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dickwheelie · 3 years

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a jonmartin ficlet for @tmafantasyweek, not for any particular prompt, just an idea that struck my fancy.

this was inspired very loosely by @gras-art’s lovely drawings of martin with stars. it’s not the kind of thing I usually write but I had a lot of fun with it so I hope y’all enjoy :)

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There was once a man whose job it was to hang the stars in the night sky. If you asked him, he would tell you that he didn’t believe himself to be very good at it, but it was all that he knew.

There was once another man whose job it was to map the constellations. Though it was a simple enough task, for the constellations never changed, the man prided himself on his impeccable work.

One night, the mapmaker awoke to find that the constellations were different from the night before. Irritated and confused, he stomped up to the moon and demanded to speak to the one in charge of the stars.

The starhanger was called, and soon he emerged timidly from his tiny workshop to confront the bristling mapmaker.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mapmaker said, gesturing up at the night sky, where the stars had once been so nicely aligned into neat little columns and rows, but were now scattered, seemingly at random, across the sky. “It’s a mess!”

“Well,” said the starhanger, gathering his courage, “I had thought perhaps it was time for a change. The stars have always been placed just so. But last night, I thought it might be nice to hang them differently.” He looked sidelong at the mapmaker. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I don’t like it!” said the mapmaker. “You can’t just go around changing the constellations whenever you like. It’s chaos, and in my line of work, chaos is precisely what we are trying to avoid.”

“But doesn’t it get a bit dull, sometimes?” pressed the starhanger. “Mapping the same constellations every night? Look,” he said, pointing at the northwestern part of the sky, “last night I hung those stars in the shape of a dog. Have you ever had the chance to map a dog before?”

The mapmaker was silent. At length, he said, “Well . . . I suppose not . . .”

“It would be a challenge,” said the starhanger.

“I do like a challenge,” said the mapmaker. “The maps are always the same, night after night. It does wear at the skin a bit.”

“Well, that settles it,” said the starhanger, happily retreating back into his workshop. “I’ll keep changing the constellations, and you’ll get to make a brand new map every night.”

Before the mapmaker could say another word, the starhanger had swung the door of his workshop shut, and he was left alone under the suddenly unfamiliar tableau of the night sky.

The following night, the mapmaker awoke to find that once again, the night sky had changed. The dog the starhanger had pointed out was gone, and in its place was a teapot, surrounded by teacups and saucers. Despite himself, the mapmaker found himself eagerly laying out a brand new scroll and setting to work.

By the time the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the mapmaker had completed his map, and for the first time in a long, long while, went to bed utterly satisfied.

The following few nights were just the same. Every night, the starhanger would hang the stars in unexpected places, and make pictures when the fancy struck him. The teapot became a sailboat, which became a book, which became a cow. The mapmaker found himself waking up each night eagerly anticipating what new thing the starhanger had made, and setting about mapping it with gusto.

One night, the starhanger hung the stars in the shape of a cat. The following morning he was surprised by a knocking at his workshop door. When he peeked out, the mapmaker stood before him, in a much more enthused manner than last time, and said to him, “Cats are my favorite animals.”

“Are they?”

“Yes! I just wanted to thank you for making one. It was wonderful to map.”

The starhanger blinked owlishly at him. “You . . . came up to the moon just to tell me that?”

“Yes,” said the mapmaker, suddenly very self-conscious. “And to tell you . . . you were right. Making a new map every night, it’s been invigorating. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed my job so much.”

“Oh,” said the starhanger, smiling shyly, “well, that’s very good to hear.”

“You won’t stop, will you?” said the mapmaker anxiously.

The starhanger bit back a wide smile. “No, I won’t.”

And indeed he did not. The starhanger, up until then, had been hesitantly experimenting, but now he decided to roll up his sleeves and give the mapmaker a real challenge.

The following night the mapmaker awoke and immediately dove for his workstation when he saw that the sky was patterned with stars in the shape of a massive spiderweb. From horizon to horizon, there was hardly a gap between the threads, and the mapmaker had to work tirelessly to map them all. At the end of the night he collapsed in his chair, utterly exhausted and happier than he had been in years.

The following few nights, the starhanger left off a bit, hanging less intricate but no less beautiful designs. One night the sky was full of swirls and eddies, as one would find in the ocean or perhaps the clouds on a windy day. Another time the starhanger gifted the mapmaker with more cats, slinking and winding their way across the sky.

Indeed, it had grown to be much like gift-giving. The starhanger was no longer thinking of his own satisfaction when he hung the stars, and similarly the mapmaker was no longer thinking of his impeccable record when he mapped them. Instead, they were both thinking of the other.

Then one night, for the first time, the mapmaker was surprised by something new in the night sky: words, spelled out in neat script. The first message, for there would be others, was brief and self-explanatory: Hello MM!

“Hello, Starhanger,” the mapmaker murmured back, as he rolled out a new scroll.

The messages quickly grew more elaborate as the starhanger grew used to writing with the stars.

Lovely night we’re having!

How was your morning?

I’m getting much better at drawing cats, look:

It’s cold on the moon. I hope it isn’t too cold where you are, MM.

Though everyone on earth puzzled over these messages, the mapmaker of course knew they were meant for him. He mapped the messages carefully and reverently, and spent all night imagining how he would reply to them.

One night, the sky read, I’d love to see one of your maps sometime.

The mapmaker wasted no time in taking a trip up to the moon, and showing the starhanger some of the maps he was most proud of.

“This is the one with all the cats,” said the mapmaker. “I really enjoyed making that one.”

“It’s lovely,” said the starhanger, and he meant it. “They all are.”

“You can keep them, if you want,” said the mapmaker.

“All of them?”

“You’ll appreciate them more than I do, I’m sure,” said the mapmaker. He glanced downwards. “And you’ve given me such beautiful things to look at every night. It only makes sense that you should keep the maps I make of them.”

“Oh,” said the starhanger, “thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” said the mapmaker. “The past few months have been the happiest I’ve ever spent.”

“Really?” said the starhanger, warmth blooming in his chest. “Mine, too.”

The following night the sky blazed with hundreds of stars, clustered together to form the shape of a heart. The mapmaker hung that night’s map on the wall of his studio, and traced it with his finger often.

It was around that time that the mapmaker decided to do something utterly unorthodox and possibly terribly foolish, which would likely end in disaster: he decided to make his own map. A map not of the night sky, or of the stars therein, but from the mapmaker’s own imagination. A map without a guide. It was ludicrous, the mapmaker thought, but it was the only way he could think to show the starhanger what he wished to show him.

It took many weeks, as the mapmaker used his few spare hours of nighttime to work on his own map, careful not to let his official work drop in quality. It was not easy for him to map stars that were not really there, and many times he considered giving up, but then he reminded himself how beautiful the starhanger’s constellations were, and how hard he worked on them.

“If he can do that every night,” the mapmaker chided himself, “you can do this just this once.”

Finally, more than a month after he had begun his task, the mapmaker sat back and stared at the map he had invented, and found that he was satisfied. Eagerly, impatiently, he made his way back up to the moon, and knocked at the starhanger’s workshop door.

The starhanger’s face was like a star all on its own with how brightly he greeted him. “What brings you up here, unannounced?” he asked.

The mapmaker, who was holding the map behind his back, unrolled it with a flair and presented it to the starhanger. “This is for you,” he said.

