a stop as they neared him and a hushed murmur of women’s voices.  He could not make out what they were saying, but the voices were familiar, and it was obvious they were attempting discretion and failing miserably.

“You two are not subtle,” he said with a sigh as he looked up to see the elf and dwarf blinking at him sympathetically, a look that had become all too common since he’d returned from Highever.  Did people sincerely believe him to be so pitiable?  His friends, especially, should have known better.

Velanna glanced between Nathaniel and the empty space beside him on the bench, brow furrowing slightly as she asked, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” he replied motioning to the seat, then letting his head fall to his hands again briefly before sitting up straight and watching as she sat down beside him.  Sigrun remained standing, but moved to lean against the wall.

Nathaniel glanced from one to the other several times, noting their heavy silence and persevering looks of pity.  He settled on Velanna, whose pinched expression he presently found the most irritating and asked, “Is there something you wished of me? Or do you intend to continue staring at me as if I were a lost puppy?”

“We are not—” Velanna began to retort, words echoing off the walls.  She sighed and continued more quietly, “We are simply concerned for you.”

“There is no reason to be concerned for me,” Nathaniel protested, “I am fine.”

“Hah,” Sigrun interjected, laughing, “You don’t think we’re going to buy that, do you?”

“You don’t have to,” he retorted sarcastically, turning to face his other friend, “I am offering it to you for free.”

“Come on, Nate.  We’re your friends, and we know better,” she pressed, “Besides, with the way you’ve been moping about the Keep these past two weeks, there are lost puppies I feel less sorry for.”

He bristled at her words, muscles tensing as he clenched his fists.  Just as he was about to snap, Velanna’s hand fell on his shoulder and his gaze darted back to her instead.  

“ Lethallin ,” she said firmly, a word from her own language.  She’d once told him it was a term of endearment for her People, one used to signify the closeness between friends.  He relaxed slightly, and she withdrew her hand to rest on her lap. “Was it not you who once told me I needed to stop viewing every expression of sympathy as a personal attack.?”

“That does sound like something I would say.” Nathaniel shook his head, snorted out a laugh, and slouched forward.  “I can’t say I expected that to come back and bite me in the arse.”  

It was silent for several beats, then he continued, apologizing for what seemed like the thousandth time in just an hour or so.  “I am sorry, truly. Everyone is so concerned about me, and I know that I should be appreciative, but... if I am being completely honest, it’s humiliating.”

“That is…” Velanna said, “Understandable.”

Sigrun nodded her agreement. “Definitely.”

“I—” he began to speak again, but was interrupted by the loud bang of a door slamming back against the wall.  Several scouts and pages gasped in surprise at the form that entered the hall, battle axe slung effortlessly over his shoulder.  “Nevermind,” Nathaniel muttered quickly.

“Never fear, Ol’ Oghren’s back and better than ever,” Oghren shouted at the far end of the hall as the door slammed closed behind him.  He appeared to scan the room, perking up when his gaze met Nathaniel’s, and immediately sauntering over to the bench.

Velanna sighed and rolled her eyes as Sigrun straightened up to wave and greet him.“Hey Oghren!  How’s the family?”

The dwarf had been away for just over a month visiting with Felsi, and their brood.  Ever since the turmoil in Amaranthine had ended, and most of the resulting mess cleared up, he’d been taking intermittent leave to be a more present husband and father.  He was certainly rough around every edge, but he was trying to be better, and that was admirable.

“Oh you know, same ol’, same ol’,” he answered jovially, stopping as he stood just a few feet away from the rest of them.  He brought one hand up and stroked his elaborately-plaited auburn beard proudly. “Felsi’s expectin’ again.”

“Maker’s Blood, man! Are you intending to father a legion?” Nathaniel exclaimed with a laugh that was cut short by a sudden realization.  He squinted at Oghren and continued, “Wait. Congratulations and all, but... how is that even possible?”

Oghren shrugged. “Beats the shit out of me. The Commander told me Grey Wardens weren’t s’posed to be able to… y’know...”

His words trailed off into a low chuckle and he waggled his eyebrows, eliciting a groan of disgust from Velanna.  At the same time, a mischievous smirk crossed Sigrun’s face and she tilted her head, crossed her arms and said with faux innocence, “No, Oghren, I actually don’t think we know.”

“Do not encourage him, lethallan ,” Velanna scolded, standing up as if preparing to escape.

To Nathaniel’s surprise, Oghren ignored the opportunity to pop off with an inappropriate joke, and instead looked at him, a hint of a genuine smile sparkling in his eyes, but hidden beneath his beard. “So, Howe, I figure congratulations are in order for you too, eh?”

Nathaniel stiffened, heart sinking like lead into his abdomen.  He shook his head and let out a laugh that was more bitter than he had hoped.  “No.  No that won’t be necessary.”

“Wait… what?” Oghren scowled and examined Nathaniel for a moment before protesting. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind?  Didn’t take you to be a chickenshit.”

“I didn’t.” Nathaniel stood up abruptly at the words, startling the others. “And I’m not.”

“Shit, I—”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Nate,” Sigrun said gently, grabbing his arm.

He shrugged her off and stepped away. “I should go prepare for my trip to Kirkwall.”

“Nathaniel,” Velanna urged him, “Wait.”

“Thank you for talking with me,” he said flatly, glancing between Velanna and Sigrun, then over to Oghren, “It is good to have you back, my friend.”

“Yeah… sure.”

With that, Nathaniel gave his friends a nod, and turned to make his way to the nearest stairwell, heart racing as he struggled to remain calm.  

“What crawled up his breeches,” he heard Oghren ask behind him.

Nathaniel did not linger to hear Velanna and Sigrun brief Oghren on the events that had transpired while he was away.  He did not need to be reminded.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age origins awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #my writing #ambivalence tag

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

A Great Treasure

(Jaskier just constantly getting kidnapped by dragons and dressed real pretty? Yeah. I’m into it.)

tw: gratuitous, almost My Immortal levels of outfit description because I am A Ho For The Look, dragons being horny, Geralt being soft as fuck but also kinda horny

---

The next dragon that took Jaskier wasn’t nearly as sneaky. Nor was it green. The great, sapphire-blue reptile swooped down above the road in broad daylight and plucked the surprised bard up with its great talons, disappearing over the tops of the trees before Geralt could so much as think to pull his sword. The Witcher heard Jaskier’s startled cry echo out over the forest and urged Roach into a canter. He departed from the beaten path and took off in the same general direction the creature had been headed. “It hasn’t even been three full fucking weeks yet. Fuck.”

Hello, Jaskier! I’m a friend of Etheid’s, the dragon introduced herself. The draconic method of telepathic communication still bothered the bard a little but the blue dragon’s voice seemed more sing-song than Etheid’s had been. Certainly more feminine. Call me Lythos, or Lyth for short. 

“Nice to meet you, Lythos,” Jaskier muttered, clenching his eyes shut tightly. “Let’s talk more when we’re on solid ground, yeah?”

Afraid of heights, bardling?

“Just a smidgen of a little bit.”

Worry not, we’re nearly to my tower.

“Another tower?”

Whatever happened to talking on solid ground?

“I’ve been kidnapped by two dragons in one month. I’m curious.”

I doubt this will be the last time you’re kidnapped by a dragon, either. Not until one of my brethren gives up during their turn or loses the bet.

“Their turn? What bet?! What are you talking about?”

I will explain the situation to you more fully when we land. There is much to be discussed. Many things to plan. Many rules to be determined and recorded for the others. 

Jaskier sighed, glad he’d left his lute tied to Roach’s saddlebags today, and let himself be carried off to yet another strange adventure. “So you guys are just going to keep swooping in and stealing me away like this because it’s fun?”

Yes. And because Borch said that you and Geralt are kind-hearted and friendly mortals. We dragons don’t meet many such humans in our travels; we’d like to reward you somehow.

“So you’re rewarding me by kidnapping me?”

That’s why we included the second part of the deal, with the elaborately designed outfits. It’s not just because we enjoy collecting treasures from all over the Continent and squirreling them away to play with later; it’s also our form of payment to you. If you’re dressed from head to toe in silk and gold when Geralt rescues you then there’s no time to stop and take those items off before you ‘escape’. You can keep them or sell them; anything you are given by one of us should be considered payment for services rendered.

“And the service that Geralt and I are providing is...entertainment?”

Correct. It would be unfair to use up so much of a Witcher’s time without paying him.

“You’d be surprised how many people do that, actually,” Jaskier griped. “Village after village, turning him away without payment just because he’s a mutant and a freak. It’s horrible!”

Now you understand why my kin are so desperate for something good in the world. The love between you and Geralt is pure and strong, that is the other reason we chose the two of you.

Jaskier blushed. “We’re just a couple of flimsy mortals that happened to bump into each other and get along. Most of the time. It’s a very human thing to do. There are other couples in need of some emotional urging, if you’re looking to orchestrate a romance.”

No, we wish only to further yours. Now, would you care to look through the clothes I’ve gathered? We have at least another day before your Witcher finds us. 

“Less than a day if he chooses not to pause for meditation, the fool.”

He will not risk losing you, Lythos sighed happily. I checked in on him earlier; he is meditating and gathering his strength. He has admitted his love for you now and is determined to prove himself. How dreamy.

“That is absolutely precious! Ugh, I love him so much.” 

Then let us make you lovely, so that when he arrives he is doubly excited to see you.

“I can’t argue with that logic. Not from such an ancient and wise creature.”

Flattery gets you everywhere, bard, Lythos teased. She huffed out a thin cloud of steam and Jaskier chuckled in return. 

“I know.”

---

“Are you kidding me?”

Absolutely not, the dragon shook its snout. Try them on. Unless you don’t like it, of course; I have other options, too.

“No, it’s all very lovely. It’s just...I get to keep them?”

Of course. I don’t want to make you change your clothes in the middle of Geralt’s daring rescue. That would totally ruin the romance!

“I suppose that would be rather odd. Even Geralt might catch on to something like that.” Jaskier held clothes the dragon had preferred in his hands, glancing once more at the suggested shirt. “What exactly is this supposed to be?”

It’s a tunic, of course. What else could it possibly be?

The bard gesticulated towards the dragon, holding the apparent tunic out for inspection as if he was shocked or surprised by Lyth’s choice. “It’s completely sheer!”

Yes, and it will make you look so very delicate, Lythos urged. Just try it on with the pants. Just once. You can change if you don’t like it, like I said. There’s a whole closet of costumery at your disposal, Jaskier.

The bard sighed and pulled the pants on first. They were made of a deep, peacock blue silk and hugged him in all the right places. He turned back and forth, observing their fit in the full-length mirror Lythos had provided. His legs were defined but the material wasn’t overly tight; it hadn’t bunched up near his thighs or ass like silk of this kind usually did. “Were these tailored to fit me?”

Yes, they were. 

“How? I’ve only been here for a few hours and you pulled these directly from the armoire!”

Etheid passed along your measurements to the rest of us so that we could better prepare.

“Right, of course. Dragons. Bets. All that fun stuff,” the bard sighed. He tugged the gossamer shirt down over his head and tucked it neatly into the waistband of his high-waisted trousers. Jaskier glanced towards the mirror again and discovered that he looked...he looked amazing. 

The shirt had been designed with a low, swooping neckline that revealed both his collarbones and a good portion of his chest. The thin, almost translucent white material left whatever the shirt did cover still almost entirely visible. When he blushed it could be rather obviously traced all the way down to his mid-chest. The giddy bard mussed his hair a little and did his best pouting ‘rescue me’ face; oh yes, that’s the way to do it. 

Jaskier looked downright sinful. 

“You are absolutely brilliant, Lythos! Geralt is going to lose his mind when he sees me in this ensemble.”

So you’ll wear it?

“This particular outfit is my new favorite. I’ll have to wait until the next dragon shows up before we can turn a profit from this whole bard-napping melodrama venture.”

There is always the jewelry. I can give you a few extra pieces to sell since you love the clothes so much; I have too much of the stuff sitting around and collecting dust anyway.

“Would you like it if I let you choose all my jewelry? I’m afraid I tend to go a bit overboard.”

Yes, yes! The dragon huffed happily, filling the space briefly with a cloud of steam. I have temporary earrings and bracelets and necklaces. I even have anklets if you so desire. 

“Goody!” the bard rejoiced. “I love anklets! I never have good enough reason to wear them, though. This will be lovely. Do you mind if I roll the pants up to my knees? Geralt does so love the sight of my bare skin. I think it would drive him absolutely mad if we showed a little ankle for the Witcher.”

Please do whatever you see fit, my friend, Lythos insisted. You must sparkle for your White Wolf. You must look the part of the treasure he seeks to find!

“Ah, so I’m a treasure this time instead of a damsel?”

Hmm, yes. I think that makes it more interesting. What kind of treasure would you like to be?

“Geralt’s,” the bard breathed dreamily. The large, winged reptile rolled her eyes and huffed again.

Duh, that’s the point. I meant like...pirate treasure? A king’s treasure? I’ve never done roleplay before. Mostly just burning down the houses of rude nobles and kidnapping some princesses upon request. I’m not incredibly familiar with human treasure.

“Oh! I could be your hoard!”

You’re brilliant! Of course! This will be so fun. What if you laid in my tail when Geralt arrived? Like I was guarding you?

“Well then how would he get me away without hurting you?”

I could make him give a speech? Woo you away from me with your words?

“Oh, that’s very clever. Very dramatic. I love it!”

We do make a good team, I think.

