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phykios · 3 months

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Review: "We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium"; "I Plunge to my Death"; "A God Buys Us Cheeseburgers"

Hey y'all! I'm back. It took a while to write this review, and not just because I had a busy holiday season. The more I tried to consider episodes 3 and 4, the more I realized that a lot of my critiques of them were things I had already touched on in the last two–poor exposition, bad lighting, rushed plot, etc–and so it felt a little redundant to say the same thing all over again. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how annoying you find me), episode 5 was such a cut above over the rest of the season, I finally have new things to say! With that in mind, the format of this review will be a little different, as I will compare the episodes side by side, rather than consider each one individually.

For a brief, brief recap, the three episodes follow fairly similar plot beats: the trio travels a little, meets a mythological being that tries to mess with their heads, then they all try to sacrifice themselves for the good of the quest before figuring out an alternate way to win. This isn’t a criticism, by the way–the book chapters have similar formats, and repetitive framing is a great way of demonstrating character growth. And of course, there’s no better way to spruce up a travel montage with a little lore dump.

What makes for effective exposition? It’s a delicate balancing act between making sure that the information you need to get across gets to the viewer, but not letting them know that you’ve done it. “Show, don’t tell” is the most common expository technique, and for good reason–information is better retained and more effective when it’s not delivered to you like someone reading off cue cards. And it’s most effective when it’s withheld until just the right moment. PJO TV is not… great at this. It’s mostly little things, one-off little lines, like Luke saying “I’m the best swordsman” or “Annabeth is the smartest,” but there are some more egregious examples, mostly with Chiron explaining the world to Percy. This, I get, and it’s not like Riordan did it that much more elegantly in the books. But I’m more annoyed about Luke info-dumping than anybody else.

I was re-reading The Lightning Thief for several reasons, and one of the things about Luke is that he keeps things very close to the chest. It’s partly to conceal his villainy, but it also makes sense from a psychological standpoint, hiding his emotions not only to keep everyone from finding out the truth about him, but also to recruit kids for the upcoming war. Luke only opens up about what happened to him and Thalia once: at the very end of the book, just before he tries to kill Percy. It’s a powerful moment–the specter of Thalia haunts Percy throughout the book, the ideal of a hero he’s afraid he’ll never be able to measure up to, and we find out that she’s been haunting Luke as well, but for very different reasons. (She haunts the TV show as well, which I like very much–I just hope it pays off!) We are shown hints of his darker side earlier, but withholding the heel turn until now, and pairing it with the first time we see him actually talk about himself, is part of what makes this scene so good and so heinous at the same time. The first time we get glimpses of Luke’s true self, his motivations and what drives him, is the same moment where he crosses the line. And in the meantime, TV!Luke just lets it all hang out.

Consider:

Before camp, I was on the road. Me and a forbidden kid I met along the way. Her name was Thalia… A long time ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades agreed their children were becoming too powerful, so they made a pact not to father any more. And it held for a long time, until Zeus broke that pact. Until Thalia. A forbidden kid attracts trouble. Monsters everywhere, it's just a constant battle to stay alive. One day, we, uh, find this little girl hiding in an alley. Annabeth. We were worried about taking her in, exposing her to all that danger. Then we saw her fight. Thalia didn't make it. But Annabeth and me... we did. And we've been family ever since… Annabeth is the strongest warrior in camp. The only way left to prove herself is to go on a quest. [S1E2, “I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom”]

Why is he saying all this? Is it for Percy’s benefit, or the audience’s? What does this reveal about Luke’s character? What about this monologue reveals what Luke actually thinks about the pact, or Thalia’s death, or even Annabeth? We’re told he sees her like family, but what does he do to show us?

For contrast, here’s Ares’ lore dump a few episodes later:

You're new to the family, young one, so let me fill you in on how we work. See, years before I was born, my grandpa Kronos ate my aunts and uncles. Yeah. Then my dad made him puke them back up, then chopped him into a million pieces and chucked 'em into a bottomless pit, so that kinda set the tone right outta the gate. Olympians fight. We betray. We backstab. We will push anyone down a flight of stairs to get ahead. And that's why I love my family so much. My dad knows he's not getting this bolt back with quests or goose chases. He knows there's a war coming. And in reality, I think he's okay with that. I think he feels it's just time for a war, so we're gonna have a war. Isn't that great? [S1E5, “A God Buys Us Cheeseburgers”]

What does this reveal about Ares’ character? That he loves violence, and that the threat of war is exciting. That he doesn’t exactly hold his family in high regard. That this is something that is central to who the gods are. All of this is supported by Adam Copeland’s performance, which is flippant, funny, and immature. The details work in concert to show us who Ares is and what he wants, all without ever having him say it out loud.

For all of its clumsiness, though, I actually really like Grover’s little monologue about the nature of questing as we follow the kids into New York City in episode 3. It has a very Fellowship of the Ring vibe (which I’m pretty sure is deliberate) which fits on a meta-level too, with Percy Jackson in conversation with epic stories of the past.

But you know what wasn’t in conversation with the past? The shortest Medusa battle ever recorded.

I’m being a little hyperbolic for comedy’s sake, but genuinely I hated the Medusa fight. Not the Medusa backstory–sidestepping the sexual assault in a middle-grade book was the correct choice, and it’s not like a post-#MeToo Medusa is a shocking or novel idea–but not only should the fight have been at least twice as long, it was missing a full fourth of the mythological ingredients. The mythical Perseus has four gifts: the sword, the mirror shield, the helm of invisibility, and the winged sandals. The book reinterprets the shield as a glass ball. And the show doesn’t use it at all. Is this a nitpicky critique? Maybe. But some of Percy Jackson’s strongest moments are the reinterpretation of mythological scenes, and for those to work, you should incorporate the key details.

Also, again, cannot stress this enough, it was way too short. At least the Echidna fight scene had some blocking involved. And acting.

Speaking of acting, I will say that it’s very consistently well done. I think the kids are more than holding their own against the adults, and they walk the line between playing maturity and still being young very well, which is a very difficult thing to do. In fact, rarely is the acting ever a problem. Because, once again, it’s the writing that makes it fall short.

Let’s do another comparison: Percy sending off Medusa’s head and Percy and Annabeth with Hephaestus’ chair. One is from the books, and one is new. Both are given the appropriate amount of weight in the episode’s runtime. Both are well-acted, well-blocked, well-scored. But the new scene feels out of place to me. Part of the problem is that, being a scene lifted from the books, Percy sending off Medusa’s head feels earned and supported by the material of the last few episodes. He’s pissed at his dad for ignoring him, and pissed that the gods are forcing him to do all this nonsense for reasons he only barely understands. Of course he’s going to foist a magical WMD on them.

But the chair scene doesn’t have that prior support. Consider:

Eat or be eaten. Power and glory and nothing else matters. Ares is that way, Zeus is that way, my mother is that way. He isn't that way. He's better than that. Maybe I was that way once. But I don't wanna be that way anymore. I won't be like all of you. I just won't. [S1E5, “A God Buys Us Cheeseburgers”]

In a vacuum, this would be a great scene. Walker’s fear is palpable and real, and Leah delivers a heartfelt performance in anguish at her friend’s supposed fate. That’s all well and good, except that these characters have known each other for… what, three days? A week? And for all her talk of glory, Annabeth dispensed with that idea pretty much right out the gate, as she killed a Fury rather than hand Percy over to Alecto. She tries to sacrifice herself for the quest all the time. What power and glory is she seeking?

This is an excellent scene that unfortunately doesn’t belong in this season. This scene, as my dear @frenchswissborder pointed out, does not belong after the Thrill Ride of Love (before the Zoo Truck scene as well!) but instead feels like it should be in the Battle of the Labyrinth’s Mt. St Helen confession scene. Putting it there at least would build on three years of friendship, rather than a handful of days of not annoying each other.

I don’t mind new scenes. I want new scenes. If I wanted a one-to-one adaptation, I’d just read the books again. But the new scenes have to matter. They have to bring something new to the table. Let me put it this way: when The Lightning Thief musical said, “Fuck it, Cerberus is a DJ,” it was both leaning into its own medium as musical theater and riffing on the idea of the underworld being under a recording studio. When PJO TV says, “Fuck it, exposition time,” it feels like they’re reading off Mythomagic card stats.

What makes an adaptation great, in my opinion, is how well it speaks to the subtext of the original work. The musical is excellent at this, in particular how it uses the conventions of musical theater to highlight the parallels between Percy and Luke by giving them variations on the same “I Want” song. Where PJO TV shines is how it speaks to the subtext of abusive adults. Abuse of children is sadly not always so obvious, and I like how the Mist lets Alecto, Echidna, and Ares act pretty much with impunity. They are predators, and they are able to move without fear of detection. This even applies to Medusa, too, having her pretend to offer Percy a way out, when she really is only interested in herself and her needs.