The starhanger took it carefully. It was a map of the stars, yes, but not based on anything the starhanger had made. It was something new, with imaginary stars scrawled across an imaginary sky.

“I made it for you,” said the mapmaker, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I didn’t know how else to explain.”

The stars on the map formed the shape of a heart, to match the one the starhanger had made for the mapmaker (though this one was a bit more wobbly). Inside the heart, the starhanger could make out many different constellations he had gifted the mapmaker, the dog and the cat and the sailboat, among others. And in the very center of the heart, in wobbly, uncertain script, the stars spelled out, Thank you, Starhanger.

A tear formed at the corner of the starhanger’s eye. “Oh, Mapmaker,” he said, and could think of no more words.

“Do you like it?” the mapmaker asked, wringing his hands.

“Of course I like it,” the starhanger laughed, wiping at his eye. “I love it. It’s your best work, by far, I think.”

“Oh,” said the mapmaker, visibly relaxing. “Well, that’s good then.” And he pulled the starhanger into a hug.

The following night, the mapmaker awoke, looked up at the night sky, laughed, and blushed all the way to his ears. Up in the sky was a single, simple message, of only three words, and though the mapmaker had no trouble mapping it out, he lingered on the constellation long after dawn.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #TMAFantasyWeek #gwyneth writes #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #very weird using those tags when their names aren't even mentioned lmao but yall Get It i know

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thesims4blogger · 3 years

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OFFICIAL BLOG: Harold Tours The Countryside in Cottage Living

The Sims team has released an official blog for The Sims 4 Cottage Living

I’m in Henford-on-Bagley!

Sul Sul… Is this how it goes? No matter. Hey there, it’s me, Harold the Llama, and before you go about wondering how a llama like myself managed to prepare a blog, I’ll have you know these nails have been trimmed to perfection to reveal the capable keyboard connoisseur that I am. But my motor skills are not what this is about! It’s about my charming home of Henford-on-Bagley.

Sim legends of old say that Henford-on-Bagley was created from the perfect mingling of earth and water… but I’m pretty sure some Sims loved the nearby Cordelia Falls and that the River Bagley runs through it in all of its glory. Hmmm, majestic.

Anywho, in order to get to know more about this charming village, we will have to visit all of its neighbourhoods. Our first stop is Finchwick, where the action happens!… Sort of… in a manner of speaking. Finchwick prides itself as a historically bustling and tight-knit community.

Finchwick is the home of the weekly – yes, weekly – fair in which locals put their skills to the test in creating the most sophisticated and delicious creations, such as pies, as well as show off their most prized animals *cough cough* myself included *cough cough* and oversized crops – trust me, the bigger the better – to be judged, as it is tradition, by the Mayor no less! Winning or just participation will get you a reward, but to be honest, it is all for bragging rights and what is better than bragging rights anyway, am I right?

This neighbourhood hosts the historic square which is also home to the busy marketplace – perfect if you love window shopping – and the village pub – ‘The Gnome’s Arms.’ The marketplace is where you’ll find Goldbloom’s Grocery Shop, home of the best produce! But don’t take it from me, try some yourself! I recommend their aubergines… that’s an eggplant for the non-locals.

Another iconic spot is the Crumplebottom’s Garden Shop, owned by Agatha Crumplebottom, and run by Agatha and Agnes! This shop will serve all of your gardening needs, as well as some extra things… not quite for gardening, but for enjoying nonetheless such as conserves and jams… mmm, jams. Now I want some crumpets and jam, the superior option to buttered crumpets – fight your chickens about it, not me. I should ask my keeper to make some… but who am I kidding, I can only eat feed for llamas (well, sometimes a treat) *sigh* A llama can dream after all. Just don’t tell Agatha if you make some, or she’ll send her gnomes to take them for sure as they are her favourites.

But, back to The Gnome! If you’re feeling quite curious or in need of a little drama for your llama, you can enter The Gnome’s Arms for a chance to listen in on the village’s gossip, history, and what is happening around it. Owned by the Scotts, Simon and Sara, this pub has been a dream come true, despite Simon running randomly into chickens – or me for that matter – along the way. This is where everyone knows everything about everyone, so take advantage of that as you visit! And their food is amazing, make sure to try their Bangers and Mash or their Beef Wellington; I hear it is fantastic. Enjoy the convivial mood by having a Henford Heart-to-Heart with or offering a Finchwick Favor to Sara, who should be minding the bar, for good measure. Sara can give you advice if you seek it, or maybe share some ghost stories if you want to know them.

If you’re in a helpful mood, you may also help Sims with village errands and learn more about their backgrounds, interests, and what they do around town! Or just for the good rewards, if that’s your bag.

Trotting along, we find Old New Henford. A fun piece of trivia for you all: it was originally named ‘Little Henford.’ However after some consideration, it was proposed that ‘New Henford’ would be better suited… more posh if you will. Unfortunately, there was a mishap with the national mapmakers and the town apparently ceased to exist for two whole weeks! Ha! Imagine that? Well, after that of course the town needed a new name and Old New Henford was picked, and here we are.

This part of the village is known for their lush estates, rolling hills, and their small – but beautiful – community garden. This neighbourhood used to be one giant property owned by the Watson family, who sold plots of it over the years. They still own a sizable estate perched at the top of the Olde Mill Hill – you can’t miss it.

You will find that this part of town is perfect to have a lot with a garden and space for livestock and oversized crops! You can always take notes as you stroll around the area and see how the townsfolk are doing with their gardens and plots.

Old New Henford is the perfect place for those that love animals like yours truly. In this neighbourhood you can find rabbits hopping about, wild birds you can sing to, and cheeky little foxen that you can befriend… but beware of their mischievous nature! They will want to surprise you and *mumbles* you’ll want to be sure your chickens are accounted for *mumbles.* This part of the town is also great for those who love to fish. Who knows, maybe someone finally will catch that wolf eel I keep hearing about.

You can even say that it is an idyllic place for a new start. Just ask Cecilia, one of our newest residents who moved in recently from the big city looking for a new life after having her heart broken. Now she shares her life with us living in a fab, refurbished barn. She loves keeping her garden, and her chickens! She is a lovely neighbour. I hope one day she finds true love. Unfortunately for Michael Bell, the local Creature Keeper, he is not her chosen one, but at least Cecilia has a long term commitment to all critters that visit for now.

Like Cecilia, if you welcome Wild Animals for visits, some can become your friends for life and even bring you gifts.

From the rolling hills of Old New Henford, we arrive at The Bramblewood.

The Bramblewood is the natural beauty of Henford-on-Bagley.These woods have a storybook-like aura that delights anyone who visits. It has long provided a picturesque place for many wild birds, rabbits, and foxen to call home, so you may find yourself among friends here including our friend Michael, our Creature Keeper, who roams the woods on most days caring for animals and plants.

It is truly a wonderful place, where you can forage Chocoberries and mushrooms, including nightcaps – some say that you can only find them at night… aptly named! The Bramblewood can be full of surprises, especially if you encounter the Isle of Volpe, named after Lord Volpe, founder of Finchwick. The Isle of Volpe is one of the most iconic hallmarks of Henford-on-Bagley, not only because of the history reflected on its ruins, but also because it is the most romantic spot in town. Generations of Sims remember their first kiss in the Isle of Volpe *love sigh*, so if you are coming with your sweetheart, you should spend some time there to experience its splendor. Just be careful not to disturb the Creature Keeper’s home. He is a gentle but private Sim.