“Do you have any makeup? This look would be excellent with some eyeliner.”

You are definitely as entertaining and fun as Etheid promised. I’m sure that Aramaris will enjoy you just as much.

“Wait, who’s Aramaris?”

They chose the next lot after me. Then, after Aramaris has their turn, Vertos would like a chance to partake. 

“Hold on a minute. There’s a waiting list of dragons who want to kidnap me?”

And see Geralt come running to your aid, yes. It is rather sweet to watch and we are all very bored. We’re going to see who can make you the prettiest and get Geralt the most worked up. 

“So this is just a game to you?”

As I said before, it is both a game and a legitimate matchmaking endeavor. Additionally, we’re compensating you for your time and trouble.

“I suppose,” Jaskier agreed. “Plus this outfit is absolutely to die for.”

Yes, and now to the makeup!

---

Geralt was very confused and very tired. He had tracked the dragon through the woods to yet another ancient, dilapidated tower. Jaskier was hidden at the top, no doubt, probably terrified out of his mind. This was the second dragon to capture his idiot bard in a fucking month, though the first time had been extremely unorthodox. Just plain odd, really, considering Geralt’s previous experiences. 

Oh well, nothing he could do now except climb the tower and rescue Jaskier.

---

Jaskier was waiting for his Witcher to arrive while reclining within the coil of Lythos’s enormous blue tail His pants were only a half-shade brighter than her scales and the contrast was remarkably artistic (perhaps by design). The bard was barefoot and his pants were rolled up to just below the knee. Lyth had insisted on decking him out in lots of jewelry since Jaskier was to be her supposed hoard. It will be more realistic and believable if you’re dripping with silver and sapphires, bard. He found himself unable to argue with her logic once again.

Jaskier had a handful of thin silver bands around one ankle, a silver cuff around his left wrist, and another bejeweled cuff at the top of his left bicep, beneath the shirt. Lythos had added a thin silver chain around his neck, which fell to just above his chest hair and ended with a teardrop shaped sapphire pendant. Some kind of crushed gemstone powder had been dusted atop his collarbones and into his hair, making him seem to sparkle in the midday sun. He’d added a light, smudged layer of kohl around his eyes to widen and darken them like he had once at court. The dragon had also demanded that he slide several rings of various styles and sizes onto his long, tapered fingers. It will draw his attention to your hands, she explained. You will thank me tonight, I’m sure.

That suggestion had Jaskier blushing brightly and Lythos had nearly snorted fire from laughing so hard at the young man’s reaction. 

Here he comes! She announced, bringing Jaskier’s back to the present. His blue eyes fixated on the thick wooden door that led from the chamber where Lythos lay curled and ‘guarding’ him to the bedchamber where he’d stayed the last two nights. Very shortly after her announcement there was a determined grunt, a heavy thud, and the door crashed open to reveal Geralt. 

The Witcher was breathing heavily and his nostrils were flared but he wasn’t wearing his armor. He hadn’t been wearing it last time, either, and Jaskier wondered if he was already onto their little charade. “You know I won’t win if we battle,” Geralt admitted, staring across the room at the lounging dragon.

His eyes flickered to Jaskier for a moment, widened when they took in the bard’s appearance, and then returned to staring down the monster. 

I don’t intend to fight you, Witcher, Lythos said, projecting her bored words into both of their minds. Jaskier knew that she was faking the cold disinterest but his heart still picked up speed when one of her large claws hooked beneath his chin and raised him into a slightly taller sitting position. Though I suspect that you’ve come to take back my newest treasure and I am loathe to let it go so soon.

The Witcher nodded, unable to form words. He was nervous for the life of his bard but he was also slightly distracted by the way Jaskier was being forced to arch his neck and tilt his head that way. The bard looked so fucking breakable and soft, surrounded by scales and held partially aloft by such a strong and pointed appendage. His eyes were wide and completely focused on the Witcher, his own peril seemingly irrelevant even as he gasped against the scraping claw. Geralt shook his head to clear it and narrowed his eyes even more. “Don’t hurt him.”

It’s my treasure, Lythos hummed dismissively. I will do with the human lad as I please. Go away, Witcher, and leave us to play.

“He’s not a toy,” Geralt growled. He reached for his sword and cursed when his hand swiped through empty air. He knew bringing a weapon up so many flights of stairs was pointless but he still should have kept it on him for safety. Jaskier made a gentle, nervous noise and the Wicher flinched. “Please don’t hurt him!”

You would barter for the human? For his safe return?

“Take me instead,” Geralt offered. He held his hands up in surrender and took a slow step forward. Lythos lowered Jaskier back down to his lazily reclined position and raised her scaly brow. The bard was shocked; he hadn’t been expecting the Witcher to do something so drastic right away. He’d anticipated some kind of argument first.

You would sacrifice yourself for him? Trade yourself to me in order to save him?

“Of course,” the Witcher scoffed. Lythos could hear his slow heartbeat starting to accelerate. “I love him. I’d do anything for him.”

Hmm. Little treasure, what do you think?

“I can’t let him do that for me. He’s a Witcher, I am merely a traveling bard. The world has more need for him than it does for me.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt half-whimpered. A pleading tone bled into his words as he took another step forward, this time towards the bard, “You foolish man. I know you. You’d grow bored here. You’d grow antsy to travel. You’d try to escape and you’d get yourself hurt or killed or...”

I protect what is mine, the dragon interrupted. He will be safe here. I will keep him happy and entertained.

“Please,” the Witcher sighed. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head forward, white hair falling in a curtain around his ridiculously attractive face. “Jaskier was the first good thing Destiny ever did for me. I can’t lose him.”

I have seen into your heart and know these feelings to be true, Lythos intoned. She spoke as if she was making a very difficult decision and not sticking to a vague pre-determined script. You may take the bard and go, but you must hurry. I may change my mind.

Jaskier clambered out from between the coils of her massive tail and allowed Geralt to sweep him up into those strong, stable arms. He clung to the Witcher’s neck and buried his face to hide his smile. Lythos said her final goodbye to the bard alone; I hope my kin treat you fairly. If they do not, let me know, and I shall take care of it. Thank you for the lovely time.

“Thank YOU,” Jaskier mouthed. 

And then they began to descend the winding tower staircase.

---

“I hope I never see another dragon again in my life except for maybe Borch,” Geralt panted, urging Roach into a slightly faster canter.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, smiling a little to himself. “Running into another dragon so soon after two nearly identical kidnappings would be very strange.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier #like 2.5k words i think #soft geralt #geraskier ficlet #in league with dragons #protective geralt #the dragons treat jaskier like a paper doll #let's dress up the bard #and mess with the witcher #that'll be fun #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #ooooh boy #in league with dragons pt 2 #we've kidnapped the bard so now what #how many will it take before geralt realizes something is up? #inhuman jaskier

[valofaxwords]

Blog Post Week #6 Due 9/30

Do you agree with Jeffery Ow in his essay The Revenge of the Yellowface Cyborg Terminator?

In Jeffery Ow’s essay, Ow goes on to critique the game Shadow Warrior (1997) as a giving gamers “ the role of the cold blooded colonizer who rapes, pillages and kills like a digitized reenactment of the My Lai massacre.” In defense, the creators of the game, 3-D realm, excuse all action, dialogue, and themes of their game by stating that the game is not racist but rather “ a parody of all the bad kung-fu movies on the 60's-80’s”. All though I do overall agree with Ow on that Shadow Warrior is a racist game due to their use of Asian themes, I believe that Ow in his essay focuses on the incorrect things due to their ignorance of video games or the video game industry in general. Reading this essay, the ignorance on basic details about the game, such as claiming it is a 2.5D when it is a 3D game, gives off the air of this essay being written by an outsider looking into a world they don’t fully understand, and in turn, making assumptions and invalid accusations. Now this is in no way an attempt at discrediting the author due to their lack of video game knowledge, nor is this a defense to 3D Realm’s game, but rather directing the narrative to a more constructive and applicable place. To put it simply, because Ow’s ignorance of the video game scene in general, they tend to make points about the game that are completely unnecessary when they are completely more valid points to be made. Yes, this game is racist, but not because of the some of the points Ow makes.  

Does parody excuse accusations of racism?

In most cases, no it does not, and in the case of Shadow Warrior (1997), as Jeffery Ow also criticizes it, I would agree with him that the jokes and themes presented in the game go beyond parody and enter the realm of harmful stereotypes. Though Jeffery Ow focuses on the player being forced to perform certain actions due to the game being first person, that is besides the point in terms of the argument against the game. Looking into 3D Realms most popular games during that era, and what was generally popular in the industry at the time, you would see that the first-person shooter was the norm that every game developer was attempting to follow. What should be focused on is not that the player is “forced” into committing such acts, but rather that the developers saw it acceptable to be able to give players this option. Looking at their previous games such as Duke Nukem 3D, we see similar acts of generic violence seen in most games, which is also narrated by an overly macho caricature of cheap action movies speaking ridiculous one liners. What makes Shadow Warrior different is that 3D Realms felt the need to add an ‘Asian’ touch to their already successful formula. To focus on the gratuitous violence, the gameplay mechanics, and perspective is more akin to conservative pearl clutching of M Rated video games that it is a point towards criticizing the racism of the game. The problem lies with 3D Realm, without a care for sensitivity or respect towards the Asian community, thought it would be easy to make a new IP by taking their existing Duke Nukem game and characters, and simply repainting it with an ‘Asian’ brush. So, the terrible action one liners and crude jokes become tinted with their idea of an ‘Asian” flare, and instead rely on harmful stereotypes and overused, unfunny racist humor. What could have been a parody of the ridiculous action martial art movies of the 70’s and 80’s turns into a cheap racist imitation of what they believe those films were. Had it actually attempted to reference these movies and not the stereotypes believed about them, you may have gotten a game with nuanced funny references to movies akin to Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon, but instead of you get racist prostitute scene from the movie Full Metal Jacket stretched into a 15-hour game.  

Is online racism feel the same way as in person racism?

If you’ve ever experienced any form of true racism or harassment due to your race in real life, you eventually develop a type of thick skin that can differentiate the differences between words of pure hate and words of micro aggressive ignorance. POC grow up needing to know that difference simply to get by in the world. Their lives need to know the difference because every act of micro aggressiveness towards them can’t feel the same way as a hurtful slur to get by. So when encountering racism in an online space, does that feel any differently? Some may say that because of the internet’s anonymous nature, it may feel like nothing but a small shout in the dark from an unknown assailant, nothing more than a pebble in the road due to it’s facelessness; but others may counter with the notion that the dread of not knowing who it is, that it could be anyone, makes it more mentally looming. Personally, I would counter that online spaces aren’t more inherently different than real life spaces. Though the technology is mechanically different from anything seen ever before, I would argue that all human communications have remained essentially the same, or at the very least, our reactions to them have remained the same. Which to apply directly to the question, online racism feels the same as in person racism. I would feel just as hurt being slung a slur at me with malice if it had been said directly to me, posted to me online, or even been told on the telephone. How racism manifests itself in an online space certainly can be unique and must be analyzed, but if you analyze the root of it all, it all ends up and leads to the same thing, an awful ignorant person spouting hate in whatever means they have.

Is there a way to fix online racism?

There is always a way to deter racism in online spaces but determining to fix racism in online spaces is as fruitless of an effort as insisting you could fix racism found in physical letters or through the phone. Online spaces aren’t a mystical different beast than real life spaces in which people congregate, but what you gain from the mechanical nature of an online space is the technology to head off racism at the pass. The idea that keeping a public space clean and spotless encourages the upkeep in that space because no one wants to be the one to make it dirty, certainly applies in the discussion of keeping online spaces clean. Therefore, most online spaces combatting things like racism will tend to outright ban or censor certain phrases or slurs in their space. But the same problem that happens in real life occurs in the online space. When certain spaces get too big with too many members, the area becomes unmanageable as the caretakers are overrun by the number of people. And with a greater number of people, the statistical likelihood of encountering an outlier person who is perfectly keen on disturbing a spotless place, comes forth to ruin everything. If not nipped in the bud immediately, this causes those around to believe this conduct is okay, and those on the fence of doing harm are now being shown that it is acceptable to act in such behavior and will in turn also act similarly. All in all, there are ways to manage racism in online spaces, and they are normally the same way we would handle these situations in real life, so that goes to say that you can only fix online racism as much as you could fix racism in the real world.

#CSUFWGST320BADDIES

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

A Whole Castle

In Little Ways Part II (Part I Here)  (The First Short for New Readers) (The Playlist)

Words: 1,140 Warnings: Food Mention, Abandonment Issues Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil Universe: Whole Castle Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Additional Tags: Patient Parenting, Roman Sanders is Extra

   Logan exhaled hard as he got home from work. It was a long afternoon of meetings with teachers who pretended Logan’s plight was not their own. Why scholars couldn’t agree that each department had its struggles was baffling. He rubbed his face and set down his briefcase and kicked off his shoes at the rack.

   “Dad, dad, dad, dad!” Virgil came rushing up to him as soon as she shut the door. “Janus just got a new game, can I go? Please? Can you watch Pat?” He pleaded hurriedly, jogging on the spot.

   “Virgil, you know I don’t like you running across the highway,” Logan huffed, shaking his head.

   “I’ll take my scooter! It’s just two lanes. Janus does it all the time. The sun’s up, drivers will see me! Please!” Virgil shot back, gripping Logan’s arm and shaking it lightly.

   “The game doesn’t have sexual content or gratuitous violence?” Logan raised an eyebrow at him. He always had trouble saying no to Virgil whenever he was this excited.