But, as the show tends to do, this only causes the story to kneecap itself by neutering Gabe as an abusive figure. I understand why it is this way, as book Sally, for all her kind and loving nature, wasn’t exactly written with a backbone. Part of this, I assume, is just that The Lightning Thief was published in 2005, and that a) the conversation around intimate partner abuse simply was not in the mainstream, and b) Riordan just got better at female characters over time. So the trade-off is that by making Sally a more formidable, dynamic character in the show, they had to dial down Gabe’s uglier, abusive nature–which is going to be really awkward in a few episodes when Sally kills him just for the crime of being annoying.

Stray thoughts:

Just taking a moment here to say that I think the set design has been really gorgeous so far. Shout out in particular to the attic in the Big House!

I’m only just noticing this now, but the trunk of Thalia’s pine tree looks like there’s a human in there–bent knee, arms outstretched, head bowed–and I think that’s awesome.

The idea of monsters sensing a demigod’s weakness and responding to that is so good, and I’m taking it.

Earlier versions of this review had a long and annoying rant about Medusa’s origins, so allow me to tl;dr: there is no original Medusa myth. Ovid’s Medusa myth in Metamorphoses comes about 800 years after Hesiod’s Theogony, which comes after Homer’s Iliad. It’s not a question of Ovid against Hesiod against Homer, it’s a question of these authors plus thousands of pieces of pottery depicting hundreds of variations on the Medusa myth, and we cannot definitively say which one is the source of the myth. That said, I don’t dislike a #MeToo Medusa, I just mostly hate the discourse around it.

It’s nice to see some architecture nerd Annabeth, but between the way the show glosses over it, and the lack of crippling arachnophobia, her character is being reduced too much to “prideful” for my tastes. It’s not that Annabeth isn’t prideful, obviously, it’s just that she has more dimension to her than the show is currently presenting.

Annabeth and Grover throwing water on Percy like a beached whale is very funny, but it did make me realize that they haven’t introduced nectar/ambrosia in the show. Maybe they’re saving it for the finale?

Ares calling them all cousins makes me extremely happy. This was something that Riordan did in the early books, but he kind of petered off, presumably so as not to imply weird pseudo-incestuous things once Percabeth started, but I always loved it.

I’m saving the Percy and Annabeth relationship breakdown until after the season, but it is coming! (But I am sad that “seaweed brain” came out of nowhere :( we just rolled right over it!)

The lighting is really bad, especially in the dark, and I am learning to live with it, but I am not happy about it.

Aryan is the breakout actor of the trio, in my opinion. Playing awkward is so, so easy to overdo, but he brings a sincerity and a quickwittedness to Grover that I absolutely adore–he’s a sweet kid, and he’s clearly scared, but he knows when to summon his courage and do the brave thing for him and his friends.

Also here are some screencaps that I like. They don’t have anything to do with the review, I just think they’re neat :3 (IDs/thots in the alt)

#pjo tv #pjo spoilers #pjo tv spoilers #sasha review #this is a long one lads!

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frodo-with-glasses · 1 year

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Been thinking about a particular LOTR what-if scenario (because my D&D campaign took a turn into collaborative LOTR fanfiction), and I'm interested in your perspective on it if you have time . . .

Supposing Boromir somehow survived protecting Merry and Pippin, what effect would that have on Denethor?

Denethor's being fed despair by Sauron either way. But I have always read him as the news of Boromir's death being the thing that breaks him and makes him start to believe it. His grief is certainly a large part of what's informing his treatment of Faramir (though certainly not the only thing, as I think there's textual evidence that Denethor favored Boromir all along).

If Boromir didn't die . . . would Denethor still give into despair? Would he still send Faramir on a suicide mission — and if he did, and Faramir still suffered the same wounds, would Denethor still end up in his whole "all is lost; better to die on our own terms" spiral? Or would he have the presence of mind to see to the defense of the city?

How would he react to Aragorn, a man who has all the qualities Denethor disdains in Faramir but even more so, and who people are now saying is the rightful king (who even his own sons, even favored Boromir, are saying is Gondor's king returned)?

(He almost certainly wouldn't be a fan of Aragorn's plan to draw Sauron's eye away from Frodo. He probably would be greatly displeased that the Ring had been allowed to go across the River to Mordor at all, and even Boromir would have trouble convincing him otherwise.)

Thank you for letting me ramble in your askbox, haha. Don't feel pressured to answer if you don't want to or don't find the question as much as I do. (But if you do answer, I will be delighted.)

As much as the Gondor Dudes aren’t my personal hyperfixation in LotR, I am nonetheless a big fan of overthinking hypothetical situations, so this is right up my alley. :-D (Also, it’s really cool that you’re running an LotR-themed D&D campaign!! Sounds like a blast.)

To be honest, you hit pretty much every point I was going to touch on; Denethor’s despair and consequent insanity were certainly motivated, at least in part, by grief, so if you take the grief out of the equation then naturally the results are going to be at least slightly different. But we still have lots of other factors at play here: fighting a hopeless war, the looming specter of deposition, knowing that your allies just sent a nuke into the territory of the Enemy in the hands of a garden gnome so small you could punt him, and Prolonged Exposure to Cursed Artifact are still going to take their toll on Denethor’s mind. He will doubtless be more motivated to hold on to life while his favorite son is still alive, but even if he doesn't turn paranoid and filicidal, he’s still going to be Deeply Messed Up regardless.

So since I'm not getting any new ideas by looking at things from a Watsonian (in-universe) perspective, I'm gonna steer this in a Doylist (meta) direction and talk about implementation instead. The question I always ask myself with these sorts of "canon but a bit to the left" fanfictions is this:

What do you want out of the story? Do you want to:

A) Return to canon as quickly as possible? B) Change just one thing and see how far it butterfly-effects out? C) Find something somewhere in the middle?

Because the thing with "canon but a bit to the left" AUs that you can make pretty much anything work. It's a hypothetical situation. The question is how far away from canon you're willing to deviate. If I'm writing a "Boromir Lives" AU, I might go a couple of different directions, and the one I ultimately choose depends on personal preference and what I want out of the story.

Putting this under a read-more 'cause it's about to get long.

Option A: Canon, but like .5 degrees to the left

Ever since the battle at the Falls, Boromir has been following Aragorn and doing everything the Three Hunters (well, Four Hunters) do. When Pippin looks into the Palantir, Gandalf decides to take him to Minas Tirith right away, and Boromir, who's eager to get home and feels some responsibility for Pippin, volunteers to go with them.

(Yes I know that Shadowfax travels at ungodly fast speeds to get from Rohan to Gondor, but it's implied that lesser horses can keep up with their lord when they need to, so even if Boromir took a different horse they might still have been able to make it to Minas Tirith in a similar time.)

Denethor gives an enthusiastic welcome to Boromir and a far less enthusiastic welcome to Gandalf and Pippin. That welcome becomes less enthusiastic still in the ensuing conversation/interrogation, when he learns that they totally had the Ring but they sent it into Mordor instead of bringing it here. Boromir tries to reason with his father. Denethor is very disappointed with him. He blames Gandalf for corrupting his other son with all this foolishness, and treats Pippin with suspicion because of the whole prophecy with the Halfling, and the convo ends with hurt feelings all around.

I might need the War Nerds on this blog to correct me if I'm wrong, but as I understand it, the attempt to take back Osgiliath wasn't a completely useless suicide mission, at least in concept. It is a major river crossing, and controlling transportation routes is like War 101. If you make it hard for your enemy to cross the River, you make it hard for your enemy to get to your stronghold, and that's good. Not a bad idea on paper. The only problem was that Minas Tirith didn't have the manpower to pull it off.

(And also there were Nazgul.)

Anyway, the point is, it's almost logical enough that you might be able to get away with Denethor ordering the Osgiliath offensive even without the grief-induced paranoia. Besides, there's still other paranoia in play: so far as Denethor is concerned, the Ring is walking into enemy hands, his son and most trusted captain has turned against him, and Gandalf is already planning a coup.

So here's what I'm thinking. Keep the Osgiliath battle, but send Boromir out there as well. Boromir and brother bravely bear the baleful battle, before their butts are badly beat and they get bit by the Black Breath. Dad feels bad, his boasts bashed as his boys' bodies burn with fever. Battle bears down on the beleaguered bourgeoisie, but their bereaved bigwig is barely bothered, too busy building bier bonfires.

…Sorry, I don't know where that came from.

Anyway, the point is, this puts us squarely back where we'd be at this point in canon: Denethor thinks he’s about to lose his family, his city, and his kingdom, and consumed by despair he decides that it's better to die on his own terms than in the hands of the Enemy. You can pretty much just follow canon from here and copy-paste Boromir with whatever is happening to Faramir.