But if romance is not something you fancy, head out for a bit of adventure and visit the Isle of Volpe Park. Run through the path that leads you to Sophie the Snail, who is always happy to take a picture. If it is calm and serenity you seek, be sure to spend some time visiting Cordelia Falls. In the end, wherever you spend your time in this part of town, it is said that the Bramblewood can change your life forever, and so far there have been no truer words to live by.

And so you see, my friend, whether you decide to come for a visit or move here to my humble countryside town, there is always something happening, something to do, something to dream about, but most importantly, know that we welcome you with open … erhm… feet!

We hope to see you soon!

Cheers!

#news #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 cottage living #expansion pack

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changeling-rin · 3 years

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How about Mask and Ocarina? How would they react to everyone else’s adventures?

Well I already did Mask, so I'm not sure what else would happen...

Unless you mean the two of them together?

...You know what, why not

................................................

Skyward Sword: It's hilariously easy to take down their enemies when everyone assumes that Ocarina is the biggest threat and ignores Mask right up until he stabs them from behind

Minish Cap: Ocarina has a wonderful time at the fair. Meanwhile, Mask enters a tournament and coincidentally beats the pulp out of a pompous purple guy

Four Swords: Mask gets into several arguments with the Great Fairies. Ocarina apologizes for... him

Ocarina of Time: Mask has several ideas. Ocarina finds it really weird to be the same height for once. (He could almost be convinced to open the Temple again anyways just to resume their normally accepted dynamic, if it weren't for the fact that Mask actively wants to punt Ganondorf into the next century)

Majora's Mask: Despite his best efforts to blindfold Ocarina for the entire duration of the adventure, Mask unsurprisingly fails to successfully do so. Meanwhile, Ocarina is having a sudden epiphany about all the times Mask tripped over his own tongue avoiding spoilers

Twilight Princess: Ocarina never wants to be the straight man to his older-but-younger self and his new imp best friend again

Four Swords Adventures: Ocarina uses the Four Sword for the simple reason of Mask being better mentally able to handle babysitting four alternate-timeline selves at once. The other way around... didn't go so well

A Link To The Past: No, Ocarina isn't the kid from the wanted posters. Does he look like a twelve-year-old princess-kidnapper? He is sixteen thank you very much. Now seriously, he just wants to 'talk' to the Royal Advisor Agahnim about a hint to the Princess' whereabouts

Oracle of Ages: Harp of Ages versus Ocarina of Time. Let's go.

Oracle of Seasons: Mask dissembles the Rod of Seasons almost immediately to figure out how it's changing time without actually changing Time. The mob they have to run from for destroying a sacred artifact is completely unrelated

Link's Awakening: That thing is supposed to be a Nightmare? Really? Has nobody here ever seen Majora's Moon

The Legend of Zelda: It's good stress relief if nothing else

A Link Between Worlds: Ravio looks like neither of them? At least he seems just as confused about it as they are

Wind Waker: Ocarina holds the baton. Mask has been deemed as 'too likely to create tornadoes for fun'. They're not wrong, he just knows when to do it in unpopulated areas! What do you mean the ocean isn't unpopulated? Sentient mapmaker fish???

Spirit Tracks: Mask's Creepy Meter goes off the minute Chancellor Cole opens his mouth, which saves everyone a lot of trouble in the end. It also helps that Ocarina is tall enough to literally pick the guy up and just, hold him there

#Changeling Answers #DL Questions #Mask and Ocarina #The Hero(es) of Time #Anonymous Replies #Other Link Adventures AU #Dimensional Links

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zealouswerewolfcollector · 3 years

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A Poetry Lesson

Maedhros/Ingwion because why not? This is just silly fun except for the last part, which isn’t fun at all, I have to warn.

On Ao3

At first, Ingwion paid no mind to the air of excitement in the library. It was enough to know that it wasn’t about him; he was a frequent guest here. He also knew that it wasn’t unusual for impromptu poetry discussions to take place here or for scholars to meet for debates. So the prince stayed in his corner, reading the newest poems that had been written down at his request. He wasn’t always able to visit the poetry gatherings, but he didn’t want to miss anything. When he was done, he chose several poems to show his mother and stood.

On his way out, he glanced at the small group gathered around a desk. He knew two of the loremasters; the other three were young, possibly only apprentices. The younger ones were whispering among themselves, while the loremasters were silently watching the elf who was hunched over a scroll, writing or rather drawing something, judging by the careful movements of the quill. One of the apprentices asked a question, and when the elf raised his head to answer, Ingwion, to his surprise, recognized Nelyafinwë, King Finwë’s eldest grandson.

The Noldo was dressed plainly, in dark green and grey; he had no adornment on his head and wore his hair in a simple style—three narrow braids going from each temple to join together on the back of his head, the rest of his hair tumbling freely down his back. Ingwion wondered if he should approach, but Nelyafinwë seemed busy. Ingwion didn’t have much time either; the hour of the mingling was nearing, and he had to be with his family to sing for the waxing of Telperion.

He came back to return the poetry collection he had taken when Laurelin was in full bloom and found Nelyafinwë there again. He was alone this time, but for reasons he didn’t understand, Ingwion still hesitated for a moment before approaching. Nelyafinwë didn’t look surprised as he greeted Ingwion formally but warmly.

“I have seen you here before a few times,” he said when Ingwion took a seat in front of him.

“A few times? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to have seen you a few times,” Nelyafinwë said with a slight smile.

Ingwion was thrown off for a moment by the familiarity in the Noldo’s teasing words but found out that he didn’t dislike it.

“Why didn't you let us know?” he asked. “You could stay with us as long as you wish. Our doors are always open before Finwë’s kin.”

“Thank you, but I have to decline,” Nelyafinwë said. “As tempting as it sounds, I have found a very cozy place to stay in the city. Besides, I am not here as a prince. I have come to help your scholars draw maps of the northern lands.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert in mapmaking.”

“Oh no, I am no expert. I am sure these will get redrawn later. I have traveled quite a lot, though, so I can offer my experience.”

Ingwion looked at the scroll on the desk. “You are being modest, Nelyafinwë. These are very well-drawn.” Nelyafinwë’s smile grew a little brighter, and Ingwion felt strangely proud for causing it. “What region is this?” he asked, pointing at the map.

“This is a cave system in the northern part of the Pelóri,” Nelyafinwë said. “It is so huge that we haven’t reached the end yet. Every time that I go there, I explore a little more and come back to expand the map. It is fascinating. The entrance is hidden from view. We would not have discovered it if not for Aulë. He told my father about it, and we went to explore it. I often go there now. Imagine any cave you have seen. Now imagine it a hundred times more vast and beautiful. Wait, I will sketch it for you.” He drew an uneven line on a free corner of the scroll. “This is going to be redrawn anyway,” he said smiling. “And maybe they will appreciate my drawing.”

Ingwion watched as Nelyafinwë’s hand moved gracefully, and under his quill, various misshapen towers took form, swords hanging from the ceiling, miniature mountain chains, monster teeth, and rock icicles.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nelyafinwë asked. “I have tried to do it justice.”

“It is,” Ingwion agreed. “Though I cannot imagine spending so much time in a cave, no matter how wondrous the rocks there are.”