   “No, it’s a multi-player JRPG, you get to ride dragons, please!” Virgil sounded desperate. Logan would never understand Virgil’s fascination with these things.

   “Fine, go ahead. Please be careful. One of us will pick you up, just call when you’re done or we’ll get you before dinner. Only one soda,” Logan held up a finger and conceded emphatically.

   “Deal! Thanks, dad! Love you!” Virgil pushed past Logan excitedly and headed out the front door. Logan blinked as it slammed shut. Janus usually spent him here rather than Virgil visiting him. But they didn’t have the newest game systems and Janus’s family did, so it made sense even if Logan was slightly suspicious. He hoped traffic was forgiving. The highway between the neighborhoods had light traffic, but Logan worried about either of them crossing.

   Logan stepped in and headed into the kitchen to grab a drink before checking on Patton in his room. Patton looked concerned, scribbling hard on the paper in front of him with one hand and his rabbit doll in the other.

   “Is everything alright, Patton?” Logan inquired gently. Patton looked up to him and sighed, not responding in any manner. He glanced sadly at Logan before looking down and gripping at his shorts. “Can I come in?” Patton shook his head. “Then would you like to come out?” Logan suggested and stepped out of the doorway to give Patton room. Patton sat motionless for a moment before he nodded and got up. Logan went out into the living room and Patton climbed up near him. “Do you think Mrs. Bunnyface would want to watch Wall-E?” Logan hummed and picked up the remote and Patton cheered up a little, making his doll nod a few times.

   Logan loaded up the movie and sat back. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Patton, but he was uncomfortable and upset about something. He hoped Wall-E would cheer him up. Patton liked the little robots. Sometimes when he was cleaning up his building blocks, he’d pretend he was Wall-E. Patton leaned on the couch and pulled his feet up to watch just like Virgil does, snuggling his doll close. Logan breathed a small chuckle out through his nose. He realized what might be wrong.

   “Does Mrs. Bunnyface miss Virgil?” Logan inquired quietly, trying not to look pointedly at Patton. Patton sighed and squeezed Mrs. Bunnyface.

   “Yeah,” Patton breathed. “He’s comin’ back, righ’?” Patton looked up sadly at Logan.

   “Yes, he’s just playing a game with his friend. He’ll be back,” Logan nodded and smiled to Patton.

   “He don’t… hate… um, Mrs. Bunnyface?” Patton furrowed his eyebrows and stiffened.

   “No, Patton. He loves both of you. Did it make Mrs. Bunnyface worry that he was so excited to leave today?” Logan looked down at Patton, who nodded sadly. “Just so she knows, Virgil being excited about spending time with someone else doesn’t mean he loves either of you less. He just got excited about a video game and he wasn’t abandoning you… or Mrs. Bunnyface,” Logan cleared his throat. Patton nodded in acknowledgment and loosened up slightly.

   “You promise?” Patton looked up glassy-eyed to Logan.

   “I promise,” Logan smiled reassuringly. “Virgil is a little obsessed with animé and dragons, the game had both it seems. He also just wants to spend time with his friend. He still loves you, even if he has other interests,” He added genially.

   “It’s lonely,” Patton whispered, looking dourly to the floor.

   “I’m here for you, Patton. Anything I that can give you is yours,” Logan offered. Patton sniffled and turned back to watch the TV.

   Patton didn’t move at first. He just shot Logan glances every few minutes. Logan observed Patton just as much as he watched the movie to make sure he was okay. After a bit of time passed, Patton took a deep breath and shifted closer on the couch. If Logan hadn’t watched him do it, he might not have been aware it was such a slight move. Logan put his arm up on the back of the couch to make it obvious he was okay with Patton moving closer. Patton looked between the floor and Logan a few times before shifting more towards Logan and laying down on his lap. Logan waited a few more moments for experimentally lowered his arm. He floated it over Patton before he rested it on him, and Patton grabbed his arm to hold along with his plush.

   Logan pulled the blanket off the back of the couch with a one-handed effort and tossed it over Patton’s lower half. He snuggled up under the lopsided blanket and scooted up closer on Logan’s lap, pulling Logan’s arm with him. Logan sighed happily and watched Patton tiredly watch the movie more than the film itself. It was one Roman loved, so he already knew it by heart. He texted Roman apologizing that he couldn’t start dinner tonight with a picture message of Patton laying on his lap and Roman sent a solid eight messages of key smashes. Then he ranted about how far Patton had come and how incredibly jealous he was.

   Patton was completely absorbed into the movie by the time Roman made it home, so Roman did a silent dance just out of Patton’s vision. The moonwalk was particularly impressive, and being able to spin soundlessly was a skill. He then retreated to the kitchen to make a ‘victory meal’, whatever that was. Roman’s cooking was amazing, so he was sure it will be lovely. Logan sometimes heard Roman’s soft singing from the kitchen over the film, but Patton didn’t appear to notice. He looked very comfortable and engrossed in the movie. Logan sighed in relief and smiled at Patton. It was so wonderful to remember that things could get better if you tried.

Taglist: @elizabutgayer @radioactivehelena @ollyollyoxinfree @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno The Taglist Repository Taglist: (ask to be removed) freakin’ everything: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun Human AU:  @somehow-i-got-an-account  @starlight-era  @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know Logince:  @idontcareaboutcanon @silverobsidion-speaks  @a-fandom-trashdump  @averykedavra @k1ngtok1 @potatsanderssides Moxiety (platonic):  @kieraelieson  @star-crossed-shipper Adoption:  @enby-phoenix @idont-freaking-know Foster:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll @nonasficcollection @idont-freaking-know Found Family:  @supernovainthenightsky

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #whole castle #fanfiction #shorts #prompt fic #foster to adoption au #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #ts roman angst #kid!patton #teen!virgil #dad!roman #dad!logan #abandonment issues #food mention #fluff #hurt/comfort #ayri writes

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Swallow The Moon

(Read Katherine as Jodie!Katherine)

Remember back to when Aimie, Millie, and Maiya left SIX and everyone was writing fics about them disappearing and then being reincarnated again in their new bodies? Well, this is like an AU where instead of Sophie!Kat coming back after Aimie!Kat disappears, it’s Jodie!Kat. And yes, this is still West End, so everyone else is the same, aside from Courtney!Anne and whatever the new Cathy’s name is! Although they never make an appearance in this. But yeah!

Word count: 4329

——————

Past Katherine would never ever in a billion years turn up on her “rival’s” doorstep with a platter of brownies. Past Katherine would have downright refused to go, and if she was forced to, she would have made sure the brownies were made with an entire carton of salt and spoiled milk and expired eggs. Past Katherine would have dressed the front door with glitter that would never wash out, just to attract even more unwanted attention to the one who always tried to steal her mother away.

But Present Katherine didn’t want to do any of those things. In fact, she was a little repulsed that she ever thought about trying to give a lonely girl food poisoning.

It’s strange, she thinks, that all it took to change her morals was temporary death. Ever since her second reincarnation, she felt different. She looks different, too, now in the body of an adult (and very muscular, mind you) version of herself. She swore she was even older than Jane; it appeared to be the body she never got to live in. And, with it came a really, REALLY matured brain. She realized she didn’t even need Jane anymore, she attended therapy on her own, she wasn’t that afraid of men anymore because she knew her rock-like fists could knock their teeth in if they tried anything (don’t quote her on that—she was just hoping they were as strong as they looked). And she no longer thought about wanting to tear down the musical’s music director just for kicks and giggles. Guilt was left in the absence of the devilish mischief.

And so, that’s why she was on the doorstep of her ex-rival (God did she really consider this girl her rival? How terrible was she?). In a rainstorm. Holding a platter of brownies. She told the universe that the storm really didn’t help, but, honestly, it was kind of what she deserved.

Katherine perked up when she heard the lock click. The door soon opened, Joan took one look at her, then slammed it shut in her face.

Well. She kinda deserved that, too.

“Joan!” Katherine called desperately.

“Go away!” Joan shouted.

“Please, I just want to talk!”

The door flew open midknock and Katherine nearly rapped on Joan’s nose.

Before her stood an irritated, although quite small music director. Has Joan always been that short? And scrawny? Or was it just because Katherine was just now so much more muscular and tall and-

Joan growled, as if she could hear Katherine’s ego inflating and nitpicking her own body.

“I wanna talk.” Katherine said again. “Please?”

Joan looked her up and down.

“You can frisk me if you’d like.”

Joan wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face. She shook her head, muttered something about something else being ‘just great’, then turned around and stomped into the apartment. Katherine followed.

As much as she hated to admit it, Katherine was startled at how beautiful the flat was. The past version of her always assumed the music director’s home would be completely covered in pictures of Jane, but she didn’t see a hint of the silver queen anywhere. Instead, there were wooden carvings and colorful pottery, thriving potted plants and original paintings, polished deer antlers and clever little sculptures. The only light on in the place was an ocean driftwood scented candle and a lamp on the round table next to the couch. It was cozy in there, although a little lonely. Katherine wondered if all the carvings and statues were supposed to be poor replacements for real people.

“Well?” Joan crossed her arms and glared at Katherine. Her glare was never really all that threatening, but now that she was in a new body, Katherine found that it was completely ineffective. “Have you come to gloat about how much prettier you are than me? How much more people will like you now? How much Jane loves you even more?”

Startled, Katherine quickly said, “No. Not at all.”

Joan looked her up and down again, and Katherine took the chance to observe her, too.

Have you ever wondered what would come out if you were to throw every color of paint into a wood chipper? Well, Joan was that outcome. Her pale skin was covered in some kind of dust and there’s splinters and wood chips caught in her hair and in between her fingers and embedded under her fingernails. Red and yellow and orange paint was splattered across her face and torso, as if someone had melted the sunset in a cauldron and flung it all over her. Her eyes are like the moon over a frozen ocean- murky and scuffed, but still glittering in the light.

“I told you, I just want to talk.” Katherine said gently. “I made brownies.” She squinted at Joan and noticed a flush of dark pink beneath all the dirt and paint on her face. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine.” Joan grit, although she looked supremely uncomfortable with Katherine being in her house with her. “Put your brownies on the counter. But don’t expect me to eat them. Who knows what you put in them...”

Katherine wondered for a moment if she knew about her past self’s food poisoning plot. She winced and quickly set the tray down before going into the living room where Joan was. There was a half-finished painting of what seemed to be a flurry of moths sitting on the easel.

“It’s good.” She commented.

Joan looked over her shoulder at her, then immediately glanced away. She said something to herself again and retrieved a second easel, two blank canvases, and some more paintbrushes from a room next to the guest bathroom. She set the easel up and gave the canvas to Katherine.

“I like when my guests paint things,” She said gruffly, swapping her half-finished canvas out with the new one. “It’s like a game, I guess. You come over for the first time, you paint something.” She shrugged and swiped a blob of pink paint with a thin brush, making sure her easel was angled so that Katherine couldn’t see what she was making.

“That’s really cool!” Katherine said. “How many people have made stuff?”

Joan was silent for a moment.

“You’ll be the first.”

Katherine frowned. “Oh...”

They painted in silence for a long time. Katherine wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it gave her time to rehearse everything she wanted to say to Joan. And, good lord, there was so much. She hoped the girl would let her get it all out before she was told to leave.

“Joan—”

Joan suddenly came sidling around her easel to see what Katherine had been painting. She took one look at the (badly painted) cats cuddling, snorted, then grabbed her own canvas and threw it at Katherine’s feet.

“This,” She pointed at it. “This is why I will NEVER be liked like you are.”

Katherine grimaced as she looked at the painting of a pale blue and moon silver screaming dragon getting its jaw horribly broken by a rusty jaw trap. Despite how gratuitous and gory it was, she had to admit that it was quite amazing. Joan really was a skilled artist.

Katherine carefully picked up the painting and set it on its easel to dry as Joan stormed into her kitchen. She didn’t go after the girl, knowing how unsettled and uneasy she was at the moment, and didn’t want to make that worse. So, she waited in front of her dripping cats—she knew she shouldn’t have painted them to be silver and pink. Even though she didn’t really view Jane as a mother anymore, it seemed that some parts of her still held onto that bond they shared.

She heard a noise from the kitchen—a cough and then what sounded like a sniffle. Some kind of instinct flared to life within her—something maternal, she realized. She had Motherly Senses?! Oh, that was SO COOL! She always wanted to be the caretaker for once...or maybe she didn’t and she just wanted to now. Either way, she didn’t care! She’s always wondered what it was like to have Mum Instincts—

There was another cough from the kitchen, this one much more watery and weak. The instincts flare again—THAT’S what it felt like. Worried and concerned and making her feel like she had to hold whatever was in distress.

“Joan?” She called out. “Is everything okay in there, hun?”

Did she just use a pet name on someone? Ohhh, she LOVED THIS BODY!!

“Yes,” Joan replied hoarsely. She came bustling out a moment later holding two cups of a steaming liquid. She set one on the dining table and then scurried to sit on the opposite side. Katherine quickly joins her at the table.

“I wanted to apologize.” Katherine said after a tense moment of silence between her and the girl. “For how I treated you before.”

Joan looked down at her cup with an unreadable expression- Anger? Guilt? Relief? Pain?

“It was awful of me to do to you, Joan.” Katherine went on. “I was immature and stupid and mean. I never should have treated you like that.”

“You called me a ‘weird little diamond’.” Joan pointed out grimly.

“Oh. Right. That.”