(Except, of course, for the whole "falling in love with Eowyn" thing. But hey! Boromir was in Rohan! He and Eowyn probably know each other already! So they might have some fun conversations in the Houses of Healing.)

This is the route I would take if you want to stick as close to canon as possible and still keep Boromir alive. If adherence to the narrative is not your biggest concern, however:

Option B: Go stupid, go crazy

Boromir doesn't die. What does that change?

Well, everything, if you let it.

Let's say Boromir does return to Minas Tirith with Gandalf and Pippin like I suggested above. Let's say he's able to talk his father into begrudgingly going along with their unorthodox plan to save the world. Let's say Denethor doesn't call for the almost-but-not-quite-entirely-completely-a-suicide-mission to Osgiliath and instead puts Boromir and Faramir to work strengthening the defenses of the Minas Tirith. By time the Battle of Pelennor Fields rolls around, Denethor—now no longer occupied by the family barbecue—is available to direct defense of the city, with both sons acting as his captains.

Awesome! All this is great stuff, right?

Well, yes. So far.

The problem is that we lose so many great moments with other characters in the process. Pippin's pell mell run to find Gandalf. Beregond abandoning his post to protect Faramir. Eowyn and Merry, who slayed the Witch King together because Gandalf was too busy putting out fires (literally!) to get down there and do it himself. Aragorn, proving that "the hands of a king are the hands of a healer"! And if Faramir and Eowyn hadn't both suffered the Black Breath, they wouldn't both have been forced to stay behind as everyone else went to fight at the Black Gate, and they wouldn't have fallen in love in the same way.

This is not a statement meant to push your decision one way or another, but it's just a fact of the decision: If you dispense with Denethor's paranoia, and the insanity, and the murder arson, then you dispense with a lot of the other cool moments in this book. The question you've got to ask yourself is if that's a price you're willing to pay, and if not, how you can work around it.

Anyway, back to Pelennor Fields. I want you to imagine that Denethor is standing at the wall, watching the battle raging below him. It's not going well. The reinforcements from Rohan arrived, but they're barely hanging on. And to his dismay, he sees a fleet of black dots which could only be Corsair ships sailing up the river.

The foremost ship unfurls a banner, with the Tree of Gondor glittering on it.

And the army that pours out of them absolutely wrecks shop with Sauron's forces.

Is Denethor feeling relief? Yes. But is he feeling dread and apprehension and anger too? Also yes. He knows what this is. It's a challenge to his power waiting to happen. All his suspicions about Gandalf's ulterior motives are coming true: he has found someone to supplant him, and whether or not this kid is the true Heir of Isildur, the darn upstart's already gone all dramatic and made a war hero out of himself. Whoop-de-frickin'-do.

And then, he sees Aragorn's face.

And he's livid.

Fun fact: Appendix A tells us that Aragorn actually worked for Denethor’s dad, Ecthelion, for a long time. Aragorn went by a different name, of course, but he was so competent and so well-liked that he became Ecthelion's most trusted and honored captain, to the point that the Steward liked Aragorn more than he liked Denethor. We don't just have history here. We have beef. It's a little bit of a Tony Stark, Howard Stark, Steve Rogers situation where it’s like “Dad liked you more than he liked me and I’m his own son”.

You’d better bet your bottom dollar that when Denethor’s childhood rival rocks up to Minas Tirith, flying a banner made by an elven princess and carrying the Sword that Was Broken on his belt like he's somebody important, it doesn’t matter if Boromir and Faramir and Imrahil and everybody else in Minas Tirith likes him and happily falls in line behind him; Denethor is still gonna take one look at his face and go, “oh. it’s YOU. I freakin' HATE you.”

Whether this colors their ongoing relationship "coolly polite" or "passive-aggressive" or "outright hostile" depends on how vindictive you want to write Denethor. Because let's be honest, bro could totally order Aragorn to leave Minas Tirith and he would; Aragorn knows he's not the king yet, and he's humble enough to accept orders while the Steward is still in charge (as bass-ackwards as that is). But the thing is that Aragorn has the support of the people, and banishing him isn't gonna change that; if anything, it will probably garner sympathy for him, cause the people of Minas Tirith to distrust their leader, and maybe result in fracturing the loyalties of the populous.

So here's what you've got, okay.

You now have a David and Saul situation.

Think about it. Charismatic, upright war hero, beloved by everyone he meets, serving under the suspicious and deeply disturbed incumbent ruler who knows the newcomer is gonna boot him off the throne. You can't live with him: 'cause he's gonna boot you off the throne. But you can't live without him: 'cause you're in desperate need of his particular set of skills, and you'd be incredibly unwise to do away with him and earn the ire of the public. So you put up with him. And put on a show of liking him. And maybe chuck a spear at his head while he's playing the harp to calm down your possibly demonic fits.

But that's just Saul, so let's get back to Denethor.

The next step, in the book, is obviously the Battle of the Black Gate. And, obviously, Denethor is gonna think this military equivalent of knocking on the door of an axe murderer and threatening him with a pea shooter is a terrible idea, because it is. But the whole point—Aragorn and Gandalf and Boromir and Faramir and Imrahil and everyone else insists—is to distract Sauron long enough that the Ring-bearer can succeed in his mission. The plan isn't to win, it's to be bait.

Now you have a few options.

Denethor can, once again, begrudgingly go along with it, showing that he's slowly changing in heart. Perhaps Aragorn's humility is winning him over. Perhaps Boromir's impassioned pleas are getting through. In any case, you have a pretty good set-up for a redemption arc here, which could be interesting if you want to go down that road.

Alternatively, this could be the moment that Denethor entirely gives in to despair and basically says "fine, if you guys wanna go kill yourselves, I'll just be over here doing the exact same thing", and he tries to make Steward a la flambé. (Whether or not he succeeds is up to you, but I will say that this would be a pretty easy way to settle the succession crisis.)

Alternatively still, Denethor could publicly denounce the whole idea as stupid and order the people of Minas Tirith to stay put and defend the city, at the same time that Aragorn and the rest are urging those same people to come with them for one last stand. Now every eligible fighter in the city has to make a choice. Who will they follow? Lord Denethor, or Lord Elfstone? The people are divided. Factions are made. (This might be the moment that a certain member of the Guard sees Faramir standing with Lord Elfstone and decides, for the first time in his life, to break the rules.) In any case, the force that travels to the Black Gate is far smaller than it would have been if not for Denethor's interference.

If you go with the first option, it's a quicker road to a happy ending. Aragorn returns victorious, he and Denethor reconcile, and Aragorn honors the Steward and puts him in a place of high esteem. Everyone in Minas Tirith likes this, including Boromir and Faramir, and everyone lives happily ever after.

If you go with the second option, Denethor has either successfully or unsuccessfully attempted sudoku, which should probably disqualify him from public leadership either way. If he succeeded in barbecuing himself, it's the tragedy of a man who never got to see the upcoming victory; if he failed, it's the tragedy of a man whose mind was so utterly broken by the Enemy that he couldn't enjoy it.

If you go with the third option, congratulations; after Aragorn gets back, you still have to deal with the succession crisis. But I've waffled on for long enough and have basically no ideas how you'd handle this post-story, so I'm not gonna go down that road any further.

Option C: Pitch straight down the middle

Now what I've just presented are the two most extreme possibilities of a "Boromir Lives" AU that exist in my brain, but they're far from the only options. This thing is a spectrum. There are a potentially infinite number of possible storylines, some closer to canon, some further away.

If you like parts of one but not the other, you can mix and match. Take an exit ramp from the AU and get back on canon wherever you want, or just don't and see where it takes you. All I've done is present the furthest extremes I could think of to help shake up the ol' creative juices.

(I would have explored the possibility of Boromir arriving on the corsair ships with Aragorn instead of a few days earlier with Gandalf and Pippin, but that didn't change much except for Boromir having less opportunities to talk his dad down from bad decisions. So do with that what you will.)

Conclusion

I have no idea if this was the kind of answer you were looking for, but I guess I'm just returning rambling for rambling, LOL! In any case, I hope this helped, and if not, I hope it was a fun read.

But there is one more thing I can do for you, before I wish you good luck in your D&D endeavors, and that's turn it over to everyone else who reads this blog and see what they think!

HEY YOU GUYS! If Boromir lived, how would that effect Denethor's psyche?? Reblog with your thoughts!

#asked and answered #faramir #denethor #boromir lives au #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #in which i ramble about probable story trajectories for WAY too long

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railroad-migraine · 2 years

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I’ve been reading your writing for a bit now and I absolutely adore it!! Could I request a Bells Hell x reader head-cannons(?) were the group is running away from Wilders or something in a busy street, and reader gets pulled into a alleyway to hide and don’t notice straight away how close they are to who ever pulled them in until they’re aware their chasers have given up???

Hehehehehheeheheheh.

I like this trope too.