“I don’t spend that much time there,” Nelyafinwë said. “That is why this map is still incomplete. There are so many places to go and so many wonders to see. If you go far enough into the north, the stars shine so much brighter. The light of the Trees is just a faint shimmer, and at times the sky itself is painted with many different colors. Words aren’t enough to describe its beauty. Maybe you should give traveling a try? I am sure you would enjoy it.”

“Listening about it is much more enjoyable,” Ingwion said.

“Is it?”

Nelyafinwë’s smile was almost smug, though still kind, and Ingwion sputtered, hurrying to save the situation.

“I only mean that I prefer plains and woods over caves,” he said, though it wasn’t the only thing that he meant. The way Nelyafinwë’s eyes glowed radiantly when he was talking was also very enjoyable. “I would rather stay here and listen to stories about different places, than travel myself. There is no place better than Valmar, no mountain fairer than the Taniquetil.”

“How could you know that if you have not seen the other places?”

“There are a lot of marvelous places to see here.”

“Really?”

Ingwion decided not to take offense because he liked the smile on Nelyafinwë’s lips.

“Obviously,” he said with a smile of his own. “Have you spent all your time here drawing maps?”

“Of course not. There is time for work and time for fun.”

Ingwion didn't know why the way Nelyafinwë said the last word made him shiver.

“Speaking of work,” the Noldo said. “I am done for now.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “But I will be here later.”

Ingwion expected him to continue, but Nelyafinwë said nothing else. He only covered Ingwion’s hand with his and squeezed it. Ingwion barely stopped himself from looking down because he knew it would make this situation even odder. Instead, he held his breath and focused his gaze on Nelyafinwë’s face. It seemed too long before the Noldo got to his feet and said his farewells. Ingwion was surprised to find himself still smiling after Nelyafinwë left.

He waited until Telperion waxed and waned twice before he returned to the library. Nelyafinwë was there, as he had promised.

“It looks like you have finished your work,” Ingwion said, noticing the absence of maps on the desk.

Nelyafinwë looked up. “I will be honest. Drawing maps is not the only reason I am here,” he said. “The Library of Valmar has the largest collection of poetry. I enjoy reading it.”

“I am quite sure that you are reading Elemmírë,” Ingwion said, laughing a little.

“Guilty,” Nelyafinwë smiled, raising a book.

“You know she is not the only great poet we have. Every second Vanya tries their hand at it, and many succeed.”

“Is that so? Do you write poetry too?”

“I...” Ingwion didn't know why he was so flustered. Maybe it was because of the intensity in Nelyafinwë's gaze or because of the barest hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “I have written several hymns to Manwë, which my mother put to music.”

“Oh, I would love to read them! Do they have them here?”

“No, no, they aren't good enough to be kept in the library.”

“I truly doubt that. If you want to prove it, you will have to sing them for me.”

Ingwion couldn't tell if the Noldo was serious or not. “Just not in the library, Nelyafinwë,” he joked. “Or the real poets will beat me up with the books.”

Nelyafinwë laughed. A clear, ringing laugh like the bells on the bay tree which grew in front of Ingwion’s window. He had put up the silver and golden bells himself, had added, removed, and replaced them until he had perfected the sound.

“I am too an avid lover of poetry,” Ingwion said before he could regret it. “I can show you works by other poets if you wish.”

He read the surprise in Nelyafinwë's eyes. The Noldo stood. “Lead the way,” he said.

In the back of his head, Ingwion knew that his offer entailed more than poetry books, but he wasn't sure what exactly, was reluctant to think of it. Maybe Nelyafinwë truly only wanted to read poetry, maybe the Noldor were just overly friendly. Yet the other day Nelyafinwë's touch on his wrist lingered for a moment too long.

He walked to a remote corner of the library, away from everyone’s eyes, preferring to ignore the perfectly good poems on closer shelves, acutely aware that Nelyafinwë was just behind him. His heart was fluttering with excitement. When they reached the shelf, he stopped in front of it, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Some of my favorites are here,” he said, turning to Nelyafinwë.

He drew a sharp breath. He knew the Noldo had been following him, but he hadn’t expected to find him so close. Nelyafinwë was tall for a Noldo, nearly at height with Ingwion himself, and he was beautiful in a stern, intimidating Noldorin way: high cheekbones, piercing eyes, proud nose. Ingwion felt his heart in his throat. He raised his hand slowly, without fully realizing what he was doing until his fingers were almost touching a long, dark red curl that fell over Nelyafinwë's ear. He stopped himself, feeling suddenly that he couldn’t bear it, that he would be struck by lightning if they touched. The air was as thin as on the peaks of the Taniquetil. He struggled to breathe.

“Nelyafinwë,” was all he managed to gasp.

“You may call me by my mother name,” Nelyafinwë said in a hoarse whisper. “Maitimo.”

“Maitimo,” Ingwion repeated slowly, rolling the name in his mouth, delighted by the way his lips came together and parted, his tongue touched gently the back of his teeth to form the sounds. It made him feel bolder. “Aptly named,” he said.

“Am I,” Maitimo said with the confident smile of someone who knows the answer very well.

“Yes,” Ingwion said anyway. “Thank you for allowing me to use it. Every time I said your father name, it felt like a slight against my cousin.”

Maitimo laughed, and all the tension was suddenly gone. Ingwion was once again reminded of the sound of bells as the bay tree swayed in a warm breeze. He had no idea why he had thought Maitimo's beauty intimidating just a moment ago. It wasn’t. It was gentle like the light of Laurelin after the mingling when there was still just a hint of silver in the gold. The corners of Maitimo’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Ingwion took Maitimo's curl between his forefinger and thumb. It was soft. He felt lightheaded. He was unafraid in the relative privacy of this little corner, ready to do anything.

“You are not like how I remember you from our last visit to Tirion,” he whispered.

Maitimo tilted his head. “I am different in Tirion. There I am Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, grandson of Finwë. Among the Vanyar, I am not as noticeable. I rather enjoy the anonymity. Here I can be Maitimo, an ordinary Noldo, who has come to draw maps, read poetry and kiss the crown prince.”

Ingwion looked into Maitimo's eyes, barely daring to breathe. “You are falling behind on the last part, aren't you?”

“Then it is time to rectify the mistake, wouldn't you say?”

“I would.”

Ingwion leaned forward and did what he had wanted to do since the first moment he laid eyes on Maitimo. He felt the Noldo’s smile against his lips, his fingers in his hair, his warm breath. He pulled Maitimo closer, shivering when they were chest to chest, sighing when the other elf deepened the kiss. Ingwion forgot for a moment where they were, forgot himself. His spirit was floating, his body was non-existent except where Maitimo’s burning touch connected him to the physical world.

Maitimo broke the kiss but didn’t move away, just turned his head a little, so his lips were now brushing over the shell of Ingwion’s ear. His arms tightened around Maitimo’s back. His awareness was slowly returning, and he was already looking out for every little noise that could disrupt their moment.

“The library isn’t the best place for this,” he said regretfully.

“Not very adventurous, are you?” Maitimo laughed and made no attempt to move.

“I don’t have the luxury of anonymity, Maitimo.”

“Do you have the luxury of privacy? You promised me a song, remember?”

Ingwion didn’t remember promising him, but he still nodded. “Maybe somewhere else,” he said.

“Maybe,” Maitimo whispered. “Maybe you can pay me a visit while I am in Valmar.”