“And Moon Eyes.” Joan added. She ducked her head, as if she were trying to hide her eyes from sight. “That’s not really easy to forgive when it’s said enough...”

Katherine grimaced. She remembered when she had made up that nickname: It was a bad day, but for a stupid reason. She got mad when Joan gave Jane yet another painting and loudly referred to her with that title instead of her regular name. She apparently thought Joan’s eyes were too grey and too creepy and too much like a twin pair of stolen moons to be real. Or human.

“Oh god,” Katherine muttered. “That was- Oh, Joan, that was so terrible of me to do to you. It must have been awful...”

“It STILL IS awful.” Joan growled. “Can you even imagine being bullied for your eye color? You made me want to gouge my own eyes out!” She slammed her fists on the table and suddenly looked like she wanted to lunge across it and strangle Katherine.

Katherine gasped softly at that revelation. She gripped tightly at her heart with one hand, while the other remained flat on the table. Guilt was eating away at her like thousands of starving ants.

“I’m so sorry.” She said. “Really, I am.”

“So it really took dying again and switching bodies to realize what you did was wrong?” Joan asked. She wasn’t being accusatory, rather just curious.

“Unfortunately.” Katherine sighed. “I don’t know why I did it. Jealousy, maybe?”

Joan’s head snapped up. “Jealousy?” She echoed. “What do YOU have to be jealous about? You have EVERYTHING!”

Katherine nodded grimly. “I know.” She said, and she swore she heard the remnants of her past self screaming in her ears, telling her not to say that and not to give in to this little gnat. “I have a family and fame and friends and money and—”

“And Jane.” Joan murmured.

Katherine looked at her sadly. “And Jane.” She echoed. “That’s right.”

Silence settled between the two of them. Joan had her eyes closed and she was breathing deeply through her nose, like she was trying to keep herself calm from an oncoming panic attack. The flush beneath all the dirt suddenly looked a lot darker.

“I,” Katherine started, and she saw Joan open one moon eye to look at her.. “I just had to apologize. I want things to change. I want to make things okay.”

Joan nodded softly. She reached up a hand to scrub her eyes, and Katherine realized with a wrench of guilt that she seemed to be on the verge of tears.

“It’s just— I was so lonely.” She whispered. “You took Jane away from me. And I knew—still know—that you needed her more than me, you have PTSD, you have a tragic backstory, you have to relive your trauma every night, but—” She put her head in her hands and shook it. “It didn’t change anything. I needed her, too. A-and I know she loved me—would love me—still loves me—if I just got a chance with her.”

Katherine frowned.

Jane never loved this moonborn creep and you know it. Her past self whispered. Her voice is higher pitched and younger like it used to be. Hearing it set her on edge. It was like the shell of the body she used to be in was right behind her, murmuring in her ears.

Shut up. She growled.

You know it’s true. Past Katherine merely said again. We’ve both heard Jane mutter about how much of a nuisance Moon Eyes is. You KNOW she’s never liked her.

Katherine desperately wants that to be false, but she knows it’s true. She remembered how Jane would call Joan an “annoying little weasel” under her breath and how she would toss all the gifts she got into her closet to rot, and god forbid Katherine would LAUGH when she did so. She laughed like the horrible, horrible person she was.

We’re not horrible. Past Katherine said indignantly, and Katherine could already picture the way she used to ruffle herself up when being stubborn and brat. We’re right. And I’m NOT a brat by the way. And even if I was, which I’m not, that would make you one, too. So HAHA!!

I’m not you. Katherine said. Not anymore.

She ignored whatever her past self responded with and focused her eyes on Joan. The girl was looking down at her cup with a pitiful expression. When Katherine didn’t answer her, she must have thought she had gotten bored of her already.

“I’m sorry,” Was all Katherine could think to say at the moment. Joan looked up at her with her great big eyes and she swore she felt her past self shudder somewhere within her mind.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Joan muttered, gripping her cup tightly. She had to scrunch her eyes shut and take a few more breaths through her nose before she could speak up again. “I-I mean— You’re older. Jane—she doesn’t need to care for you anymore. She- maybe I can be-”

For a moment, she looks hopeful, but then the sadness takes over again. It replaces all her anger, too, until it was the only emotion she seemed to have.

Poor girl, Katherine thought.

Don’t pity her. Past Katherine said.

Stay out of my head.

OUR head. Past Katherine stated. I am you, no matter how hard you try to think otherwise.

“Joan—”

“I wanted to hurt you, you know.”

Katherine tensed at those words. She looked at Joan, who seemed as ashamed and as guilty as she was.

“I just wanted to—hurt you.” She said again, her voice tight with pain and resentment. “I wanted you to know what it was like to be left alone and picked last and be unwanted by everyone you’ve ever known. I wanted you to Know what it felt like to have everything taken from you. I wanted for me to have everything for you to have nothing.” She looked up at Katherine and her eyes were like a dark lunar eclipse reflecting on fractured ice. “I wanted you to feel in your soul what you’ve done to me.”

But we HAVE! Past Katherine cried. We’ve endured more than this moon-eyed freak ever has in both of her lives combined! We know what it’s like to suffer. She doesn’t.

Suffering comes in many ways. Katherine growled, impatient with her past self.

Yeah, but I think being raped and abused by four adult men several times takes the cake. Past Katherine said bitterly, and she seemed to be rolling her eyes wherever she was in Katherine’s head.

“I’m sorry you felt that way.” Katherine said softly after a moment.

Joan whimpered pitifully. “And you say you’re awful.” She propped her elbows on the table and clutched her head. “If you heard the thoughts I have about you, you’d be running for the hills.”

It’s my fault. Katherine thought sadly. I did this to her. I broke this poor, innocent girl.

No, Past Katherine said. We didn’t do anything. We aren’t some monster, SHE is. You heard what she said. And, besides, we can’t be a bad person. We went through hell, we’re allowed to be—

You think that’s an excuse? Katherine scoffed. Just because we were abused and taken advantage of, doesn’t mean we can’t be a bitch. Victims of trauma can still be assholes, idiot. And, news flash, we were one.

Past Katherine merely huffed and probably rolled her eyes again.

Doesn’t matter now. The damage is done. She’s broken, as you said. She can’t be fixed. She said. Look at her, she’s already falling to pieces.

What?

Katherine looked up sharply to see Joan bracing both hands on the table and swaying slightly. The flush on her cheeks was now much darker than the dust and paint.

All it took was a cough to rattle her frame and make her fall.

Katherine was out of her chair before she even knew what she was really doing, controlled by those new motherly instincts. She ran over to Joan, who now laid dazed on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling. She propped her up in her arms; her face was so hot when she touched it. And her eyes—oh, her eyes...

“Moon Eyes! Moon Eyes! Moon Eyes!” The chant she used to yell when Joan passed by echoed in her head, but she couldn’t help it because when she gazed down at those twin pits of molten silver, all she saw was a pale creature of night in her arms. Its eyes were pieces of the moon it stole from the sky and shoved into the deep hollows in their face, hoping to make them more human, but it didn’t. It never did. The moonborn white alien remained outlandish and otherworldly.

Joan shuddered in her hold. She tried to blink even faster to ward off apparent dizziness, but it did little to help her.

“You’re running a fever.” Katherine told her. “Joan, you’re burning up.”

“Why do you care?” Joan choked out.

“I’m worried about you, honey.”

“But why?” Joan sobbed, tears now cascading down her cheeks, like the moons glowing in her eye sockets were melting from the heat of her fever. “You don’t care about me! Nobody cares about me!”

That’s true. Past Katherine put in helpfully, but Katherine shoves her voice into the darker reaches of her mind.

“People do care about you.” Katherine assured the weeping girl. “I promise. I promise they do.”

Joan gazed up at her before the fever consumed her. She went limp in the queen’s arms and, for a moment, Katherine saw something paler than her moons—the whites of her eyes when they rolled back in her skull.

—

You really shouldn’t touch her. Past Katherine chided as Katherine was feeling Joan’s forehead again. It was wet with sweat again, despite her already wiping it off two times in that hour.

Shut up. Katherine growled.

She looked down at Joan, who she had carried into the master bedroom and tucked into the bed. The girl was breathing harshly through her mouth, soft whimpers and murmurs falling from her pale lips every once and awhile. Katherine had done her best to make her comfortable, but she was still quite new to the whole caretaker thing, even with the memories of watching Jane tend to her so many times before.

Those were the days, Past Katherine sighed wistfully.

I thought I told you to shut up.

You don’t tell me what to do. I can do and say whatever I want.

You can’t control me.

For now.

Katherine shuddered. She hated how ominous that sounded.

She got up from where she was perched on the side of the bed and looked around the room for pajamas. She hated snooping in Joan’s clothes of all things (when she accidentally opened the undergarment drawer, she slammed it shut with so much force she was surprised the whole thing didn’t explode into tiny wood shavings), but the poor girl was probably sweating through what she was wearing right down and that wouldn’t be too comfortable.

After a bit of searching, she eventually found a fresh shirt and some shorts, but it wasn’t the only thing she dug out. In a drawer near the ground, beneath a thin blanketing of folding T-shirts, there were papers and canvases and notebooks. Without really wanting to, she began to look through them.

Oh my god, Past Katherine muttered in her brain.

They were drawings of her. Her from the past. Not all of them, but—there were just so many.

Paintings of her bloody or dead or drawn to look like a succubus, paintings too smeared with red to see what had been originally displayed upon the surface, paintings that were ripped on her face, as if Joan had taken a knife to the canvases and cut it to shreds. There were half finished paintings with tear stains and marks where the paint bled with the droplets and paintings that had horrible things scribbled around an abstract headshot of her face. There was even a painting of a dead cat with a hot pink rhinestone collar.

And then there were paintings of Joan crying, Joan bleeding pink blood, Joan dying or already dead, Joan hanging from a noose and Joan cutting her wrists and cutting her throat and cutting every inch of her body until she had scraped off every shred of unwanted and unliked flesh—until she was more like Katherine was.

There was a painting of a ram with red paint that Katherine was sure wasn’t actually red paint.

And, underneath all the canvas carnage, there was one larger than the rest. A painting of a hideous, skeletal creature as pale as snow, but with eyes that were somehow even paler. They were too big, too. Its stomach was so sunken—she could see every rib poking out from the bleached flesh. The fingers were too long and tipped with short black claws. There were cuts engraved all over its body that wept blue blood.

Somehow, Katherine knew exactly what this was supposed to depict.

Moon Eyes. Past Katherine said bitterly.

Katherine screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of a plan she once had to spread the cruel joke on social media. She gripped the edges of the canvas tightly.

What have I done? She thought. This poor girl... I ruined her.

You didn’t do anything. Past Katherine said, miffed. And neither did I. Some people just get subjected to bad things. Like we did in back then. Not that this is anything like that. That was a real problem, this is just a little schoolyard teasing. She broke herself by losing her mind over this. I mean, look at these paintings. She’s insane.

You’re terrible. Katherine growled. Will you grow up? I’ve accepted what we did, why can’t you?

Because she doesn’t deserve your pity. Past Katherine responded distastefully. She’s a nobody, and you know that. Nobody even knows WHY she came back. There are hundreds of more important people that could have been reincarnated, our sister, for example, but NO. We got this moonborn, moon-eyed, night owl, pale FREAK.

SHUT UP! Katherine roared. With a blast of blazing fury, she forcibly threw her past self into the darkest reaches of her mind.

Blackness soon filled her head like inky bile. Silence.

Katherine put all the canvases back into the drawer and closed it. She stood up quietly and crept back over to the bed. She picked up the rag lying in the bowl of water she had brought in and began to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on Joan’s face.

You did this to her, She whispered to herself, this time with her own voice, not her creaking past one’s. You ruined her. Broke her. She’s messed up, now, because of you.

She put the rag back into the bowl, then watched Joan sleep. Her face was scrunched up, as if she was in pain even in her sleep.

She doesn’t know pain. The hiss of her past self bubbled in her ears. If you want to pity her so badly, then give her a reason to be in pain. Hurt her more than we were hurt. Scar her until even Jane will have to feel bad for her. If that’s truly what you want. Because nobody will believe she’s hurt until you make it visible.

And so, Katherine peeled back Joan’s eyelids and dug her fingers into her eye sockets. She scooped up the pale orbs and pulled them out of their black cavities. She held the moons in her hands. She rolled them around in her palms, feeling their smoothness and squishiness and warmth against her skin, and then they lolled around and blinked up at her.

Joan jerked awake with an anguished wail. The moons lodged in her face are so wide and so pale and so very lonely, like they longed to be back in the sky. Katherine’s fingers twitched; she thought she could feel the webs of blood dripping through them.

You could always put her out of her misery. Past Katherine said. Nobody would miss her. Nobody would even look for her.

But Katherine silenced her voice before she could project another horrendous vision in her brain. When she reached out to Joan, she didn’t go for her eyes, but rather her cheeks, and she cupped them tenderly, like she was trying to hold Joan together while she was about to shatter.

“Shh, shh,” She hushed the weeping girl. “It’s okay, sweetie. It was just a dream. You’re alright. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. I promise.”

It’s the least she could do, seeing as she was the one who stole the moons and put them in her head in the first place.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six the musical au #katherine howard #joan on the keys #swallow the moon #momward

[aion-rsa]

Anime For Beginners: Best Genres and Series to Watch

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The past decade has seen anime’s popularity increase in dramatic ways, whether through a much broader spectrum of series receiving dubs, the growing success of anime feature films in theaters, or the sudden prominence of streaming services. There’s never been a better time to be an anime fan and the medium has become more accessible than ever. There’s a lot of anime out there, but the wealth of new series can often blend together or not be given a fair chance. Additionally, there are definitely certain types of anime that are more prominently showcased outside of Japan. 