~ Poet

Tight Squeeze (hiding in an alley together)

Ashton 💙

Casually suggests that you make out to throw whoever is chasing you off the scent. You gape at him, speechless he could even think of such things at a time like this. With a waggle of their eyebrows, Ashton snorts in amusement and you have to physically place your hand over their mouth to muffle his laughter.

There's a warning glint in your eyes as you stare them down, daring them to continue drawing attention to the hiding spot. It's... Kinda hot, if he's honest, and his laughter dies down into quiet chuckles before going completely silent. It's only then do you register the light press of his lips against your palm. After what can only be described as a staring contest, Ashton reaches up, holds your wrist, and gently pries it away from his mouth.

You allow the barbarian to take your elbow and drag you back into the open air to blend in wth crowds and shuffle back to the Bell's Hells meeting point. You can still feel the tingle at the centre of your palm when they look over their shoulder at you with their signature grin.

Chetney 💙

You almost start to think he's having an asthma attack with how laboured his breathing is after running away from the Wilders. He's panting, hands on his knees, complaining loudly how he hasn't had to run that fast in years. You have to hunker down to pinch his nose so he can pause and catch his breath.

He scrambles to push your hands away from him, grumbling and readjusting the knitted hat upon his head to keep himself occupied while you play lookout. He tries his best to hide the crimson spreading across his face.

There's a shout and the beginning of a commotion the moment you dare poke your head out, and in a moment's notice you've scooped up the gnome into your arms like a child and run. Your lungs are burning the same way Chetney's had earlier when you collapse in a new safe spot, him patting your head begrudgingly comfortingly while waiting for the others to find you.

Dorian 💙

The tip of his nose pokes your own and you feel as though you're drowning in those big blue eyes staring back at you. His voice is soft, his breath unusually cool - it's probably an air genasi thing, you suppose - when he asks is it alright to stand closer to you.

He sucks in a breath when your persuers race past the mouth of the alleyway, and takes an involuntary step forward, caging you into the wall and turning his back to the street. He's gentle, a reassuring weight of fabric and lightweight weaponry. He keeps you close, eyes darting between the street and your face.

Long after you hear retreating footsteps, you both haven't moved an inch. Dorian, being the gentleman he is, clears his throat and steps back, holding out his arm to the street and muttering a quiet "After you." He brushes invisible dirt off his sleeves and straightens his cloak before joining you, trying to look as presentable as he can. Death glares are made towards Chetney when you've all regrouped, not finding his wolf whistle towards Dorian's mussed hair entertaining at all.

Fearne 💙

It's a very narrow alley, and it's a very tight squeeze, barely enough room to avoid chest to chest. But desperate times call for desperate measures and Fearne is not complaining. Your senses are flooded by the variety of fabrics and materials the faun wears and carries with her, as well as simply being surrounded by her. What you've sacrificed in moving space you've gained in warmth and softness instead.

She effectively acts as a shield to the opening of the alley, blocking out most of, if not all, the busy street from your view. You finally register the silken cloth clutched in your hands for dear life, her dress skirt the thing that's been grounding you while anticipating your enemies to arrive any moment. You feel her fingers lift your chin, and you're all but forced to meet her gaze.

It lacks that usual mischief you've come to associate with her. Instead, she blinks slowly, lashes thick and long, analysing your expression before whispering that you're okay and she won't let anyone touch you. And you believe her, breaths mingling and her ribbons tickling your forehead. Has a reassuring hand on your shoulder when the time is right to leave.

Imogen 💙

She's professional about it for the most part. Even though the space between you is nearly non-existent, she puts on a mask of calm and sets her hands on your shoulders. Using you as an anchor, she pokes her head out of the alleyway, looking for the enemy when all has gone quiet.

Meanwhile, you're just simmering in the warm pleasant feeling of her hands on you. To put it simply, she feels electric this close to your body. That energy spikes the moment voices are heard not too far away and she slinks further back into the backstreet with you. When the coast is clear, she glances at you, lips slightly parted and warmth dusting her cheeks.

She smooths back her hair when the moment ends and gestures for you to follow her, leading you away from the dirty, neglected alley and leaving you wanting. She's on edge after that - you know she's just as flustered as you are.

Laudna 💙

She grips onto your torso like a vice, putting all her weight on you (and even then it's like holding up nothing). Thin as a rake with bones that crack and dislocate, the alley seems that much more spacious and less suffocating because of who you're hiding with.

Her nose nudges your cheek, her eyes blown wide and almost cross eyed from the proximity that makes you fondly smile without restraint. Laudna smiles back, but frets when she notices the grime on your face and shoulders from your narrow escape. She swipes at a dirt streak across the bridge of your nose, adding a boop for good measure which makes your anxiety settle as much as it can in a time like this.

You don't remember her arms curling around your waist. She's been like that ever since you were found by the others, and she doesn't seem intent on letting go any time soon.

Orym 💙

He's hiding behind your leg, using it as leverage as he leans out of the alley to see if you're still being followed. Unfortunately, the street is pretty crowded and he can't make out any distinguished bad guys from his height. The halfling looks up at you hesitantly, but within a heartbeat he's up in your arms.

He acts as a personal commentator in your ear, and due to the close proximity he can point out the hired guards searching in the crowded market ahead. Even now, leaning into your shoulder and legs dangling in the air, he stays level headed and a voice of reason, calming your nerves and telling you when the moment is right to leave.

He pats your cheek kindly when he's ready to reacquaint himself with the ground and offers to hold your hand to sneak by the people who've followed you. At a glimpse, he'll look like a toddler dragging you further into the city, but it feels so much more than that when he eagerly clutches two of your fingers in his fist.

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swans-chirping-in-the-distance · 5 months

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everything about my kotlc ocs :))

Last updated: March 4th, 2023

CeCe Fathdon

She has strawberry blonde ringlets, dark blue eyes, is tan, and has a bunch of freckles.

She's a Telepath who can read emotions like Sophie.

The Neverseen tried to take her, but Wraith and Alvar got into it and lost her in a small town.

She was taken in (not legally) by a young farming couple who found her and couldn't have kids. They raised her.

She was found in a small blanket with the name "CeCe Fathdon" etched on it.

Oralie and Kenric's memories of her were taken away by the Neverseen

She got a green cap from her human family and wears it 24/7.

She originally thought her middle name was Fathdon until she met Tiergan.

He met her at 10 and took her to Solreef in secret, and only the Collective knows.

She likes cherry tomatos and fiction books (but the Elves don't have those).

She has a golden retriever named Rufus, whom she brought with her.

She wears overalls.

Tiergan teaches her everything they do at Foxfire (that he can).

Keefe is her idol, but she feels connected to Sophie and doesn't know why.

If she has to fight, she resorts to her fists.

She LOVES plants and constantly helps out the gnomes.

Linh, Marella, Maruca, and Stina eventually just adopt her (not literally).

She clicks with Amy as soon as she meets her.

She's approximately 5 years younger than Sophie.

Eventually marries a guy named Chen.

She met Chen when he wanted to join the Black Swan, and she took him straight to Sophie's house, except she was a nervous wreck and didn't knock.

Sophie was in a baggy hoodie eating ramen noodles crying to Bambi that's playing from a laptop when CeCe and Chen walk in.

Sophie almost killed her that day/ hj

Amir Patel

He's Indian and human.

His dad died when he was 6 and he cherishes his mom.

He can be awkward and nerdy at times, but he's a really good friend.

He gets bullied a lot until he meets Keefe.

He finds him in an alley by his house looking lost, sad, and a little crazy. Amir led him to his home and welcomed him as a guest until Keefe found the hotel.

You bring someone looking like Keefe Sencen to school, and people are gonna stop bullying you.

He was genuinely good friends with Keefe, and he almost told Amir about elves when he bought the elf for Sophie. He chose to talk about Sophie instead.

Amir asked him one day why he left. Keefe opened up about his parents.

He helped Keefe as much as he could.

He was a good friend.

He has short black hair, brown skin, dark eyes, and black glasses.

Whenever he fights, he uses an old metal bat he found (projecting Stiles Stilinski lol).

He's the same age as Dex, Biana, Jensi, etc.

#kotlc oc #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kits4!#mph@mf

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thelovelyblark-barg · 6 months

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So I like to do something called Tank Spotting when I play l4d2, which is just seeing how close I can get to the tank to take a screenshot of him without setting him off. This is helpful because It means I locate the tank fast

so. Barns.

We hear him instantly the minute that chopper takes off, grunting off in the direction of the safehouse. This gauntlet sucks so we try our best to set him off before we start it, because absolutely we do not want him in with an unending hoard.

we have 2 molotovs and a pipe bomb. I think he's about here, hiding out of site from either entrance.

The first pipe bomb throw doesn't make it over the fence. Neither does the first molotov. The second one hits, fire spreads and covers around that corner.

No Tank. But still tank noises.