“What did I say about anonymity?” Ingwion laughed. He shifted a little and finally let go of Maitimo, sighing. “You should come to me.”

Maitimo frowned. “I am not enjoying the idea of making small talk with the entire Vanyarin court.”

“I will choose not to be insulted,” Ingwion said. “But that wasn’t what I meant. There is a hidden way to my chamber. You should come straight there.”

“You are adventurous after all,” Maitimo grinned. “I will come. I suppose your chamber is more... comfortable than my lodgings.” He took Ingwion’s hand. “Tell me how to find you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist.

It took Ingwion a while to find his voice to answer.

---

His wild look slid over the surrounding warriors as he slowly walked back. Ingwion expected it to linger on himself for a few moments longer, but it didn’t. There was no recognition in those eyes, no hesitation, no fear, nothing except stifling, overwhelming despair. Ingwion found it hard to believe that this was Maitimo.

Maedhros, that was how they called him here. A harsh name in a harsh land. Gone was Maitimo, the silvery sound of the word, gone was the ringing of the bells, gone was the softness around the mouth. He was all sharp angles now, hard lines, bared teeth for a smile, smoldering embers for eyes. His only hand holding the sword wasn’t shaking, and Ingwion knew that he would fight to the death, knew that it was what he wanted.

An image came unbidden to his mind. Maitimo opening an eye, as Ingwion turns on his side and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear; Maitimo raising a brow in amusement, as Ingwion's slightly trembling fingers outline his face, slide along his brow, his cheekbone, leave feathery touches on his soft lips; Maitimo lifting himself up on his elbows, gently pushing Ingwion down by the shoulder and leaning over him, Maitimo's hair a curtain hiding them from the world, as they kiss.

During the long, terrible war, Ingwion had seen the hardness of the people of this land. There was no other way of living under Morgoth’s shadow except turning to stone. Ingwion had gotten used to it to the point that the sweet bells of Valmar seemed a distant dream. Or so he had believed. Now everything inside of him rebelled against the thought, refused to recognize the dazzling prince he had once kissed in the library of Valmar in this ferocious, rugged creature, tempered by loss and defeat.

He wondered if he should go after them, if he should kill Maedhros; wondered if it would be more merciful than what Eonwë had done, but before he could make a decision, the brothers had disappeared, and he knew he would not see them again.

He turned back and walked to his tent. The war was over. He would soon return to gentle Valinor, to majestic Taniquetil, to golden Valmar, where people smiled, and Maiar sang, and when the zephyr blew, the silver bells on the tree in front of his window rang as in laughter.

#silmarillion #maedhros #ingwion #silm fic #zwc fic #this is the first fic with this pairing on ao3 #it's so funny to me :D #can't believe i wrote 2000 words of these idiots flirting #or trying to #this has been on my mind #since that post about ridiculous tolkien ship names #which i can't find now

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warriorsfireandwater · 3 years

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hi i was wondering how you made the forest territories map? thank u!!

I used inkarnate! It's a website for mapmaking. There is a free version but ever since developing the pro version they've cut a lot of content from the free version. I definitely recommend trying it out, it's fun to play around with!

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to-read-or-not-to-read3088 · 3 years

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70+ disabled, neurodiverse and chronically ill authors COLLAB

This post is in collaboration with several other bloggers whose links are included here:

Artie Carden

Anniek

Hi! It’s been a while since I posted anything, but this post has been a month in the making. I have twenty books by twenty authors for my part in this collaboration, and you can check out the other parts of the collab with the links at the top of the post.

I haven’t read some of these books but almost all of them are on my to be read pile, and I did extensive research to make sure I got this right, but please let me know if there are any mistakes or if anything needs to be corrected.

1. Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee

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Meet Cute Diary follows Noah Ramirez who thinks he’s an expert on romance. He must be for his blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem. All the stories are fake. What started off as the fantasies of a trans boy who was afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe. Noah’s world unravels when a troll exposes the blog as fiction, and the only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. That’s when Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place. Drew is willing to fake date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realises that dating in real life isn’t the same as finding love on the page.

The author, Emery Lee, is a kid lit author, artist and YouTuber hailing from a mixed racial background. After graduating with a degree in creative writing, e’s gone on to author novels, short stories and webcomics. When away from reading and writing, you’ll likely find em engaged in art or snuggling with cute dogs.

Emery Lee is nonbinary, and uses e/em pronouns, and e’s debut book, Meet Cute Diary, features a side character who is also nonbinary (and asexual!). Emery is also neurodivergent, and frequently speaks about what its like being a writer with adhd on twitter.

Meet Cute Diary is a book I only discovered last month, when it was published, but I’m excited to read it. It has representation of all kinds, and I love any book that has even a little mention of an asexual character because its so rare to see.

2. Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

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At Niveus Private Academy money paves the hallways, and the students are never less than perfect. Until now. Because an anonymous texter calling themselves Aces, is bringing two students’ dark secrets to light. Devon, a talented musician, buries himself in rehearsals, but he can’t escape the spotlight when his private photos go public. Chiamaka, head girl, isn’t afraid to get what she wants, but soon everyone will know the price she has paid for power. Someone is out to get them both. Someone who holds all the aces. And they’re planning much more than a high school game.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, is the author of the instant New York Times and IndieBound bestseller, Ace of Spades, billed as ‘Get out meets Gossip Girl’. Entertainment Weekly has called it “this summer’s hottest YA debut”. She was born and raised in Croydon, South London, and Faridah moved to the Scottish Highlands for her undergraduate degree where she completed a BA in English Literature. She has established and runs and mentorship scheme for unagented writers of colour, helping them on their journey to get published. Faridah has also written for NME, The Bookseller, Readers Digest and gal-dem.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé’s book is one that I pre-ordered months in advance, after discovering that I actually really liked this sub-genre of YA, and although I still haven’t read it yet (sorry!), I’m still super excited to dive into it. From what I hear, it has some gay rep, which we all know by now is something I seek out in my books.

3. Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O’Neal

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Priya has worked hard to pursue her pre med dreams at Stanford, but a diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease during her sophomore year sends her straight back to her loving but overbearing family in New Jersey and leaves her wondering if she’ll ever be able to return to the way things were. Thankfully she has her online pen pal, Brigid, and the rest of the members of “oof ouch my bones,” a virtual support group that meets on Discord to crack jokes and vent about their own chronic illnesses. When Brigid suddenly goes offline, Priya does something very out of character; she steals the family car and drives to Pennsylvania to check on Brigid. Priya isn’t sure what to expect, but it isn’t the creature that’s shut in the basement. With Brigid nowhere in sight, Priya begins to puzzle together an impossible but obvious truth: the creature might be werewolf – and the werewolf might be Brigid. As Brigid’s unique condition worsens, their friendship will be deepened and challenged in unexpected ways, forcing them to reckon with their own ideas of what it means to be normal.

Kristen O’Neal is a freelance writer who’s written for sites like Buzzfeed Reader, Christianity Today, Birth.Movies.Death, LitHub and Electric Literature. She writes about faith, culture, and unexplained phenomena. Her debut novel, Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses is based on her own experiences with being chronically ill. Kristen has two autoimmune disorders and “a number of other problems and issues” with her body. According to her website, she is doing much better than she used to, but still has flares somewhat regularly.