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For the uninitiated it’s easy to assume that anime consists of giant robots, monsters that battle, and strong fighters and magical girls that transform, but that’s really just a fraction of what the medium has to offer. Words like shonen, shojo, isekai, and even reverse harem are used in reference to anime, which can sometimes feel overwhelming when someone just wants to watch a silly romantic comedy or superhero clone. Here’s a helpful breakdown of all of the major anime genres and where to get started with them all.

Shonen

The shonen genre is by far the most popular brand of anime and the majority of breakout hits and major successes like Dragon Ball Z, Naruto, and One Piece all fit into the shonen brand. What’s interesting about anime genres is that they’re treated more like demographics and shonen is content that caters to boys with a young male protagonist. Shonen is so accessible because beyond this basic disclaimer, it’s able to cover a wide berth of content and a show like My Hero Academia can be completely different from Yu Yu Hakusho, yet they can still fall back on the same values. 

Shonen anime has largely been generalized to be series that feature lots of fighting and battles, which isn’t always the case, but has become quite representative of the genre. Shonen series are ideal for people that want lots of action and are hungry for a show that has hundreds of episodes to consume.

Notable Series To Watch: Yu Yu Hakusho, Hunter x Hunter, My Hero Academia, Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Attack On Titan

Shojo

Shojo is the female counterpart to the shonen genre that caters towards an audience of girls rather than boys. The shojo genre isn’t entirely bereft of battles, but it’s a style of anime where relationships and emotional drama is the priority or the source of power. There are many eclectic kinds of shojo series that are content to explore awkward relationship drama where there’s typically some kind of atypical supernatural element afoot. 

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However, the most popular style of shojo that’s largely become emblematic of the genre are “magical girl” series where regular girls transform into powerful warriors. There’s also typically a bright and pastoral aesthetic to shojo series and characters, both female and male, are beautified. Shojo anime is absolutely the place where the power of love will triumph over evil.

Notable Series To Watch: Sailor Moon, Cardcaptor Sakura, Fruits Basket, Vampire Knight, My Love Story!!

Seinen

Seinen is the R-rated evolution of the shonen genre that’s geared towards a more adult male audience that can handle mature storytelling. That’s not to say that shonen series can’t be violent or deal with adult situations, but seinen series often center around antiheroes and adult characters who are disenfranchised as opposed to optimistic youth that want to save the future. 

Some of the most sophisticated and challenging anime series come out of the seinen genre and it’s a great place for people to jump in that are looking for a story that’s not overly drawn out and achieves the same dramatic peaks as prestige television. Seinen once more comes down to the viewers’ preferences and there are science fiction, horror, and fantasy seinen shows that all deconstruct their material in different ways. As a point of comparison, major anime movies like Akira or Ghost in the Shell both fit into the seinen genre.

Notable Series To Watch: Kill La Kill, Berserk, Ping Pong The Animation, Vinland Saga, Dorohedoro

Josei

Josei is the more mature version of shojo content and it’s full of series that are designed for women as opposed to girls. Romance is a big component of josei series, but it’s more concerned about the harsh realities behind relationships than the flirtatious courtship that kicks things off. Josei love stories are messy and full of heartbreak and they’re less romanticized than shojo’s interpretation of love. 

A trashy way of putting it would be to say that Twilight is shojo, but Fifty Shades of Grey is seinen. Matters of the heart don’t always have to fuel josei series and there are also plenty of shows that center around adult women as they negotiate through professional and creative endeavors. It’s a place to find less flowery female-driven stories.

Notable Series To Watch: Chihayafuru, The Gokusen, Honey And Clover, Nana, Princess Jellyfish

Isekai

The isekai genre is perfect for fans of fantasy and this style of anime has become wildly popular over the course of the past decade. Isekai anime is any show where a character gets transported away to a fantastical new world. It’s a classic storytelling idea, but anime has been able to run with it in some creative new ways. There’s an abundance of isekai series that incorporate video game aesthetics and there are now just as many series where characters are trapped in a video game world than some alternate fantasy dimension. 

Isekai can focus on the protagonist’s mission to return home, act as a savior in their new world, or simply kill time and enjoy the vacation. There are even reverse isekai anime where a supernatural character gets stuck on Earth and must acclimate. Arguably the biggest most mainstream example of isekai content is Spirited Away, but even something as foundational as Alice in Wonderland would qualify.

Notable Series To Watch: Overlord, Re: Zero – Starting Life In Another World, That Time I Got Reincarnated Into A Slime, KonoSuba, No Game No Life

Ecchi

Ecchi is that brand of anime that’s generalized to be the oversexed content that’s likely to make someone blush if they were watching it in public. Ecchi is any sort of anime series that prioritizes a certain sexiness and isn’t afraid to showcase its assets and indulge in “fan service.” Ecchi anime usually has a lot of skin on display, but it’s far from empty content and there’s an important distinction between something like this and actual pornography. 

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Ecchi series titillate, but they still are concerned about their story and characters. There’s inevitably going to be some overlap between ecchi and seinen content (Kill La Kill is a series that really tows the line between both), but there’s often more of a gratuitous playfulness that drives ecchi content. Sexualized characters may bring in the audience, but the series are still deep enough to maintain their interests.

Notable Series To Watch: High School DxD, High School Of The Dead, Rosario To Vampire, Strike The Blood, Prison School

Mecha

Mecha anime are widely prominent and the visual of gigantic robots locked in combat as they fly through outer space feels like a tentpole of the anime industry. There’s a large awareness towards mecha series and it’s even entered mainstream live-action content through works like Pacific Rim. However, this visibility also makes mecha content easy to generalize and some may write it off without understanding the versatility of the genre. Mecha anime can be broken down further into real robot and super robot series, each of which apply a different level of realism to these unrealistic creations. 

Real robot series might focus more on the humans that pilot the machines and the politics that surround mecha, whereas super robot content can feature robots that destroy planets with giant lasers. There can be a lot of gratuitous action in mecha series, but the human element in shows like Appleseed and Neon Genesis Evangelion, or how various Mobile Suit Gundam properties are dedicated to the casualties of war, is proof that mecha anime can be a lot more than just giant robot battles.

Notable Series To Watch: Mobile Suit Gundam, Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, Appleseed, Mobile Police Patlabor, Neon Genesis Evangelion

Harem

Romance is popular in any medium and there’s often exceptional tension that’s created from out of a love triangle. One genre of anime takes that idea and seriously exaggerates it in a way that can sometimes be problematic, but has spawned a popular style of anime all the same. Harem series center around a hapless male protagonist who stumbles into some incredible situation where a large group of girls–all of contrasting personalities–fall head-over-heels in love with him. 

Harem anime can come across as baseless wish fulfillment fantasy, but the broad structure allows many other genres to mix together with it in a productive way. A lot of the time these series will center on the actual characters and the complex relationship dynamics involved and try to say something that may not be explored in a josei or ecchi series. There are also reverse harem series, which take the same idea, but flip the genders where multiple men fawn over a woman.

Notable Series To Watch: Tenchi Muyo!, The World Only God Knows, Nisekoi, To LOVE-Ru, Ouran High School Host Club

Gag

Anime series are able to achieve a lot of things that just can’t be accomplished in other forms of animation or programming. Comedy is something that’s able to connect extremely hard in anime and operate at an absurdist level that uses visuals, timing, and premises that are rare to find elsewhere. Many anime series have a sense of humor or are even specifically designed as comedies, but gag anime are a different breed that operate at an overwhelmingly relentless pace. 

Reality and the fourth wall are just things to break in gag series, which often engage in wild parodies and lampshade anime as a whole. Some gag anime have extended storylines, but they often operate in shorter vignette style sequences that allow the comedy to really pop. Gag anime thrive in pop culture references and some of the hardest times I’ve laughed in my entire life have been at gag series like Mr. Osomatsu and Gintama where comedy is king.

Notable Series To Watch: Gintama, The Disastrous Life Of Saiki K, Pop Team Epic!, Mr. Osomatsu, Excel Saga 

Slice Of Life

Slice of life anime are those endlessly soothing series that don’t try to create major spectacles where the planet is at risk, but instead celebrate the mundanity of life. Slice of life series may center around the staff at a job, a group of friends in a high school club, or just a loner that’s moved to a new community. These are series that elegantly display the tiny moments that make life important and the bonds that create eternal friendships.

The stakes are often more muted in slice of life anime, but that doesn’t mean that they’re without tension or can’t dabble in fantastical material. There are still slice of life anime series that involve magical creatures or are set in unbelievable worlds. It’s sometimes even more humbling to learn that some planet in a far away solar system has a struggling chess club or that a dinosaur can be obsessed with different brands of candy.

Notable Series To Watch: The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzumiya, Toradora!, K-On!, Dagashi Kashi, Clannad

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[potteresque-ire]

Daenerys Stormborn, First of Her Name

Here’s my first review post on Game of Thrones! Thank you so much for asking about Daenerys, @bixgirl1, @kikibluemay and @oceaxe-ifdawn. She was fascinating and tragic, and I couldn’t really stop talking about her... as in, I ended up writing a 4k+ word essay on her character.

Due to the length, I’ve crossed-posted to AO3 for those who prefer to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119595 . As usual, never feel obliged to do anything! Fandom is a happy, carefree place for me :) .

Before I start, I’d like to say this—I’ve never expected GoT to be progressive. Its medieval aesthetics aside, the gratuitous violence and nudity really seal the deal. Therefore, this review is written decidedly without a social justice lens; I shall not argue if the showrunners were feminists, racists, imperialists etc. Also, I haven’t read the books and have read few metas and reviews; so these are my unfiltered thoughts and of course, my personal opinion. I got interested in Game of Thrones because the snippets I knew of it reminded me of ancient Chinese history, which I loved for its twists, its very blurred lines between truths and myths, its cynical record of human nature, clever strategies and bloodshed. Along this vein, I was, and still am, the most interested in how each contender of the Iron Throne got there, and as the theme of the story emerged (“the lies we spin, our fates they weave” is my way of describing it), the things they told for motivation—the lies and truths that, should they win, would become history.

Of all the contenders and their stories, Daenerys’ rise was the most…mythical and uplifting. She was easy to root for, partly because we’re conditioned to root for heroes like her. The last descendant of a dynasty. Orphan. Exiled, abused, went through her personal journey from little better than a slave to become queen. She even birthed dragons and rode them to war. I really enjoyed the part of her story as the Khaleesi. She grew into a queen in every way, and an ideal one, by the time led her small group of followers across the desert. I loved her—she was strong, resilient, intelligent, righteous. And she understood and respected a culture that was supposedly far below her (as her brother Viserys frequently reminded everyone). 

But then came Astapor, then Yunkai, then Meereen. She became a true ruler, without a Khal by her side… 

I started feeling a little uncomfortable. I was puzzled by that. Her cause was emancipation, one I believe was absolutely correct. Her stance was uncompromising. She walked the walk. Every single one of these traits was beyond admirable, and precious among rulers. Nailing 163 slave masters for 163 children might seem brutal, but the world of GoT *was* brutal. 

And yet, something felt...off.

Then I realized: after all the screen time in Meereen, I remained very much ignorant of the place, other than it practiced slavery. Slavery—and the barbaric practices surrounding it, such as the fighting pits—was presented as the only thing that defined her new constituents in her eyes. This could be by design, to show Daenerys’ “style” as a ruler. This can also be a reflection of the showrunners’ perspectives, their disquiet about tackling slavery for a larger audience.  But if I must judge the show by its own merits and ignore the hands behind it, the repeated shots of Daenerys sitting high in the Great Pyramid, she and her advisors donned in their foreign attire, telling the locals who looked nothing like them, over and over again, that they were wrong… 

She looked like a coloniser. My radars were beeping for that reason. I grew up in a colony, a well cared for one (ie, it would’ve fared far worse if it hadn’t been colonised). Colonialism is therefore an integral part of my life, and my views of it are coloured and educated by the experience. Controversial point: far from a general rule, but I recognise that colonizers can do great good. I’m a beneficiary of that myself. However, I’ve also learned that there’s an art to bringing these great goods to the colonised. One lesson: defining these people, especially when they’re foreign to the ruler, with anything that the ruler is seeking to eradicate — a habit, a tradition, a set of beliefs… —is not a recipe for success. It’s a matter of human pride—the pride of, in this case, the people who’d just suffered defeat. The former ruling class needs to feel some respect, which translates to a sense of security, for any transition of power to be smooth. One may say, the slave masters deserved neither pride nor respect nor security; this is very true, but there was a very practical consideration, one that Daenerys acknowledged: the ultimate goal of conquest is to rule. An un-governable colony won’t change for the better, because it won’t remain a colony for long. In Meereen, as in many real-world colonies, colonisers were few and their constituents were many. Revolts would favour the latter, in particular, the former ruling class who often had both financial and geographical advantages. The Sons of Harpy’s revolt did address that, albeit weakly.