He's nowhere in the gauntlet alley. He's nowhere in the barns. He's not at the turnstiles.

We get through the hoard. I pick up the gnome. I run to the safehouse and turn to look around the wall to see if he's like further back.

I get punted away from the safehouse door by the Tank.

which was inside the safehouse.

#l4d2 #britt plays l4d2

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allthecastlesonclouds · 6 days

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not to go crazy about these tags but you just simply must say more on the thistlesprings as italian i’m obsessed with that

I OF COURSE WILL I WILL PUT IT UNDER A CUT THO BC IT GOT LONG

i do mean italian american because that is what i know. and also slightly catholic italian american but. yeah.

alright so it did first strike me with the extended family. i do believe that the vision that the sphinx showed gorgug in the forest had some amount of truth to it– everyone else's did, and wilma and digby are very much the idea of "we don't need anybody but each other! :D"– and so, therefore, what's the reason the extended family isn't in wilma's and digby's lives? misguided kindness on both ends.

the thistlesprings (extended) have prejudice and boy howdy the italian grandparents i know. they try and they cook and they have their laws but also they have their beliefs. my (italian, catholic) grandmother called unitarian christianity a cult and tried to stop my (jewish) aunt from marrying my (catholic) uncle in front of a rabbi (that meme of "i consent" "i consent" "i don't!"). it's giving "all they know is wrong and they must change but you cannot change them without being hurt." We cannot accept people of other beliefs so you cannot let anything else in to prove us wrong, all under the paper-thin veil of wanting to protect.

and wilma and digby are such contradictions. they're so, so self-sacrificing, and yet they'll fight the whole world. they have a tank (wonder what happened to that lawn mower, actually...), for gods sake. they care so much about their boy but they also left their families at the drop of a hat? there simply must be more but also the self-sacrificing and yet horribly defensive... they are trying so hard because they know what they want and they are willing to do anything to get it but they would prefer to not fight extensively. but they do, because they over-corrected from their upbringing, and gorgug doesn't have the solidest of ground at home to rely on.

there's also just the gnomish/orcish culture mashup of focusing so much on food. i love food so much guys. you reach out and share those dishes with others– if you're having an event, you best bet you're getting up crack of dawn and making a multi-course meal that anyone and everyone can enjoy. the frosty fair folk festival being right up w+d's alley– of course it was, it was bonding. especially the as-homemade-as-we-can-get-it. never met an italian american who prefered canned sauce or preshredded cheese over homemade. that shit is as fresh as it gets.

there's also the dramatic family gatherings where everything goes wrong. why did gorgug see basically his entire extended family. i know that. the grandchildren are in the basement playing twister or some shit and the parents/grandparents/in-laws are Hashing Shit Out. there is a veil of politeness until 5 year old is gone and then it's a Shouting Match. gorgug saw "Digby and Wilma [are] having a fight with a lot of other gnomes. [He knows] that [he has] aunts and uncles and grandparents and stuff like that." that was Moonar Yulnear or some shit and stuff Went Down. Everyone was there. the cousins were in a tire swing or something but the extended family was there.

point 5b actually both sides of the family know each other. why do italian americans know either nobody or Everybody In Your Life and Their Life and The World Actually.

they just. they have so much (misguided) care and they mean so much to me. and do you think that any side has tried to reach out or has it just been years and years of blame game, of they'll never accept him and this is just how it is and how could they destroy themselves and how could they destroy something good. it all feels very italian american to me. homegrown experience gone sour because you want to thrive.

#questionnn!#bird :D #not maintagging this #but they're!! projection time baybeeeeee #i don't write the w+d all that often though because parents are Difficult To Write #but yeah! they're so. sitting u down and talking about generational trauma #sitting them down and handing them a book on breaking racial stereotypes and fleeing from the premises bc i don't wanna get fuckin SLAPPED #i do think this level of self defense is very italian american. we (as a fandom) don't touch on w+d's defensiveness much bc they've got-#-their lawnmower but they ARE still defensive they ARE CERTAINLY NOT ALWAYS HAPPY #and i do think it was a detriment to gorgug to not see them feel anything besides happy or Regulate Emotion #in some way i do think porter was good for him (showing emotion can be healthy– emotion does not have to be gentle to be good) even tho-#-i detest the man #anyway. sorry. 1am stream of consciousness #i hope this is coherent <3 #and i'm talking i guess

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waltwhitmansbeard · 11 months

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"holy shit. are you okay? what the hell happened?" with Vex and Scanlan, please?

holy shit. are you okay? what the hell happened? gonna set this one pre-tlovm

Vex isn't sure when she ended up at this table alone. Well, almost alone—Keyleth is passed out face-down on the wood, her half-finished tankard still clutched in one hand. She's pretty sure Pike and Grog left to go pick a fight in the alley behind the tavern, and she vaguely recalls Percy rolls his eyes and retiring for the night, dainty thing that he is. Vax, as usual, is a mystery—she lost eyes on him ages ago—so Scanlan, as usual, she presumes, has conned some not-so-innocent into his bed—or, rather, he conned his way into their bed, seeing as there's no way in hell Scanlan has enough silver to rent a room for the night on his own.

So she sits, half-sipping her ale, half-watching the other patrons of this rundown bar slip further and further into their own cups. They're sad sacks, the lot of them, herself included. No money, no jobs, no clue where the next meal is coming from—look how far you've come, Vex'ahlia, she thinks wryly, wishing she were either more drunk or more sober.

There's some commotion from the stairs leading up to the tavern's few rented rooms, and Vex turns just in time to see a mostly-undressed gnome hurtling down into the barroom, shrieking and squealing. "Scanlan?"

The man in question trips and tumbles between tables and legs to Vex, and as he gets closer, she notices telltale signs of a struggle: torn clothes, slashes across his chest, and oddly enough, bruised swollen lips. "Holy shit," she gasps, suddenly far more awake than she'd been a minute ago. "Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

He's already tugging on Keyleth's dangling arm, trying to pull her up and toward the door. "We gotta move. Now. There's no saving Percy, he's a goner."

"Scanlan!" She grabs him by the askew lapel and hauls him away from Keyleth, who's beginning to stir groggily. "What the fuck happened up there?"

"Succubus," he squeaks, his face pale.

Vex blinks, then bursts out laughing. She can barely hear Scanlan's indignant, "It's not funny!"

Except it's entirely funny, and Vex might throw up an entire night's worth of ale if she can't get her laughter under control. She manages to hiccup out, "You...tried...with a...succubus..."

"She was all over me! What was I supposed to do, say no?"

"Yes, you little whore!" Vex manages two deep breaths, killing off most of the giggles, and then she says, "Come on, you disgusting twerp. We'll get the other and go kill it before it manages to actually do some real damage."

Scanlan pouts. "Hey, the damage done to my pride is incredibly real."

"And necessary." She stands, casts a pitiful look at Keyleth, who's fallen asleep again, and says, "We'll leave her for now. Something tells me she's not going to be a huge help." With that, she grabs Scanlan by the scruff and hauls him outside to go track down the rest of their miserable party. They have a fiend to kill—finally this night is getting interesting.

#ask #Anonymous #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #tlovm #tlovm fic #vox machina #vox machina fic #vex'ahlia #scanlan shorthalt #my fic

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razieltwelve · 7 months

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An Amusing Thought (Final Rose AU)

Averia dies and gets reborn... into the Warcraft Universe as the son of Lothar.

Why? Because I think the idea of somebody with Saviour existing in a universe where the Light is a real thing would be hilarious. A power that operates on faith, certainty, and one's beliefs... that sounds like it's right up Saviour's alley, not to mention the light show Saviour has fits in well too.

After all, in the timelines where Saviour goes awry, it's because of its absolute certainty and belief that it can do anything and that what it is doing is the right thing. Provided Averia doesn't go crazy, she should be able to spam Light abilities like there's no tomorrow.

As for why the son of Lothar, I always thought he was cool. It would be nice if he didn't die.

I can imagine Saviour happily switching on the Genocide Protocols for the first time in a while during the First War against the orcs. I mean, yeah, the orcs are scary but compared to the stuff Averia has killed before? Not so much.

Plus, I find the idea of Averia semi-accidentally making things better without realising it (due to know knowledge of Warcraft) pretty funny. She's going to take one look at the gnomes and think "crap... it's like there's an entire race of Vanilles wandering around", which is funny since the Dia-Farron eventually get that numerous.

#fanfiction #final rose #averia yun farron

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undead-potatoes · 3 months

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I don't recall seeing it (if you've already addressed it whoops), how did Jay come to be a druid?

I've mentioned lil bits here and there, but I don't think I've typed it up in any coherent way before so thanks for the excuse B)

TL;DR: He always had an innate connection to nature, especially animals, which manifested itself in the form of being able to speak to animals and use simple wild shapes as a pre-teen. He was then taught how to harness more advanced druidic abilities by actual druids, first by a spore druid living in Baldur's Gate, and later by druids in a circle somewhere outside of the city.