I cannot describe the feeling of seeing a published book with the best group chat name I have ever seen. Oof ouch my bones is absolutely something that I would be part of if it really existed, because its just such a mood, and funny at the same time. I pre ordered this book too, but like all the others, I still haven’t gotten around to reading it. I’m super excited about it though and cannot recommend it enough.

4. Only Mostly Devastated by Sophie Gonzales

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Will Tavares is the dream summer fling – he’s fun, affectionate, kind – but just when Ollie thinks he’s found his Happily Ever After, summer vacation ends, and Will stops texting Ollie back. Now Ollie is one prince short of his fairy tale ending, and to complicate the fairy tale further, a family emergency sees Ollie uprooted and enrolled at a new school across the country. Which he minds a little less when he realises it’s the same school Will goes to…except Ollie finds out that the sweet, comfortably queer guy he knew from summer isn’t the same one attending Collinswood High. This Will is a class clown, closeted – and to be honest, a jerk. Ollie has no intention of pining after a guy who clearly isn’t ready for a relationship, especially since this new, bro-y jock version of Will seems to go from hot to cold every other week. But then Will starts “coincidentally” popping up in every area of Ollie’s life, from music class to the lunch table, and Ollie finds his resolve weakening. The last time he gave Will his heart, Will handed it back to him trampled and battered. Ollie would have to be an idiot to trust him with it again. Right? Right.

Sophie Gonzales was born and raised in Whyalla, South Australia, where the Outback Meets the Sea. She now lives in Melbourne, where there’s no outback in sight. Sophie’s been writing since the age of five, when her mother decided to help her type out one of the stories she had come up with in the bathtub. They ran into artistic differences when five-year-old Sophie insisted that everybody die in the end, while her mother wanted the characters to simply go out for a milkshake. Since then, Sophie has been completing her novels without a transcript. Sophie Gonzales tweets about her experiences with ADHD on her twitter.

Only mostly devasted is one of the few books on this list that I’ve read. I read the whole thing in one sitting because I just couldn’t put it down, which is weird because I normally don’t read contemporary at all. I have recommended this book to literally everyone I know, and even bought my best friend a copy to convince her to read it.

5. The Bone Houses by Emily Lloyd Jones

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Seventeen-year-old Aderyn ("Ryn") only cares about two things: her family, and her family's graveyard. And right now, both are in dire straits. Since the death of their parents, Ryn and her siblings have been scraping together a meagre existence as gravediggers in the remote village of Colbren, which sits at the foot of a harsh and deadly mountain range that was once home to the fae. The problem with being a gravedigger in Colbren, though, is that the dead don't always stay dead. The risen corpses are known as "bone houses," and legend says that they're the result of a decades-old curse. When Ellis, an apprentice mapmaker with a mysterious past, arrives in town, the bone houses attack with new ferocity. What is it that draws them near? And more importantly, how can they be stopped for good? Together, Ellis and Ryn embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the mountains, where they will have to face both the curse and the long-hidden truths about themselves.

Emily Lloyd-Jones grew up on a vineyard in rural Oregon, where she played in evergreen forests and learned to fear sheep. After graduating from Western Oregon University with an English degree, she enrolled in the publishing program at Rosemont College just outside of Philadelphia. She currently resides in Northern California.

Another book on my to be read pile that I’m super excited to read, but still haven’t gotten around to. This one features disability rep, but because I haven’t read it, I don’t know much more, sorry guys.

6. Mooncakes by Susanne Walker and Wendy Xu

📷Nova Huang knows more about magic than your average teen witch. She works at her grandmothers' bookshop, where she helps them loan out spell books and investigate any supernatural occurrences in their New England town. One fateful night, she follows reports of a white wolf into the woods, and she comes across the unexpected: her childhood crush, Tam Lang, battling a horse demon in the woods. As a werewolf, Tam has been wandering from place to place for years, unable to call any town home. Pursued by dark forces eager to claim the magic of wolves and out of options, Tam turns to Nova for help. Their latent feelings are rekindled against the backdrop of witchcraft, untested magic, occult rituals, and family ties both new and old in this enchanting tale of self-discovery.

Suzanne Walker is a Chicago-based writer and editor. She is co-creator of the Hugo-nominated graphic novel Mooncakes (2019, Lion Forge/Oni Press). Her short fiction has been published in Clarkesworld and Uncanny Magazine, and she has published nonfiction articles with Uncanny Magazine, StarTrek.com, Women Write About Comics, and the anthology Barriers and Belonging: Personal Narratives of Disability. She has spoken at numerous conventions on a variety of topics ranging from disability representation in sci-fi/fantasy to comics collaboration.

Wendy Xu is a Brooklyn-based illustrator and comics artist. She is co-creator of and currently draws the webcomic Mooncakes. Her work has been featured on Tor.com, as part of the Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion exhibit permanently housed at the Chinese Historical Society of America, and in Shattered: The Asian American Comics Anthology. She occasionally teaches at the Asian American Writers Workshop and currently works as an assistant editor curating young adult and children’s books.

Suzanne Walker suffers from hearing loss, something that she wrote into her graphic novel, Mooncakes, making Nova hard of hearing. I read this in a few years ago as an advance reader copy for Netgalley and it was honestly one of the best graphic novels I have ever read. The main characters are Chinese American, queer AND magic, which is an amazing combination of representation.

7. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

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Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can’t pull it off alone… A convict with a thirst for revenge A sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager A runaway with a privileged past A spy known as the Wraith A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes Kaz’s crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don’t kill each other first.

Leigh Bardugo is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of fantasy novels and the creator of the Grishaverse (now a Netflix original series) which spans the Shadow and Bone Trilogy, the Six of Crows Duology, The Language of Thorns, and King of Scars—with more to come. Her short stories can be found in multiple anthologies, including the Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy. Her other works include Wonder Woman: Warbringer and Ninth House (Goodreads Choice Winner for Best Fantasy 2019) which is being developed for television by Amazon Studios.

Leigh grew up in Southern California and graduated from Yale University. These days she lives and writes in Los Angeles.

In the acknowledgements section of Six of Crows, Bardugo reveals she suffers from osteonecrosis and sometimes needs to use a cane; this was a source of inspiration for one of the story's six protagonists, master thief and gang boss Kaz Brekker, who uses a cane.

I read Six of Crows a few years ago and I really loved it. I’m not going to pretend I managed to finish the whole Grishaverse series, because I haven’t even gotten close yet, but it really showed Kaz’s struggles with his disability, and his mental health. This is part of a duology, and the duology is part of a large series of books with another duology and trilogy, but Six of Crows can be read without reading the others.

8. Hyperbole and A Half by Allie Brosh

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This is a book I wrote. Because I wrote it, I had to figure out what to put on the back cover to explain what it is. I tried to write a long, third-person summary that would imply how great the book is and also sound vaguely authoritative--like maybe someone who isn’t me wrote it--but I soon discovered that I’m not sneaky enough to pull it off convincingly. So, I decided to just make a list of things that are in the book: Pictures Words Stories about things that happened to me Stories about things that happened to other people because of me Eight billion dollars* Stories about dogs The secret to eternal happiness* *These are lies. Perhaps I have underestimated my sneakiness!

Allie is an American blogger, writer and comic artist best known for her blog in the form of a webcomic Hyperbole and a Half. Brosh started Hyperbole in 2009 and told stories from her life in a mix of text and intentionally crude illustrations. She has published two books telling stories in the same style, both of which have been New York Times bestsellers. Brosh lives with severe depression and ADHD, and her comics on depression have won praise from fans and mental health professionals.