No, I don’t mean Daenerys should yield on the issue of slavery. Lives were at stake and the emancipation had to be immediate. But then, merely insisting this was the right thing to do and punishing offenders with increasing severity, while reinforcing the segregation between the ruling class and the ruled (Daenerys pretty much sequestered herself in the Great Pyramid), was not a direction to take to render the emancipation permanent. Daenerys had to be out there. She had to make serious effort to find common grounds in the 3-way between herself, the former slaves and former slave owners, especially after she’d removed one of the pillars of Meereen’s sociopolitical structure. It didn't matter that the latter were despicable; she had to find a connection. And being a nation that had stood thousands of years, with its wealth and fine architecture, Meereen had got to have something benign and beautiful that Queen Daenerys could embrace, that she could use as a bridge to endear her to her constituents and at the same time, de-emphasize the role of slavery in defining what Meereen was. Wear their clothes. Visit the temples. Whether she actually believed in their gods didn’t matter. Join their festivities—if she did it enough it would matter much less if she skipped the fighting pits. Go to their Flea’s Bottom equivalent (as Margaery Tyrell did in King’s Landing; she would’ve made a good colonial governor). Talk to their craftsman and ask about their traditional crafts. Never for once did Daenerys consider these strategies. She could’ve used Tyrion as her ambassador—his stature and broken language skills, if utilized correctly, could loosen people’s defense, and the parties he’d attend would give him access to the good wines he craved and the setting for him to establish alliances with small talks. If governing foreign lands is indeed an art form, Daenerys didn’t pursue it in Meereen, even though from her time with the Dothrakis, it seemed unlikely that she was ignorant of its necessity (She did eat a horse heart for her Khal and her unborn child).

Again, assuming that the writers were merely following GRRM’s guideposts on her character arc, I had to contend with these possibilities that inform me about Daenerys the Ruler: 1) somewhere in her journey in Essos, she’d lost her ability to empathize with the cultures under her rule. This seemed unlikely. Or, 2) she no longer felt the need to do it, her power no longer derived from a Khal. Either way, with Westeros also being foreign to Daenerys, I started to wonder the kind of ruler she would end up being … 

… and it looked rather similar to the Daenerys in her final scenes, asserting that her moral compass should make the entire Westeros bent their knees. I started to wonder if the show intended this to be a good or bad thing, or something more nuanced, as it should be. My hopes weren’t high—after all, our own western world still retains much of its colonial sensibilities, which would’ve (rightly) praised Daenerys’ role as a Liberator, but would also (sub)consciously downplay her … colonising tendencies. 

Does it mean I see Daenerys as a bad person, or going mad? Not at all. Conflating character and ability to rule is, IMO, one of the major weaknesses of her ending (more on that later); it was also, perhaps ironically, Daenerys’ own fatal mistake. My question is merely one about her fitness to rule, which is itself a fluid thing. War-time rulers require different skills compared to peace-time rulers, conquerors to defenders. The serious contenders of the Iron Throne each had their own strengths, some better suited for rulership and some better for rulership at different times. Stannis was a strong general but was too easily swayed as a ruler. Daenerys was a conqueror. Jon Snow was a diplomat. 

One thing, however, is true and consistent in the world of GoT: to gain power, being morally righteous is not enough. Ned Stark’s detached head brought this point across all too well. Rulers win the hearts of their people. Not the brains, not the logic that decides what is right or wrong. Humans are inherently passionate about power, whether it’s theirs to own or not.

And this is, perhaps, Daenerys Stormborn’s greatest tragedy. She assumed her strict moral compass, along with her birthright and strong will, would be sufficient to take her to the Iron Throne. Her dragons further misguided her in that regard—punishments by Dracarys lent an extra mythical weight and poetry to her judgments, as if she had a higher power, like God, on her side. When she asked Jon Snow if she was to rule with love or fear, she asked as if the two were a dichotomy, seemingly blind to the fact that she had always treaded the line between the two. Love got her the Unsullied, the talents who came far and wide to advise her; fear got her the Dothrakis, the fragile peace in Essos. 

If you’ve read till here (thank you), you may assume I’d defend Daenerys’ decision to burn King’s Landing, or suggest it was foreshadowed. I’d say this: I find it to be within the realms of possibility, but only given my personal opinion about her rule in Meereen. I don’t see it as a botched coin-flip by the Gods, because nothing in her prior judgment suggested madness. Yes, she’d ignored advice before, but no more than, say, Robert Baratheon or Joffrey (Cersei simply killed those who gave her advice she didn’t like). Daenerys’ decision to march to King’s Landing immediately after the Battle of Winterfell—the last major decision she made before the sacking—might not be wise to some but was logically sound. I’d also venture to say this, perhaps in defence of the show’s writers: I’m also not quite sure if the show intended her decision to be a proof of madness. 

Because I’m not sure if the madness told in this show was real at all. 

Because curiously, while the coin flip had been mentioned several times, the show never offered us any concrete, visual evidence that Daenerys had suffered a loss of reason, which defines madness for us who live on Earth in the 21st century. The destruction of King’s Landing was portrayed at the ground level; we didn’t exactly see Daenerys cackling, or enjoying the carnage. Making a terrible decision does not a mad person make. She was seen to be sure of herself in her final scene with Jon Snow—but why shouldn’t she be, when she’d just emerged victorious and achieved her life’s goal, her revenge? If cockiness had been the mark of madness, half of the characters in the show would’ve been mad. 

Even more curious to me is this: people like Ramsey or Joffrey or Cersei, who’d done seriously mad things in our perspective, were never once described as “mad”. The adjective “Mad” had always been reserved for the Mad King. 

How was the Mad King mad then? This is important, because Daenerys supposedly inherited his madness. But the audience hadn’t been given much information. We know The Mad King killed his dissidents, but that seemed to fall within standard monarch behaviour. We know he and his advisors—including, notably, Varys—were at increasing odds with each other, but put a bunch of power-hungry men with immense power imbalance in the same room and that would happen more likely than not. He killed Ned Stark’s father and brother in a confrontation—so he was vengeful, distrustful, and brutal, yes, just like Joffrey or Cersei, but still, nothing that spoke particularly of madness. He was said to want King’s Landing destroyed, but the act was never realized; we only learned of his intentions via Jaimie. He set up the network of wildfires, which were terrible weapons but also … traditional in the Targaryen dynasty, if wildfires had indeed been invented as replacements of Dracarys. So how mad was actually the Mad King then, compared to his ancestors? Or was he called Mad only because he lost his game of thrones, and history was written by victors? When Varys claimed to be worried about Daenerys’ state—when he hinted at her madness and being a bad coin flip—was he merely repeating the same lies that had been told about her father, with the purpose of setting up a chain reaction that would propel Jon Snow to the Iron Throne, as the same lies had helped justify and cement Robert Baratheon’s reign? Varys might have been trying to feed Daenerys something. A “crazy potion”, maybe?  

Yes, I know. I’m probably reading too much into this. It’s my wishful thinking, perhaps, to not see Daenerys as mad (or the writers writing her as mad) because that would’ve taken away her agency. Because Daenerys’ character arc doesn’t deserve an ending equivalent to death by a falling flowerpot. Because, if her sacking of King’s Landing was meant to be the Shock of Season 8, she must retain her agency. It’s shocking because a good person did it. A good person is good only when she has the agency to make terrible mistakes.

So how am I reading Daenerys’ decision to sack King’s Landing? If I were to ignore all inputs outside the show—I don’t know if the showrunners had commented on anything—this is how I would “bridge the gap”, so to speak; how I’d imagine the thoughts running through Daenery’s mind as the bells rang, behind the few seconds the camera focused on Emilia Clark’s face in the show. I believe the series of tragedies Daenerys had suffered (losing Jorah, Missandei, a dragon son) had only made her more determined to wipe out, as Greyworm told Jon, everyone who’d served Cersei. But while this sounded like a simple task, carrying it out was much more complicated. Cersei’s armies were dispersed all over the city; they could easily remove their armour and feign innocence. Moreover, every resident in King’s Landing could be seen as an accomplice to Cersei’s reign; even the people in Flea’s Bottom, like Gendry, used to make weapons for the Lannisters. Were they to be wiped out as well? If not, where to draw the line? This order nonetheless confirmed Daenerys’ world view that the morally corrupt should perish without mercy, and Cersei was, indeed, corruption defined. Daenerys had seen Cersei’s treachery herself, and the sheer scale of it must be as foreign to her as Westeros itself. Her closest friends and followers, Greyworm and Missandei, didn’t even know how to tell a joke—the smallest, most benign form of treachery. Daenerys knew what treachery was, of course, she’d suffered greatly from it, but treachery in the game of thrones was a different beast and she wasn’t yet equipped to handle it, to make correct assessments of the kind of behaviours it’d instigate—unlike Cersei and Tyrion, who as Lannisters had been breathing it in since birth, or Varys, who’d been both an observer of multiple reigns and a ruthless Kingmaker himself. King’s Landing, the city itself, had also signified little but treachery to Daenerys—her father had been murdered there by someone who’d sworn to protect him; men had been sent from there to murder her since she’d been born. 

While Tyrion had told said that Cersei’s armies were serving only out of fear, Daenerys, who’d only had the most faithful / honest armies, the Unsullies and Dothrakis, probably couldn’t truly appreciate what that meant. She had every cause to be terrified then when the bells rang, especially when they rang so early, without her or her army and allies even close to the Red Keep. Ironically, perhaps, her own moral righteousness became her blind spot; she might have assumed Cersei’s forces had something far more sinister waiting for her—because how could they abandon their duties, their queen so easily?

And if they did abandon their duties and their queen so easily, what would stop them from committing the same treachery when Daenerys becomes queen herself? How could she vet the innocent and the treacherous and if she couldn’t—and she couldn’t, not with one dragon, a small army and no geographical advantage—what could she do? What could she do, when she was Daenerys Stormborn, who would never compromise to treachery?

I can see her feeling cornered. I can see her feeling she was left with one option: take the innocents out with the treachery. Do it like removing a tumour. Cut out a ring of good flesh around the bad. 

The ring of good flesh was King’s Landing.

Plausible? Maybe? That tragically, both the rise and fall of Daenerys Targaryen could be attributed to her moral code? That she didn’t lose this game of thrones because she was evil, but because war and politics have always been amoral and she was a misfit? People in Westeros change allegiance all the time; morals are fluid and carry a price tag. Appropriately then, the man who understood and lived by these rules, whose loyalty could always be bought—Bronn—was also the biggest winner of this game of thrones.

I’d say this though:  a plot point as significant, and as close to the finale as the sacking of King’s Landing, shouldn’t require the audience twisting their minds into pretzels to make it feel plausible, and my brain feels a bit pretzly at a moment. No matter what the writers intended, there remained too many holes for the watchers to fill with their imagination. I’ve read some who said the final season was too rushed; I’m not sure that was the issue. The issue, I think, is that even if given enough screen time, the writers didn’t quite know how to drive the characters without the books’ guidance—an issue that had become apparent by Season 6. The last three seasons felt…derivative, like fanfics of the first four. This isn’t a slight (well, not a big one)—Benioff and Weiss had managed what GRRM hasn’t been able to—but I felt a sense that their visions of the world had evolved to conflict with GRRM’s over the course of the show. Meanwhile, they still needed to hit the goal posts GRRM provided, while they wanted to focus on / believe in something else. The result was the later seasons that felt …schizophrenic at times. GoT had highly implausible moments since Season 1, but the first four seasons sold them because the showrunners believed in them. S8 Ep5&6, meanwhile, offered enough for me to logically agree that the sacking of King’s Landing and Daenerys’ downfall can be canon, but not enough for me to believe emotionally because…I didn’t feel the showrunners believed in them. The events felt written to serve a purpose other than storytelling—maybe to match GRRM’s notes, or satisfy the perceived need to shock; in all cases, I felt the hearts of the writers were somewhere else, somewhere perhaps more spectacular than dissecting the motivations of a fallen queen. The shift towards visual storytelling in the later seasons, perhaps to mitigate the difficulty of writing dialogues for an ensemble of deeply complex and intertwined characters, furthered exposed the incoherence of the show’s focus. While I love the visuals, GoT had its origins as a political show and politics is 99% talk. Similarly, the increased reliance on the actors to convey their characters via facial expressions and body language might work for someone like Brienne, who was taciturn and largely consistent personality wise, but insufficient for characters who used talking as a weapon (Tyrion) or underwent major transformations (Daenerys). 

Anyway, back to Dany. If there was one thing I truly, truly dislike about the close of her story arc, it was the very end, when Jon Snow drove that dagger into her. Painfully cliche aside (I’ll leave Cersei’s baby to another day), it also unfairly cemented Daenery’s highly un-rightful place as the villain of the story, given that Jon Snow, the uncontested Good Human of the show, committed the murder. The show pitted two sympathetic characters against each other just to let one … leech the sympathy out of the other, when neither of their characters deserved the treatment (yes, I found this decision to be as unfair to Jon Snow as it was to Daenerys). As much as I had reservations about Daenery’s ability to govern, I never doubted the heart that Jon stabbed, the desire in it to do good for the people. Yes, I said it isn’t enough, and yes, I believe that too inflexible a moral code forcibly imposed upon others can do great damage, but this is very different from saying that Daenerys Stormborn was a villain. Conflating character and ability is human, but I expected this show to know enough nuance to avoid this mistake. Having the heart, the desire to rule well, is a start. A great and important start. A start seen in few others in the whole series. The early seasons of GoT were particularly strong in depicting characters in the grey but Daenerys, sadly, was robbed of that; she swung violently from white to black.

And what was so disappointing is that it needn’t be that way. Daenerys could have caused the destruction to King’s Landing and still be sympathetic. Queen Cersei was still in the Red Keep, and the Wildfires buried by the Mad King remained all over the city. Innocents die in wars, there’s never an exception to that, even if the wars are waged with the best intentions. I’m no show writer, but this is what I could come up with to spare Daenery’s fate as a villain after a few walking trips around my city, while keeping most major plot points intact. Show writers can do (much) better. 