I'm basing most of this on the fact that 1) Forest Gnomes have "Speak with (small) Animals" as a racial trait, and 2) how much of a druid's skill comes from simply studying and emulating nature - they're as much felt and intuited as they are taught.

Jay has always been very attuned to the animal life around him, being able to communicate with them for as long as he can remember. Strays, rodents, and birds were as much friends to him as the other humanoid kids, and it really shaped how he interacts with the world.

As a child he'd study the various animals to see how they moved, and then try to emulate that when he was playing and pretending to be those animals. You know, normal kid stuff. Which is why it took him by surprise when he suddenly stood there one day, having turned into an actual cat. It was more an accident than anything else, almost how sorcerer kids can have sudden and unpredictable surges of magic, where he connected with something more primal for just a moment.

It took him years before he could do it again, and even longer before he could consistently wild shape on command, but he got there eventually. He also tried his hand at other city animals like stray dogs and rats to varying degrees of success, but his cat form was always the one that felt the most "true" to him.

This was another thing that fundamentally shaped him and how he moves, the wild shape being a natural extension of his own humanoid form. As he got older, changing and morphing into other forms became almost as easy as breathing to him, something he barely even offered a conscious thought as he did it.

For years that's all it was, using his minor skills to play, travel around the city, and commit minor crimes like stealing food and trinkets. Nothing throws the Flaming Fists off quite like running into an alley and disappearing into thin air, leaving only an inconspicuous-looking cat behind.

He would eventually bump into Nana, an older spore druid who lived in and oversaw her own little corner of the Baldur's Gate sewers. She took him under her wing, and taught him some of the fundamentals of druidism, both in the form of the most basic skills, but also as an ideology. It's from her he learned to have deep respect for all forms of life, even the ugly and uncomfortable, and how death and decay are mere extensions of life itself.

Nana soon realized Jay's talents laid outside the realms of her own capabilities, and used her connections to druids outside of the Gate to send Jay away to a circle where he could really hone his wild shape abilities. He spent a few years at the circle learning a wider variety of skills, in addition to how to better control his shapeshifting.

He really could just have stayed there and become a permanent fixture at the circle among the other druids, which probably would have been a better life for him overall. But he longed back to the city, and so he returned to Baldur's Gate where he quickly fell back into a life of crime, just with a more advanced set of tools at his disposal.

I imagine he'd been about 14 or 15 when he left for the circle, and somewhere in his late teens when he came back; the perfect age to be genuinely useful, yet easily influenced and manipulated by people seeking to take advantage of him and his abilities.

#Sunny Answers #black-rose4 #thank you so much for asking!#and to anyone who read all of this; I love u #real mary sue main character energy here but I do what I want #I'm going off of what sounds fun and how I personally imagine druids to work rather than the strict rules of game mechanics #OC: Tav

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allthatisleftinthedark · 6 months

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Change for Maisie and Makoto! Maisie noticing changes about him

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒 ( prompts for the five senses. add [reversed] to reverse the action. feel free to change wording as needed & add details ) - accepting. @offrozenmemoirs

[ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 ] ― The sender (Maisie) notices something different about the receiver (Makoto)

In the alley behind the townhouse and meters from the soldier barracks of Dewburrow, Maisie Doscedar could hide. Undetected, unbothered. That much she can trust.

Enshrouded in the darkness of the hanger, the gnome absconds from the early morning light and sits on a crate. The blue layer above her black dress is missing in this instance; instead, she is only in that black dress, whose length stops above her ankles. Her muddied and dark gray boots are cast aside and paired together behind her. Slightly waved and loose hair that reaches the nape of her neck is pulled back in a ponytail, some carnation pink strands resting against her cheek. Her brows furrow in concentration, her face flinching.

. . . . . . . . .

Elder Hilda's precision never eludes her; a thought trailends the litany of responsibilities you internally catalog. Each responsibility is ticked off, and "reconvene and discuss sanction" is the latest, with a bold red checkmark next to it.

Momentarily reprieve, if you consider celebrating your progress, halts from a hot pain shooting from your leg. Your brow furrows. Hands involuntarily clench. With forceful, calming breathing, you pace yourself through gritted teeth.

A year has passed since the recollection of Dewburrow, its children, and other children in villages in Northern Argyll from the Graneyean Academy of Arcane Arts. Many were freshmen; their academy beginnings halted before even completing a full year. Some were on the brink of graduation; others were preparing to survive midterms. All, however, were expertly herded and hurried away, with the Acadmey's reactions less than their gracious facade.

And still, it feels like yesterday.

That should have been you there. That should have been you taking the blow. That should have been you raising the sword. That should have been you after all this time of doing everything. The elders are right; you're finally slipping. You were never fit.

The internal critic, the ever-present commenatator, is that all-too-familiar voice. They don't waste a single second as they go through every flaw and mishap from your four decades of service. The same voice you hear directing and negotiating, delegating and defending, humming and laughing, soothing and correcting, and sometimes weeping and apologizing in whispers—it's you.

Statis. No matter how many times you leave the town and everything around you changes strangely, the village remains constant. Elder Hilda, the "Dewburrow standard" voice in your head, and even the buildings that surround you are as similar to your first days, sweet-eyed and innocent, on the roads at 16 to the current days, glass-eyed and calloused, at 60 when you return home.

One side of your head is throbbing with an unwelcome headache. All of these comparisons are pointless. You knead at it lightly and carefully, mitigating the agony with your index and middle fingers. Too many late entrants have already thrown the elders' plans off track. The dangers they imagine are more than plausible. You close your eyes. The invasions and takeovers from the Graneyean Empire at Rivera will be right on our doorstep.

The tension in the air is palpable as you contemplate the chaos awaiting each hinder. The weight of obligation falls disproportionately on your shoulders, anticipating that you will be thrust into the midst of a conflict yet again. As you were told to be, taught to be, and have been doing for all this time.

Flap-flap-flap. Gales from a storm's onset, the sounds of discord around while safely in the hurricane's eye

A powerful, slow, rhythmic sound catches your attention, originating from something far heavier than the common bird that flies overhead. Instinctively, you look upward, and your gaze locks upon a familiar but always striking sight.

Against the spotless blue expanse of the sky, large draocnic wings, possessing the deepest blue-black scales you have ever seen, fly over. With each wingbeat, a resonant whoosh fills the air—a sound you focus on that soon drowns out the town's everyday sounds.

Makoto Igarashi, the seated prince of Winter's court, one of the many children of the high spirit but the only son of the Dragon Empress, flies over the town of Dewburrow. Their raven black hair waves in the wind, and despite the great distance from ground to land, you immediately recognize the pockets of exposed skin that the spirit always reveals.

You envision the prince's keen, frigid stare surveying the village, too far beyond to notice your existence. His main interest is always on your family's estate, and as much as you can determine, this is only one of the numerous trips he takes to visit his childhood friend, your older sister, Isla.

Four months ago, you two became acquainted and delved into the darkness of the Void world, accompanied by...

Your scarred hand waves, dispersing the heavy cloud of strain that floods your head as you recall it. The memories of that journey still linger, haunting your dreams. All it leaves is insatiable curiosity for the Void, yet heavy disappointment in reality.

Makoto's existence was unknown to you until your abrupt disappearance into the woods at Isla's request to investigate the strange situation. You never expected to see him again after the first time you met him. Similarly, you never saw the other one again.

Yet he persists. Why?

Makoto Igarashi is a specter of carnage. Though you are not a witness to a massacre on the warfront twenty years ago, the Graneyean Empire and its floating city frequently whisper the spotting of a large dragon burning through "superior" technology and helpless soldiers.

Spellbound to confess their histories in the Watcher's Tower, Makoto does not spare the fact that each page in his life is blood-spotted. Sharp canines peer behind sullen lips with each word that falls from his mouth; none are whiter than the human bones he cleaned efficiently and quickly after "cravings."

At least, that's how every monster wants to be seen. The thing about self-prescribed monsters is that they need to be convincing. A common mistake is showing one's hand too early. To gain power over another, a level of restraint is practiced; overwhelming someone, friend or foe, is the first step to failure. Overcompensation is the reality if one shows their cards too soon and has nothing else to support them. Though those easily scared and desperate to survive would kneel quickly, those are the ones who fall for the facade. Self-prescribed monsters perfect the art of illusion.

True monsters see no reason to display their heinous acts at the forefront; they will lick their finger and turn a page of their story, plainly stating the rhyme and reason of their everyday lives. True monsters need not show their fangs and claws; they await and prey.