Another book on my tbr that I just haven’t gotten around to but really want to.

9. The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

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What if you aren’t the Chosen One? The one who’s supposed to fight the zombies, or the soul-eating ghosts, or whatever the heck this new thing is, with the blue lights and the death? What if you’re like Mikey? Who just wants to graduate and go to prom and maybe finally work up the courage to ask Henna out before someone goes and blows up the high school. Again. Because sometimes there are problems bigger than this week’s end of the world, and sometimes you just must find the extraordinary in your ordinary life. Even if your best friend is worshipped by mountain lions...

Patrick Ness, an award-winning novelist, has written for England’s Radio 4 and Sunday Telegraph and is a literary critic for The Guardian. He has written many books, including the Chaos Walking Trilogy, The Crash of Hennington, Topics About Which I Know Nothing, and A Monster Calls. He has won numerous awards, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, and the Costa Children’s Book Award. Born in Virginia, he currently lives in London.

Patrick Ness has written about OCD and anxiety in at least two of his books, inspired by his own experiences with the two disorders and how it affects him (The Rest of Us Just Live Here & Release)

10. Every Heart A Doorway by Seanan McGuire

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Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children No Solicitations No Visitors No Quests Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere... else. But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children. Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced... they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world. But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter. No matter the cost.

Seanan lives in an idiosyncratically designed labyrinth in the Pacific Northwest, which she shares with her cats, Alice and Thomas, a vast collection of creepy dolls and horror movies, and sufficient books to qualify her as a fire hazard. She has strongly held and oft-expressed beliefs about the origins of the Black Death, the X-Men, and the need for chainsaws in daily life.

Years of writing blurbs for convention program books have fixed Seanan in the habit of writing all her bios in the third person, to sound marginally less dorky. Stress is on the "marginally." It probably doesn't help that she has so many hobbies.

Seanan was the winner of the 2010 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and her novel Feed (as Mira Grant) was named as one of Publishers Weekly's Best Books of 2010. In 2013 she became the first person ever to appear five times on the same Hugo Ballot.

Seanan McGuire has an invisible disability due to herniated disks in her spine. She is slowly coming to terms with this, and talks about it occasionally on her twitter, and about the struggles she faces.

I loved this book, and so did my best friend. We both read it in one sitting and talked nonstop about it afterwards. Although short, its filled with amazing characters, plot, and representation (asexual character!!)

11. Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan

Each year, eight beautiful girls are chosen as Paper Girls to serve the king. It's the highest honour they could hope for...and the most demeaning. This year, there's a ninth. And instead 📷of paper, she's made of fire. In this richly developed fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most persecuted class of people in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards for an unknown fate still haunts her. Now, the guards are back and this time it's Lei they're after -- the girl with the golden eyes whose rumoured beauty has piqued the king's interest. Over weeks of training in the opulent but oppressive palace, Lei and eight other girls learns the skills and charm that befit a king's consort. There, she does the unthinkable -- she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens her world's entire way of life. Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at heart, must decide how far she's willing to go for justice and revenge.

Natasha Ngan is a writer and yoga teacher. She grew up between Malaysia, where the Chinese side of her family is from, and the UK. This multicultural upbringing continues to influence her writing, and she is passionate about bringing diverse stories to teens. Ngan studied Geography at the University of Cambridge before working as a social media consultant and fashion blogger. She lives in France with her partner, where they recently moved from Paris to be closer to the sea. Her novel Girls of Paper and Fire was a New York Times bestseller. Natasha has a heart condition, and talks about her struggles with her health, and gives updates on her health and her books on twitter.

I’ve heard a lot about this book, but for trigger warning reasons it sadly isn’t on my to be read list. Everything I’ve heard about it says its an amazing book though, and the cover is beautiful.

12. Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde

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Three friends, two love stories, one convention: this fun, feminist love letter to geek culture is all about fandom, friendship, and finding the courage to be yourself. Charlie likes to stand out. She’s a vlogger and actress promoting her first movie at SupaCon, and this is her chance to show fans she’s over her public breakup with co-star Reese Ryan. When internet-famous cool-girl actress Alyssa Huntington arrives as a surprise guest, it seems Charlie’s long-time crush on her isn’t as one-sided as she thought. Taylor likes to blend in. Her brain is wired differently, making her fear change. And there’s one thing in her life she knows will never change: her friendship with her best guy friend Jamie—no matter how much she may secretly want it to. But when she hears about a fan contest for her favourite fandom, she starts to rethink her rules on playing it safe.

Jen Wilde is the YA author of QUEENS OF GEEK, THE BRIGHTSIDERS and GOING OFF SCRIPT. She writes unapologetically queer stories about geeks, rockstars, and fangirls who smash the patriarchy in their own unique ways. Her books have been praised in Teen Vogue, Buzzfeed, Autostraddle, Vulture and Bustle. Originally from Australia, Jen now lives in NYC where she spends her time writing, drinking too much coffee and binging reality TV.

Researching for this collab was the first time this book popped up on my radar as something I might be interested in reading. Jen Wilde, the author, is herself autistic and suffers from anxiety, which gives the narrative “authenticity that is lacking in similar books” according to socialjusticebooks.org.

13. The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli

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Seventeen-year-old Molly Peskin-Suso knows all about unrequited love—she’s lived through it twenty-six times. She crushes hard and crushes often, but always in secret. Because no matter how many times her twin sister, Cassie, tells her to woman up, Molly can’t stomach the idea of rejection. So, she’s careful. Fat girls always have to be careful. Then a cute new girl enters Cassie’s orbit, and for the first time ever, Molly’s cynical twin is a lovesick mess. Meanwhile, Molly’s totally not dying of loneliness—except for the part where she is. Luckily, Cassie’s new girlfriend comes with a cute hipster-boy sidekick. Will is funny and flirtatious and just might be perfect crush material. Maybe more than crush material. And if Molly can win him over, she’ll get her first kiss and she’ll get her twin back. There’s only one problem: Molly’s co-worker Reid. He’s an awkward Tolkien superfan with a season pass to the Ren Faire, and there’s absolutely no way Molly could fall for him. Right?

Becky Albertalli is the author of the acclaimed novels Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (film: Love, Simon), The Upside of Unrequited, and Leah on the Offbeat. She is also the co-author of What If It's Us with Adam Silvera. A former clinical psychologist who specialized in working with children and teens, Becky lives with her family in Atlanta.

Becky Albertalli has generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), and has spoken about it in several interviews, which you can find online. She has also written several characters in her books who also suffer with anxiety. Her first book, Simon vs the Homosapien’s Agenda (or Love, Simon), is the only book of hers that I have read so far, and I loved it. It was the first contemporary book that I read and actually enjoyed.

14. Carve the Mark by Veronica Roth

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Cyra is the sister of the brutal tyrant who rules the Shotet people. Cyra’s current gift gives her pain and power—something her brother exploits, using her to torture his enemies. But Cyra is much more than just a blade in her brother’s hand: she is resilient, quick on her feet, and smarter than he knows. Akos is the son of a farmer and an oracle from the frozen nation-planet of Thuvhe. Protected by his unusual currentgift, Akos is generous in spirit, and his loyalty to his family is limitless. Once Akos and his brother are captured by enemy Shotet soldiers, Akos is desperate to get his brother out alive—no matter what the cost. Then Akos is thrust into Cyra's world, and the enmity between their countries and families seems insurmountable. Will they help each other to survive, or will they destroy one another?