Just for the fun of it, below is the alternative ending for Daenerys I came up with, and I will end my very, very long thesis here :) . Thank you so, so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

===

1) Start of the episode. Qyburn teaching his little birds a nursery rhyme about a Mad King and his Wildfires, and an Evil Queen who will set them all burning. He tells them to sing far and wide. (This is just an excuse to get another song from Ramin Djawadi)

2) Long shots of combustibles being laid in the same tunnels Lancel Lannister crawled through back in Season 6 Ep 10, before the explosion of the Sept of Baelor. That 10-minute sequence was so classic that the audience would likely remember the place. Piles of wood connect the stores of barrels that we know contain the Wildfires. Black tar flows down the sewers of the Red Keep, down the alleys in Flea Bottom, slicking everything, staining the innocents there with (Queen Cersei’s) muck. This sequence can be done entirely through visuals.

3) The Bell rings. Daenerys attacks the Red Keep with Dracarys. The tar and wood catch fire and carry the flames to the Wildfires around the city. As Wildfire is Dracarys’ substitute, the two augments each other and the city soon turns into an Inferno. Daenerys watches, horrified and unable to do a thing. The nursery rhyme becomes a prophecy: as much as a Lannister laid the grounds, the Targaryens are solely responsible for the King’s Landing destruction. Woods and tar are, after all, harmless without fire. And Daenerys Stormborn, who swore to protect and liberate the weak, ends up killing more innocents than Cersei ever had. 

4) Tyrion advises Daenerys that for now, she has no choice but to rule by fear. A reign cannot start with apologies, and what good will it do? So Daenerys gives the same speech to her armies on the steps of the ruined Red Keep, but noticeably distraught.

5) Daenerys must also restrain Drogon. She can’t afford him accidentally setting more fires in the city, while her armies scour every tunnel to make sure all Wildfires have been consumed. So the Breaker of Chains is forced to chain down her son, the symbol of her power.

6) Drogon, being intelligent but still a beast, maims Daenerys badly in his struggle to be free. Jon finds Daenerys, but she’s beyond saving. She tells Jon to keep what he saw secret, and if he can’t—she knows he can’t—to please lie for her, for once, that Drogon did it to avenge for the innocents she killed; that Drogon, and their family name he represents, knows justice above the fire and blood. When honest Jon reacts…honestly, she asks him to ask Tyrion for advice. She struggles to stand, says she wants to try the Iron Throne before she goes. She refuses Jon’s help; she walks, head high, blood trailing like a cape behind her, as she crosses the ruins. She won’t make it. Only her finger will get to touch the Iron Throne, as in her prophecy in the House of the Undying. Jon kneels behind her as she falls on her own knees. She will always be his queen. Drogon carries her away.

7) The waiting period can be a mourning period for all who have perished. Tyrion will still recommend Bran to be their King, as his proposal will be accepted as he remains the Hand. Jon would’ve asked Tyrion about the lying, and the issue can be brought up when “A Song of Ice and Fire” is presented in the small council. King Bran can then offer his wisdom as the Three-Eyed Raven, the Living History. What does he think, when he sees both the truth in history and the lies and prophecies told about it, that propel it? Does he approve of them? Disapprove? This will also wrap up the theme of the show, about the stories that make history, the history that makes us. Ser Davos can ask about the legend of Azor Ahai that cost Stannis Baratheon everything. Is it true? Does it matter? Also, how many swords actually make up the Iron Throne? Thousands, as the legends and Daenarys had believed? No more than two hundred, as Little Finger said in Season One? How many more swords have been buried for these thousands or hundreds?

#got #got spoilers #daenerys targaryen #dany targaryen #pie reviews GoT #pie metas

[terraforged]

Tfw you make the mistake of talking about gay af Hallow’s End stuff with @/holyforged and then you gotta write it :^(

Fair warning this is, uh, long. Also pretty gay and self gratuitous yikes I’m sorry.

---

Soft thud of wings near soundless as he carried them through Exodar, an endeavour he found frivolous when the walk was not truly a long one-- admittedly it was perhaps a confusing one, the twisting passages of the Exodar a baffling thing even though he had ventured here on occasion. Anduin, however, had asked so very sweetly with a flutter of eyes Wrathion knows to be deliberate yet had fallen for anyway. His king’s amusement to that fact was not lost on Wrathion either, though he would be more inclined to say his reasonings were elsewise.

Autumn was well on its way to claiming the land, a fact even bastion of molten earth was aware of as chilly caress bit at thick scales as metal and crystal finally gave way to inky dark above. With autumn came cold, the bone aching sort which crept in and made its nest quietly, painfully, in places of old hurts. The High King hid it well. Wrathion does not think another mortal might even notice barring the worst of days where stiffness rages through Anduin terribly, but Wrathion is not mortal, is instead top of all food chains within these lands. Any predator knows weakness where they find it; can see the lameness of a sickly deer, the way weight is not carried properly even as they try to hide it.

Anduin was no deer of course, is no meek prey, but Wrathion sees none the less and so he had agreed and allowed elder upon his back. Bore still unfamiliar weight onto himself as gloved hands slide against onyx neck, a wandering caress Wrathion thinks nothing of until he feels tap for his attention.

“There,” Anduin says, voice whipped away from him by winds but heard nonetheless as crimson eyes find illuminated settlement in questions, wings folding into a graceful dip until taloned feet met earth once more with ripple of muscle a ways from the settlement.

Wordlessly he felt Anduin shift upon him as if to dismount, a goal quickly dashed as Wrathion eased into long strides which closed meager distance between they and Azure Watch. It earns him a laugh, one that has wings shuffling where they rest tucked against him.

“Are you looking to replace Reverence?” Words come with light amusement, breath curling in puff of condensation like smoke before the king’s face. A sham of an illusion, but a charming one Wrathion thinks regardless as Anduin prattles on with his nonsense. “He enjoys our morning rides when I have the time! He’ll be really quite upset if you try and take that from him, and he’s already not entirely fond of you~”

For all draconian features did not easily wear emotions flatness still prevailed on his features. “Your human stories that talk of dragons whisking away princesses. They’re very inaccurate. You humans talk far too much to be worth kidnapping.” 

“Are you calling me a princess? Really? Now, that is rich from you. My, what was it you were complaining about just this morning? Other than everything, obviously, as you seem to have a never ending list of complaints--” It was a tangent cut short by deliberate bounce of step, jarring a soft ‘oof’ from Anduin before the fires of Azure Watch cast them in their glow.

On most days there would be shrieks of upset at a black dragon making an appearance, weapons raised in fear, in contempt. Usually Wrathion would scarcely dare allow himself to be caught by so many mortals in true form, and yet tonight such was apparently… acceptable. Hallow’s End was, in his opinion, a rather baffling affair. One that could turn fear into a childish awe as they perhaps simply did not deem him real, did not think it was anything other than a clever illusion. It was a farce, he thought, but as he looked about at garishly costumed children fleeting about with unabashed glee he didn't suppose it mattered. If happiness could still be found even in the midst of such a pointless war then who was he to begrudge it?

Soft gasps rang out as children pointed to Anduin, High King an unexpected sight for seldom did he have time to leave Stormwind say for battle these days, a fact Wrathion thought must weigh heavy upon that soft heart of his. That they were here now, seemingly without cause, without dire urgency spurring Anduin into action, was evidently fascinating to young draenei and visiting humans alike. Even adults murmured as Wrathion finally drew to a stop beside roaring fire, front end dipping until chest hit ground and rear followed, limbs tucking beneath himself much like an overgrown feline which had taken to soaking up warmth.

Feeling tell tale shifting once more Wrathion cranes head around, lifting wing for elder to brace hand upon and steady self as he slid down shoulder to ground. “You’re causing quite the stir! Though, I suppose that should hardly be considered a shock, hm? With how rarely your guard dog lets you--”

“Wrathion,” comes an exasperated sigh from Anduin, cutting Wrathion off from an old argument they have had on several occasions. They would have it on many more if Wrathion were to get his way, though it seemed Anduin was ill inclined to allow today to be such an occasion as he swatted at Wrathion’s snouth earning indignant huff of coiling smoke.

“Very well.” Concession came from the drake as he shifted once more, scaled body heaving to free a foreleg from beneath himself, talons curling into soft dirt as Anduin pulled a well worn leather pack from his back. 

Bold children wander toward king, curiosity dancing in their young eyes as they whisper conspiratorially to one another, emboldened by the soft smile which graced Anduin’s face. The heat of raging fire at Wrathion’s opposing side was, suddenly, almost chilly against the radiant warmth of such an expression, chest constricting sharply, painfully, as Wrathion deftly ignored such a notion as Anduin sat upon extended leg and tucked himself into comfortable crook between neck, shoulder, and once more folded wing.

“You all look very fierce! I do wonder what I might have to appease such scary monsters.” Children drew closer as Anduin dug fingers into pack, withdrawing with a handful of colourful candies which drew delighted squeals of excitement from the gathered children; even a few adults, the elder draenei especially, seemed somehow equal parts amused and baffled by the odd turn of events. The affair earnt yet another gossamer laugh from Anduin, offering the sweets to all-- regardless of age-- who came.

Wrathion had little interest in such things, less so even as Anduin began to regale a story Wrathion thinks he might have heard thrice this week already within Stormwind itself, but one the king tells with just as much enthusiasm as he had every time before. Soon children and adults alike are seated before him, enthralled by the tale Anduin offers to them as yet more confectionary is handed out liberally as Anduin’s voice became a soft drone to Wrathion, a gently lulling thing of sounds more than words.

It was a revere eventually broken by the sound of shuffling, a nervous little cough that finally drew Wrathion’s attention from Anduin and crowd alike to find a young draenei girl dressed as what seemed to be a shaggy owlbear, though one free of mask as she clutched it in little hands to gaze up. A look he met, lazy blinks as third eyelid swept across glowing ruby and gold, her own stare never faltering. 

“People tell lots of scary stories on these cold nights,” she says, shuffling closer ever so in a display that had him arching head back and away in equal measure to recoil ever so and hold her in his gaze. “They tell bad ones about black dragons, sometimes. You don’t seem scary though, not if King Anduin likes you.”

It is a statement that earns a throaty laugh, one that covers the sickly feeling child’s words inspire. “Well, of course I am not trying to be scary! But if I were to then you would certainly be terrified.”

Words seemed to give her pause for beat, eyes dipping as fingers shifted on her mask. The draenei were a terribly thoughtful race Wrathion pondered, philosophical and not as prone to the harsh judgments of other races. Even so, he does not quite expect what she says next.

“You have pretty horns. I’ve never seen a dragon before, though there are many stories written about them.” And he can hear it, that childish curiosity barely hidden at all with a wonder in her eyes he does not think he has ever been confronted with before. It is not the fear he is used to, the distrust that is brandished at him day in, day out. Perhaps that is why he barely reacts as she continues on with a soft, daring; “I thought dragons would be bigger.”

On another day, to another person, such bold insult might have earnt ire from him, but today he merely eyes her silently for a moment before finally, finally dipping head once more until tip of snout is nosing gently into her soft hair, brushing her own little nubs of horns. “Much like yours mine are still growing, but in several years more perhaps we should meet once more so that you might show me how much more magnificent your own become.”

Shallow huff ruffled her hair as she giggled, reaching to touch at scales before he took to nudging her toward rest of crowd. “But for now enjoy the stories. His are far better than tales about dragons, though I’d be very glad if you were to keep that between us. We wouldn’t want our king to get an oversized head from an abundance of compliments, hm? Our secret.” One that was no secret at all really, spoken both too publically and far too loudly to be as much, a fact proven by the amused titters that sound as she joins the other children as one story closes and another begins.

Such sagas span on throughout the rest of the eve as Wrathion settled head upon ground, content to doze as Anduin talked on, drawing to a close only when sweets are exhausted and children begin sagging as sleep sought to claim them, adults retrieving them one by one to tuck them into warm beds for the night. 

Then, and only then, did Anduin dare brush fingers against neck once more to rouse his companion, drawing a clicking huff as breath caught in great chest before Wrathion turned to greet him with a yawn full of vicious teeth.

“Charming,” was Anduin’s amused retort. “Though between the two of us I don’t think my ego is the one we should be worried about, Wrathion.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear king! My ego is perfectly suited to my capabilities.” A terrible unkingly snort was his only reply, Wrathion meeting it with a lazy puff of smoke in his face before Anduin reached, curling fingers against scaled cheek as ever tumultuous blue eyes sought out draconian red.

The expression he wears is not one Wrathion thinks he has seen before, not entirely. Those vivid eyes were filled with something he does not recognise; thoughtful as fingers scratched idly against him, brows furrowed ever so though not quite in consternance. There is an ever present warmth to it of course, kindly as ever as corners of mouth cling yet to a smile that has not left Anduin’s face since their arrival. Anduin is considering, but entirely what Wrathion cannot say. It is a frustrating position to he who prided himself on the knowledge he could hoard, though thankfully he was saved the embarrassment of attempting to needle it from Anduin by an armour clad vindicar. 

“Your majesty,” the hulking figure began, respectful dip offered before continuing on. “We have prepared drinks and food at the Exodar in your honour. The Prophet Velen has requested your presences.”

It sounded terribly tedious to Wrathion, though if nothing else it would be a learning experience, one he likely could not avoid as Anduin moved to stand as Wrathion followed suit.