Keen for observation and supplied by a natural weakness for curiosity, your eyes always perceive beyond the veil. A show of ferocity and treachery, Makoto's ridges and edges are supposed to make one bleed if they draw too close. His cold eyes can bear the weight of life lived for millennia by those who dare oppose or question him. Yet, those same glacy white eyes betray him—a momentary lapse of where the 'humanness' that all spirits bear peeks through.

'Do not come close to me. I cannot take this again.' At the time you first met him in the Void, you were unsure what that meant.

As days turned to months, your initial intrigue grew, and the overall mystery grew. You peer behind the mask anytime he loosens its strings. A deep-seated need to understand the essence, the truth, of any creature has always been your burden.

If a person can be a home, the heart is the hearth, and Makoto Igarashi refuses anyone to get beyond the property line; a deep snowy-covered pine forest surrounds his estate, and he refuses all people, all indisciminately seen as trespassers.

Unseen in the deep forest, Makoto can flex his wings and lower his guard. His sharp fangs don't purposely peek beyond a curled lip of annoyance. Instead, he frowns. His hand does not shake as he fights for control of his mind against the blood prince's influence. Rather, he rests his palms flat, lowering himself to the ground.

Fallen flakes dot his hair, and the imprint of his knees and hands is also left in the snow. The Dragon Price kneels, head bowed. Waiting, listening, and contemplating. To whom? You, the trespasser lucky enough to hide in these metaphorical woods, still do not know. But you know a mourner's grimace when you see it.

Fleeting glimpses of melancholy and a shortness of tolerance for another soul, Makoto grapples with his decision and growing irritation with reality. He catches himself feeling or believing in something he rejected for himself.

Through the progression of several months, you notice that conflict in him is growing. It is no secret from him, from the family, or from you that Makoto's range of accepted companionship can be counted on two hands and can be reduced to one hand if not careful.

Initially, his attitude towards you was one of sheer tolerance; your presence was accepted because of the bond with Isla and because of Lady Spring's (his paternal grandmother's) blessing over your bloodline. Memories of the Void have already revealed to you that the threshold for his patience is shorter than that of Isla.

By your own insistence and through letters and invitations to your home, interactions increase, and the days of Makoto's visits prolong.

Ears twitch, and his gaze lingers longer when he does not expect your attentiveness. He is not standing around and politely waiting for conversation to pass, but he now listens. Conversations that would see him typically aloof or indifferent now draw him in; a query for his opinions and insights he begins answering, even seeking yours. An impromptu history lesson or winded explanation on your end meets with his expectant but stoic expression, a stark contrast to his curt manner with others in the town and your other siblings.

The ice begins cracking, not loudly but in subtle ways. Despite how cold he can be, Makoto's disposition is warming.with a reason you don't completely understand. It was almost as if the icy facades of Rivera are slowly melting, revealing the hidden rivers beneath.

On your family's property, you were sitting on the fence one evening when Makoto came over to sit next to you. Instead of having the customary stiff stance, he had one that made him appear relaxed and almost human. He leans forward, his lips in view. The talk flowed easily, touching on both immense and mundane things. And as the sun sinks lower into the horizon, illuminating the sky with shades of gold and purple, you see that the dragon prince has been affected by the most basic human emotion—affection.

"Fffff--" Your train of thought is interrupted by an acute pain shooting up from your ankle. You wince, glancing down. Purple and pink blemishes mar your heels—a sight that not only stings upon mere viewing but also aches piercingly. Anytime your hands move to touch them with the gentlest care, your leg trembles in response.

The sound echoes in your ears, and your head sinks, filled with memories. They are unrelenting reminders that... always... find... their... mark.

In the darkness of the alley, a place you hoped would offer respite, it seems it's still an avenue where the ghosts of your past and looming shadows of the future choose to visit. Taking a deep breath, your eyelids slowly close as your hands rest atop the crate.

You open your eyes, staring up at the spotless blue sky. Makoto Igarashi is now a black dot on the horizon.

"...I hope you're well." She sighs. "I'll see you home."

#offrozenmemoirs #⋆ * correspondences acknowledged and responded ; maisie doscedar‚ asks * ⋆#⋆ * exchanges with the emissary ; maisie doscedar‚ ic * ⋆#( soa verse tag tba )#corporal punishment tw

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maugarts · 3 months

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FIRST POST OF 2024!

From Gnome (2021) to Dwarf (2024), it's time for a redraw baabbyyyy!!!.....And first real piece of finished work in ...months...featuring Elnora "Cheese" Timberwood; my Candlekeep Mysteries character. Figured it was time to redesign her from 2021 as she's gone through some character development since then. She survived all of Candlekeep and it's bullshit, a pretty big stint as the muscle of "Jo and the Exotics", became a druid, got mind controlled by a fungal Lich queen from the Hells, fell out of druidism, and vowed never to use magic again.

Quiet allot for a dirt-poor back-alley mutt from Waterdeep...Now she's back in her home city, protecting it and as a member of of the Guard and checking up on her parents during the weekends. Now, if she could just stop spontaneously going on months-long adventures she might get that Captain's promotion...

#dnd 5e art #dnd #dnd art #dnd character #Dwarf Character #Dnd Dwarf #Cheese Timberwood #dungeon and dragons art #Dungeons and Dragons

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avocad1sh0w0 · 1 year

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Merry Christmas dears

As i promised

-Trees, cats, feathers and white snow-

A Scarian Christmas oneshot

3rd POV

Grian and Scar were just finishing the final details of the Christmas decorations, the white snow falling seemingly endless outside, a few hermits were playing in the snow, the colorful fairy lights were only visible because of it's glow, decorating the bases, the big Christmas tree in the middle of Boatem, right above the Boatem hole, Jellie was sleeping in the couch, peacefully, oh how Grian wanted to be in her place right now, he was decorating the Christmas tree, it was quite har for someone his height (not as if someone like him existed, well, we've got gnomes, but anygay-) making him have to fly low not to hit his head on the ceiling, and that's what was tiring, his wings were hurting from the amount of effort to keep him just above the floor, but not too high as he used to.

Scar left to get some wood for the fireplace, leaving Grian to prepare the food as Mumbo had invited all of the hermits for a Christmas dinner, everyone together, like a family.

It was almost night when he finished everything, Jellie had waken up a few minutes ago, currently eating, the blond male was sitting on the floor with a wet cloth he was using to clean in his hand, sweat dripping from his forehead, wings puffed up and in a urgent need of preening, he was really tired, he heard a curious meow coming from the gray and white cat, who was sitting in front of the tree, tail swinging from side to side agitated (cat owners will know what's about to happen) "Hey girl! What ware you doing?" Grain asked Jellie, as if she was going to answer, receiving a malicious meow from her "Oh no, please don't do this, I've been tidying this whole place up since morning" he pleaded the cat, that was going into a jump position, with a meow she jumped in the middle of the tree, making a few of the decorations fall of either cracking or breaking by whole, glass shards scattered around the floor "JELLIE, NO!" He yelled before the cat jumped out back to the floor, bringing the whole tree along, breaking everything, well, almost everything, the only thing that was intact were 2 plastic decorations one with a picture of the whole server together inside and the other with a picture of him and Scar during the mission of bringing a charged creeper into one of the shops of the diagonal alley, he held them close to his chest, as tears he didn't know he had been holding, ran down his face as he curled up in a ball, seeing all the hours of work gone in a matter of seconds, he wanted to cry, he wanted someone to tell him it was going to be okay, he wanted Scar.

Maybe his prayers were heard, cuz a few minutes later scar entered the house, his hair and clothes white because of the snow, he put the logs into the support near the fireplace (I'm Brazilian, Christmas is hot af here so I have no idea what this is called) "Honey, I'm home!" He said jokingly, his deep, joyful voice ringing in his ears, when Scar opened his eyes he saw the whole mess, and a sad, crying, pesky bird in the corner, leaving the mess behind he rushed to Grian, not even bothering to take off his boots, as it was safer since the decorations were mostly glass "Oh Grian, what happened, are you okay, are you hurt, you're a mess!" The brunet asked turning Grian's head trying to mind any cuts, pulling him I to his arms after finding none "I-i'm fine, it's just....... I tried to make everything perfect, but then..... Then Jellie jumped on the tree and destroyed everything, I could only save these two" the avian answered between soft sobs, showings his boyfriend the decorations, a smile appeared on Scar's face "I don't care about the decorations, I care about you, Christmas is not about gifts or decorating, it's about being with loved ones, and just by having you here with me, safe, in my arms, it's already a perfect Christmas, don't worry about the tree, we can buy a new one next year, how about we go to Mumbo's now, we can deal with this later, let's just clean it up" Scar said caressing the blond's face with his thumb, placing kisses on the others face, making Grain giggle, almost forgetting about the sadness "Yeah... I guess you're right, then we better start soon, this will not clean itself up!" He said trying to get up, but Scar didn't let him, not yet "Nah-ah-ah~ not before preening your beautiful wings, they're in an urgent need!" Scar demanded in a jokingly serious tone "Fine, I guess, tho, they are in a pretty need of help" giggles filled the once sad place, Scar carried Grian to their room, preening the brown wings of his boyfriend, being extra careful "I love you Scar....... I don't know what I'd do without you" The blond avian muttered "I love you too my little songbird" the brunet replied, placing a soft kiss on top of Grian's head........