“Of course, we’d be glad to. Please, tell him we shall attend imminently.” Dipping his head the draenei returned the gesture, turning back toward Exodar and making to send word. It is then they are cast into a brief reprieve as others about them attend their business, adults gathering with children now gone to begin what Wrathion assumed to be their own merriment.

Forelimbs extended as chest dipped once more as Wrathion stretched, wings shuffling before he righted self with a shake of his head and click of jaws. “Please, tell him we shall attend imminently.” Came his childish imitation, one that earnt him a firm shove to his shoulder and sudden bright laugh that cut through the darkness.

“Oh, shut up.”

#⥑Ω⥏ drabble. #long post/

[ginnyzero]

A Reason Why I’m Indie

Traditional publishing isn’t for everybody. And I’ve seen attitudes that if you don’t conform to word counts and genre conventions and all the rules, then you’re never going to get anywhere in publishing/as a traditionally published author. So, I guess you should suck it up and do it. Then, I’m proudly never going to get anywhere.

Before we go any further, I want to make a disclaimer. Agents do hard jobs. They became agents (most of them) because they love books and reading and want to see authors succeed. They don’t get PAID unless an author succeeds. They are as invested in an author’s book as much as the author is. Or, at least, the good ones are. (Yes, there are a few bad apples that you must be aware of.)

BUT

Agents can’t sell your book if there is no one in their contacts/on their list that will buy it for reasons.

And these reasons may not have anything to do with your writing quality, your world building, your storytelling or your creativity. These reasons have everything to do with the publishing world and the little arbitrary writing rules that they impose on well, everything. I’m squeezing my hands together so hard right now my knuckles are turning white because these rules make me angry.

It takes a lot to make me angry. I get frustrated sometimes fairly easily. But angry?

Well, bullshit makes me angry.

I have spent time going through the querying process. I have helped and watched my best friend, writing bff, collaborator and editor go through her querying process. And I have comforted and I have encouraged and I was there for her last night when she figured out that her book was being rejected not because of writing quality and or bad story or because she had unicorns.

Instead, it was being rejected because someone in the last four years decided that the themes of the types of stories she tells belong and only belong to a certain age group category younger than what she writes. And if she wants to write the type of stories she wants to write, the type of stories that she loves and she needed at the YA age level, she would have to change essentially everything about her story that she adores to get it traditionally published.

Or self-publish.

And as we know, self-publishing closes a lot of doors.

All because, she isn’t writing the “correct” theme for the “correct” age group.

And this pisses me off. (My friend is devastated because the book series she’s lovingly crafted and all her other ideas now won’t supposedly work for traditional publishing all without her knowing because someone instituted new rules. She's been in limbo for months over this.)

Because these things aren’t written down anywhere. And if they are, they’re in weird little articles that aren’t being taught in schools because probably the teachers themselves don’t know them. Or, they were things decided in the last half a decade and no one decided to you know, spread the word in such a way that authors querying would hear it.

Or maybe, just maybe, restricting themes to a genre or an age level is such extreme limiting and inappropriate bullshit it needs to be burned in a fire.

-Takes a deep breathe- See. Angry.

There are certain themes and certain plot structures/character constructions that defined or launched each genre. Romance being the most heavily structured in the traditional publishing world (and a lot of indies following the same rules/structure.)

Science Fiction (as we know it) was born out of the Cold War and the space race and the feeling of alienation and how is having world destroying weapons going to guide us as a species. It was a lot of “humans versus alien invaders” ID4 type of storytelling. Shelley’s Frankenstein started it. And there were different views of it in the beginning, Asimov delved into the perils of robotics and space flight. Herbert talked about ecological scifi. Heinlein tended to go political and then time traveling sexual hijinks. Star Trek was Horatio Hornblower IN SPACE.

Fantasy, especially high and epic fantasy, was born of the retelling of old legends, myths and religions and the triumph of the goodness of mankind in the hero's journey. Star Wars and stories like it (Andre Norton, Anne McCaffery’s Pern) merged the two into science fantasy (my favorite.) Urban fantasy became Sherlock Holmes solves/fights crime with vampires, werewolves and the rest of the fantasy kitchen sink.

Just some examples here.

Much of the science fiction I’ve seen on the shelves still follows the formulas of Asimov and Heinlein and Orson Scott Card. The lone soldier against the terrible aliens must fight to save humanity. (In some instances, these are still the top authors hogging all the shelf space, add Herbert and Bova and Brian Sanderson the successor of Robert Jordan and LE Modesitt. And…….. yeah.)

And it’s boring. It’s tiresome. It’s time for a change. Our culture is changing and the media on our shelves isn’t. Tumblr is full of posts about how Earth is Space Australia and aliens that are simultaneously fascinated and accepting of the oddities of humans because their culture isn’t like that! We adopt strange little vacuum robots as easily as we bond to small furry creatures that OMG OMG it could KILL US. (And some not so furry creatures.) We have different types of friends. We do stupid shit for the fun of it. It’s funny. It’s heartwarming. It’s different.

People don’t want angry patriarchal werewolves anymore. They want more than dwarves that just love mining and speak in bad Scottish accents. (Best one I saw was Australian accents actually.) Readers are tired of gratuitous rape. They’re tired of abusive and bad relationships being portrayed as good. Toxic masculinity is getting old as is misogyny. Princesses no longer want to be rescued by dragons, they want to be protected by dragons from being forced into marriages they don’t want. Why must readers go through a sewer when they open a book to escape?

No. Not a lot of these new ideas have conflict or plot. But that’s not really up to the idea thinkers on Tumblr, that’s up to us the writers to see what the idea makers are looking for and come up with plots to fit those settings (if we like those ideas/settings.)

I doubt you’ll find it on bookshelves.

Fantasy has fallen into the grim dark crap sack worlds looking for the next GRRM. Storytelling that hasn’t advanced past trying to emulate Tolkien. Authors that emulate Lackey and McCaffery in the style of romantic fantasy being passed over for grim dark fantasy with assassins and the hot “urban fantasy.”

And understandably, Urban Fantasy is pretty new. LKH and Jim Butcher and other writers like Kim Harrison, Seanan Mcguire and Patty Briggs have been instrumental in making urban fantasy a ‘big deal.’ And I’ve read a lot of urban fantasy and finally I had to give up. I couldn’t take it anymore. Because it was all the same thing in different trappings. And I’m down for the same thing in different trappings to an extent. I really am. I’d just hope that at some point we can have more than Urban Fantasy mysteries. But no one is selling them on traditional shelves because publishers decided that Urban Fantasy people SOLVE CRIME is what the genre is.

This kills innovation coming to publishing houses. We see it in movies as well as books, new ideas, good ideas, are being passed over for the rehash of something from 20 to 30 years ago. (Think closer to 60 for some scifi, more for fantasy.) Because publishers have "genre rules" and are risk adverse because 'what if it doesn't sell?'

There are writers out there that are willing to turn themselves into pretzels to make their story fit a certain word count, a certain genre theme or follow these arbitrary rules to “get their foot in the door” and then they are told and believe that “once they are established” they can “break/bend the rules.”

It’s a lie. It’s a tasty lie. It’s so good of a lie you want to believe it. You want to delude yourself that “if I pretend I’m a man, get my book under 80,000 words, follow the exact conventions of my genre, that one day I’ll get big enough to break all of the rules and innovate my genre.”

That’s when you’ve sold your soul to the devil. You’ve stripped yourself of all your self-respect in order to chase that dream of the “traditional publishing deal.”

Indie is pushing back at traditional in good ways and in bad ways. Traditional with either adapt or continue its pushing back and rigidly holding onto the genre structures it has to its own downfall. The readers will decide on what they want to see/read. That, as an indie author is no longer my problem and completely out of my control.

My problem remains with the fact that traditional publishing houses, and agents aren’t being open and honest about their expectations for these genres that they’re pushing onto shelves. Get together. Form a consensus. Get that information out to authors by putting it on agent websites/blogs. Don’t expect newbies to just know it.

We’ve had enough dream crushing. Being rejected is difficult enough. There are enough gates to go through and hoops to jump. Don’t make lack of information that “everybody knows” yet another one. It's about doing the right thing. Anyone can write a fiction book. Anyone. There is no degree necessary. So, do the right thing, the moral thing and be clear about expectations for what you represent and the "rules" of the genre on your website where querying authors can find it.

(There is going to be writer blaming going on here. Writers/Authors aren't at fault. They can't know this if they aren't told it. You can't just "know things" out of thin air. If there is an expectation, then state the expectation clearly and where it's easily found. As agents, as publishers, putting the information out there that will get you the material you want to read and can sell to publishing houses to make it to stores is on you, not the writer. /soapbox)

Now, if you’re a lucky sod and not like me and does write in the box and naturally writes inside the box. Then, you know what, I’m happy for you. Honestly, my life as an author would be so much easier if I could write “X the werewolf solves crime and saves the world.”

I can’t. It’s not in me.

My job as a writer is to put out the best story that I believe in as a person. A story that is true to me, my feelings, my life journey and what I want to see on shelves/would want to read. If that story has too many genres mixed up, doesn’t follow genre conventions, is too long, isn’t the right “theme” or focuses on the wrong thing for the wrong age group, then, fine, it’s probably never going to be traditionally published. I can deal with that.

I’ll self-publish. I’ll continue to self-publish. I’ll be indie despite the reputation that comes with being indie. I’ll do the work to get my books out there to the world and appreciate the few readers I have and support my indie friends even if it's just with a "you can do it. Hang in there. I'm rooting for all of you." Because, it's all I can do and can control.

I still reserve the right to be mad. Cause that's my friend.

[ao3feed-coldwave]

A Treasure Worthy of Two Dragons

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OCkUDT

by kylith_dynixan

After a battle with the lightning dragon, Eobert, that almost cost Mick his life, Len takes MIck to recover at the Dragon Spa. When Mick awakens, he knows Len has been laid regularly and upon seeing Len actually doing work (serving humans drinks no less) Mick just knows Barry has entrapped Len with a sex spell. As the misunderstandings get cleared up, Mick finds himself falling for Barry and realizing how deep his real feelings are for Len. They cannot feel the same way for him, can they? (Sequal to ColdSerenty's Tiny Dragon Hut, posted with her permission)

Words: 5287, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: The Flash (TV 2014)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Barry Allen, Mick Rory, Leonard Snart, Axel Walker, Cisco Ramon (mentioned), Lisa Snart (mentioned), Original Characters

Relationships: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Axel Walker/Mick Rory (One Sided), Lisa Snart/Cisco Ramon (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Dragon!Mick, dragon!Len, human!Barry, Human!Axel, Unrealistic Sex, Unsafe Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Barebacking, Dragon/human sex, Sex in Dragon Form, Threesome, threeway, Polyamory, Coldflashwave, AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cussing, lots of cussing, Dub Con Mention but No Actual Dub Con, Mick Jumps to Conclusions, attempted armed robbery, Misunderstandings, Pining, jealous!Len, Dragon Dildos Mentioned, Dragon Cocks Described in Detail, BDSM themes, Dom!Mick, Switch!Barry, Sub!Len, AU's Dragon Sex Ed Included, Bossy!Mick, Dragon Porn Mentioned, Dragon Tail Used a Butt Plug, Gratuitous Amounts of Ball Worship, Ball Sucking, Barry is a Ball Whisperer, Barry is a Slut for His Dragons, Subspace!Len, lots of foreplay, Loud Sex, Kinky sex, dirty talking, Knotting, not a/b/o

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OCkUDT

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #DCcoldwave #ColdWave fanfiction

[ao3feed-coldflash]

A Treasure Worthy of Two Dragons

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OCkUDT

by kylith_dynixan

After a battle with the lightning dragon, Eobert, that almost cost Mick his life, Len takes MIck to recover at the Dragon Spa. When Mick awakens, he knows Len has been laid regularly and upon seeing Len actually doing work (serving humans drinks no less) Mick just knows Barry has entrapped Len with a sex spell. As the misunderstandings get cleared up, Mick finds himself falling for Barry and realizing how deep his real feelings are for Len. They cannot feel the same way for him, can they? (Sequal to ColdSerenty's Tiny Dragon Hut, posted with her permission)

Words: 5287, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: The Flash (TV 2014)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Barry Allen, Mick Rory, Leonard Snart, Axel Walker, Cisco Ramon (mentioned), Lisa Snart (mentioned), Original Characters

Relationships: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Axel Walker/Mick Rory (One Sided), Lisa Snart/Cisco Ramon (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Dragon!Mick, dragon!Len, human!Barry, Human!Axel, Unrealistic Sex, Unsafe Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Barebacking, Dragon/human sex, Sex in Dragon Form, Threesome, threeway, Polyamory, Coldflashwave, AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cussing, lots of cussing, Dub Con Mention but No Actual Dub Con, Mick Jumps to Conclusions, attempted armed robbery, Misunderstandings, Pining, jealous!Len, Dragon Dildos Mentioned, Dragon Cocks Described in Detail, BDSM themes, Dom!Mick, Switch!Barry, Sub!Len, AU's Dragon Sex Ed Included, Bossy!Mick, Dragon Porn Mentioned, Dragon Tail Used a Butt Plug, Gratuitous Amounts of Ball Worship, Ball Sucking, Barry is a Ball Whisperer, Barry is a Slut for His Dragons, Subspace!Len, lots of foreplay, Loud Sex, Kinky sex, dirty talking, Knotting, not a/b/o

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OCkUDT

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #coldflash