-THE END-

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, THE ENERGY WENT OUT AND I DIDN'T HAVE INTERNET, ANDWHENITCAMEBACKIFORGOTALLMYIDEASANDIWASJUSTABLETOFINISHITNOWI'MSORRY?!!!!

#grian #hermitcraft #desert duo #gtws #hc grian #last life smp #trafficshipping #3rd life #hermitcraft s8 #writeblr #scarian fanfic #scarian

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hippy-pants · 1 year

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TIL: Every time you stifle a sneeze, the force of the sneeze cannot simply disappear from existence. It must manifest elsewhere, often causing a small creature to explode or a chef's hat to fly off into the air. La toque blanche. The chef's hat. Why is it shaped like a mushroom cloud? Because they both sure can cook. And why is a mushroom cloud shaped like a mushroom? Not many people know this, but out in the forest, right where every mushroom grows, there used to be a tiny Japanese city, so tiny that even David the Gnome could commit accidental genocide just by taking a poop without looking. Ironically, Gnome Poop is highly sought after in Japan, because of its mystical properties and because it tastes good on sushi for people who can't handle wasabi. Here in America, Gnome Poop's mystique is somewhat overshadowed by that of Unicorn Seed!, the hip new soda pop that all the kids are guzzling on the street corners. Its popularity has been hugely fostered by product placement in popular films. For instance, in the film "Muscular Hooker 2," Will Smith's character takes a dramatically-framed swig of Unicorn Seed! and then suddenly grows a CGI erection which extends into infinity, and then Will Smith's mind explodes and the movie ends. For that scene alone, Roger Ebert gives the film 3 and a half stars. Not many people know this, but movie critics have a finit amount of stars they can award in their lifetime. They are often kept in a vault, heavily secured to prevent a senile Scrooge McDuck from wandering in, mistaking the stars for gold coins, and swimming in them. This is for Scrooge's own protection, as the stars have sharp edges and would laycerate his body into a bloody, feathered pulp. If this were to happen, his will states that the entire McDuck fortune will go to his grandnephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie; and that his nephew Donald will get zilch because nobody understands what the Christ he is saying anyway, so who cares. As for Scrooge McDuck's body, it will be jerked and eaten, as per Scottish tradition. Indeed, cannibalism of the dead is a cherished custom in Scotland. When a Scottish boy's coming of age is celebrated (a ceremony known as the Scot Mitzvah) he is forced to consume his own great-grandfather, bones and all, in just 24 hours, or else the local Shaman will hit him on the head with a magical stick that stops him from ever becoming an adult. Now, you might think that eternal childhood wouldn't be such a bad thing - Never-Never-Land and all that jazz - but no! Once your parents are dead, there's nothing to stop you from eating nothing but sweets, as children all want to do, and when your baby teeth have rotted away, there will be no adult teeth to take their place. Toothless, stupid, and unkissed by the spirits of puberty, you will be banished from Scotland to the only place in this world where an awkward manchild such as yourself can ever hope to be accepted: Ireland. You will live as a leprechaun. You will don a false beard and a green bowler and stand on the streets jabbering about a nonexistent pot of gold. When darkness falls, you will sleep in an alley on a bed of night soil, clutching a potato, which will be your surrogate mother. If you are found by leprechaun poachers, your only hope for escape is to mesmerize them with a sprightly leprechaun jig, and then stab their eyes out with your leprechaun stiletto. Then you must run away to find another Irish hamlet, and the cycle will repeat forever until one of three things happens. One: the poachers get too smart for you. Two: you starve to death. Three: the stifled sneeze of a distant someone causes you to explode and die.

#fun facts #TIL #i love learning #today i learned #every time you stifle a sneeze #lemon demon #neil cicierega

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hinnyfied · 1 year

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Icing on the Cake

Percy finds more than he bargained for in the cake shop. He just doesn't know it yet.

Read on AO3 here or continue below:

Percy walked down the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley, pulling his scarf more tightly around his neck to keep out the chilly October breeze. He was pleased to note that another couple of shops had opened back up since his last visit. It still wasn’t quite as it used to be, but it was getting closer.

He had just arrived at his destination when, off in the distance, a rogue firework escaped through the front door of George’s recently reopened joke shop. The children looking in the window squealed with laughter. Percy smiled, making a mental note to pop in for a visit after he finished his errand.

Parson’s Patisserie was one of Diagon Alley’s newest additions. As Percy set foot in the shop, he was taken aback by the chaotic scene that greeted him. To his immediate left, a choir of caramel gnomes sat atop a colour-changing croquembouche, singing to him as he walked by; the sound was rather squeaky and irritating. Something whizzed past Percy’s head, making him flinch. He looked up to find truffles resembling snitches flying through the air, weaving through the cakes and sweets that were stacked so high in every direction, it was surely magic alone that prevented them from toppling over.

After pausing momentarily to admire a life-size bowtruckle made entirely of chocolate, he made his way to the main cake display at the very back of the shop and perused his options. He scanned the array several times over. There were many satisfactory choices, but that simply wouldn’t do. This cake was special. This cake was important. This cake had to be perfect.

“Can I help you with something?”

Percy snapped his head up. He had been so focused on the cakes that he hadn’t even noticed the woman on the other side of the counter. Her curly black hair was pulled up rather haphazardly into a bun, leaving several stray strands of hair down to frame her flour-streaked cheeks. The apron she was wearing had splatters of chocolate and colourful icing all down the front. Her overall messiness did not particularly inspire Percy’s confidence.

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to place an order, and I’ll need it by Friday next. I hope that I am ordering in sufficient time.”

“Not a problem,” said the baker, pulling out a pad of paper and quill. “Do you know what you’d like?”

Percy studied the cakes for a moment more, wanting to make sure he got it exactly right.

“Right. I’d like a lemon cake with raspberry filling, but I’d like for the icing to be pink, rather than this yellow you have on the lemon cake on display here. I prefer the decor on this cake on the far left, but note quite as busy – perhaps if the pattern on the side were a bit more delicate. It would be best if it were not as tall as this one, but not as short as that one over there. I’d like it to say Happy Birthday Mother on top, but not in too vibrant a colour. I’d hate for it to be garish.”

“Quite particular, aren’t we?” she asked with a giggle, jotting down the last of his requests with her lilac quill.

“Yes,” he said, bristling a bit. “There’s hardly anything amusing about wanting to get it right. It’s my mother’s first birthday since–” Percy faltered, preventing the words since I left them from tumbling forth. His cheeks felt hot.

“Since before,” the baker said softly, kindly sparing him from elaborating on his unintended candour. All traces of laughter were gone from her voice.

Percy nodded curtly, pondering the young woman. Perhaps she too had to grieve this year, to bury a loved one and watch those around her crumble into mere remnants of who they once were. It was something he found himself wondering often since the end – just how much shared sorrow there was between him and the strangers he passed on the street.

The silence stretched on a fraction longer than Percy was comfortable with, but before he could say anything, the baker ducked down, reached into the display case, and popped back up holding a cupcake with yellow icing.

“I think you should take this with you,” she said as she packed it up into a little box with care, tying a delicate satin ribbon around it. “It’s one of our lemon cupcakes – the same kind of cake you’ll be picking up. That way you can see for yourself that your mother’s cake will be just right.”

“Very good. How much do I owe you for it?” Percy asked, regaining his composure.

“It’s on me,” she said kindly.

“Oh. Well. Thank you, Ms. Parson.”

“Good lord no.” The baker laughed suddenly. Percy would have had the decency to feel a bit foolish if he weren’t preoccupied by her laughter. It was possibly the most joyous sound he had heard in ages.

“Mr. Parson is the owner. I just work here.”

“Silly of me to assume, I suppose,” Percy said, clearing his throat. “Anyway, thank you-”

“Audrey.”

“Right. Audrey,” he repeated. “I’m Percy. Percy Weasley.”

“Very nice to meet you, Percy Weasley,” she said with a twinkle in her deep brown eyes. “Is that the name I should put down on the order? Will you be picking the cake up yourself?”

“Yes.” The sound of his name on her lips had given him an inexplicably warm feeling in his chest.

“Good,” she said as she jotted down his name on her little pad of paper. “I’ll see you next week Friday, then. The cake will be ready by nine o’clock, so you can come anytime after that.”

“I’ll be here at nine o’clock sharp.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said with a smile.

#hp fanfic #percy weasley #audrey weasley #meet cute #canon compliant #harry potter post war #harry potter

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