Veronica Roth is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of the Divergent series (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Four: A Divergent Collection), the Carve the Mark duology (Carve the Mark, the Fates Divide), The End and Other Beginnings collection of short fiction, and many short stories and essays. Her first book for adult audiences, Chosen Ones, is out now. She lives in Chicago.

Veronica Roth suffers from anxiety, like a lot of the authors on this list, and talks about it in interviews. A quote from one: "I've had an anxiety disorder my whole life, so I've been to therapy on and off throughout, before books and after books. I went back and tried to talk through some of the things I was feeling and experiencing, and it was helpful."

I’ve never read any of her books, not even the hugely famous Divergent trilogy, though they’ve been on my radar for years. I’d love to get into her books at some point, but it might take me a few years.

15. How to be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe

📷An urgent, funny, shocking, and impassioned memoir by the winner of the Spectrum Art Prize 2018, How To Be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe presents the rarely shown point of view of someone living with autism. Poe’s voice is confident, moving and often funny, as they reveal to us a very personal account of autism, mental illness, gender and sexual identity. As we follow Charlotte’s journey through school and college, we become as awestruck by their extraordinary passion for life as by the enormous privations that they must undergo to live it. From food and fandom to body modification and comic conventions, Charlotte’s experiences through the torments of schooldays and young adulthood leave us with a riot of conflicting emotions: horror, empathy, despair, laugh-out-loud amusement and, most of all, respect. For Charlotte, autism is a fundamental aspect of their identity and art. They address the reader in a voice that is direct, sharply clever and ironic. They witness their own behaviour with a wry humour as they sympathise with those who care for them, yet all the while challenging the neurotypical narratives of autism as something to be ‘fixed’. This is an exuberant, inspiring, life-changing insight into autism from a viewpoint almost entirely missing from public discussion. ‘I wanted to show the side of autism that you don’t find in books and on Facebook. My story is about survival, fear and, finally, hope. There will be parts that make you want to cover your eyes, but I beg you to read on, because if I can change just one person’s perceptions, if I can help one person with autism feel like they’re less alone, then this will all be worth it.’ Charlotte Amelia Poe is a self-taught artist and writer living in Lowestoft, Suffolk. They also work with video and won the inaugural Spectrum Art Prize with the film they submitted, 'How to Be Autistic’. Myriad published Charlotte's memoir, How to Be Autistic, in September 2019.

Another book I didn’t know about until researching for this post, but I really want to read it because I haven’t read many books about autism, and practically none of them were actually written by someone who actually is autistic. Charlotte uses they/them pronouns.

16. Ask me about my Uterus by Abby Norman

📷

For any woman who has experienced illness, chronic pain, or endometriosis comes an inspiring memoir advocating for recognition of women's health issues In the fall of 2010, Abby Norman's strong dancer's body dropped forty pounds and grey hairs began to sprout from her temples. She was repeatedly hospitalized in excruciating pain, but the doctors insisted it was a urinary tract infection and sent her home with antibiotics. Unable to get out of bed, much less attend class, Norman dropped out of college and embarked on what would become a years-long journey to discover what was wrong with her. It wasn't until she took matters into her own hands--securing a job in a hospital and educating herself over lunchtime reading in the medical library--that she found an accurate diagnosis of endometriosis. In Ask Me About My Uterus, Norman describes what it was like to have her pain dismissed, to be told it was all in her head, only to be taken seriously when she was accompanied by a boyfriend who confirmed that her sexual performance was, indeed, compromised. Putting her own trials into a broader historical, sociocultural, and political context, Norman shows that women's bodies have long been the battleground of a never-ending war for power, control, medical knowledge, and truth. It's time to refute the belief that being a woman is a pre-existing condition.

Abby Norman’s debut book, ASK ME ABOUT MY UTERUS: A Quest to Make Doctors Believe in Women’s Pain, was published by Bold Type Books (Hachette Book Group) in 2018, with advance praise from Gillian Anderson, Lindsey Fitzharris, Jenny Lawson, and Padma Lakshmi.

The book was praised by The New York Times Book Review, The Wall Street Journal, New York Magazine, The Washington Post, The Sunday Times, The Irish Times, Literary Review, The Times Literary Supplement, The New Republic, Book Riot, Toronto Star, ELLE, Health Magazine, Undark Magazine, BUST Magazine, Bitch Magazine, Ms. Magazine, BBC Radio 5, and other international media outlets.

In 2019, the paperback edition was published in the U.S. and the Korean translation in Seoul (Momento Publishing/Duran Kim Agency).

Her work has been featured in Harper’s, Medium, The Independent, Literary Hub, The Rumpus, Mental Floss, Atlas Obscura, and elsewhere. Interviews and profiles have been seen and heard, including NPR/WNYC, BBC, Anchor.fm, The New York Times, Playboy, Forbes, Glamour, Women’s Health, and Bitch Magazine.

Abby Norman suffers from endometriosis, which was a large part of why she wrote her book, and why she advocates so hard for fellow patients at conferences such as Stanford University’s Stanford Medicine X and the Endometriosis Foundation of America’s medical conference and Patient Day. She is

Abby has served on technical expert panels including the National Partnership for Women and Families’ CORE Network (Yale University), the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), the Centres for Medicare and Medicaid, The Society for Women’s Health Research (SWHR), and Health Affairs.

In 2019, Abby contributed to a paper addressing research gaps and unmet needs in endometriosis published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

This book is definitely one I will be adding to my to be read list, as someone who (unfortunately) also has a uterus, it is important to be informed. And Abby sounds like such a badass who wrote a whole book about her chronic illness to help others with the same condition.

17. Stim: Autistic Anthology by Lizzie Huxley-Jones

📷

Around one in one hundred people in the UK are autistic, yet there remains a fundamental misunderstanding of what autism is. It is rare that autistic people get to share their own experiences, show how creative and talented and passionate they are, how different they are from media stereotypes. This insightful and eye-opening collection of essays, fiction and visual art showcases the immense talents of some of the UK's most exciting writers and artists - who just happen to be on the spectrum. Here they reclaim the power to speak for themselves and redefine what it means to be autistic. Stim invites the reader into the lives, experiences, minds of the eighteen contributors, and asks them to recognise the hurdles of being autistic in a non-autistic world and to uncover the empathy and understanding necessary to continue to champion brilliant yet unheard voices.

Lizzie (Hux) Huxley-Jones is an autistic author and editor based in London. They are the editor of Stim, an anthology of autistic authors and artists, which was published by Unbound in April 2020 to coincide with World Autism Awareness Week. They are also the author of the children’s biography Sir David Attenborough: A Life Story. They can be found editing at independent micropublisher 3 of Cups Press, and they also advise writers as a freelance sensitivity reader and consultant. In their past career lives, they have been a research diver, a children’s bookseller and digital communications specialist.

I wasn’t even aware that there was an anthology out there by an autistic author, about autism, but now that I do I need to read it.

18. Chimera by Jaecyn Bonê

📷

Creatures unlike you've imagined before! Welcome to a world where myths and legends collide to create a new breed of monster. Savage and soulful, these monstrosities combine to form the mighty Chimera. In this anthology, talented writers weave 10 tales of fantastical beasts. Featuring stories by: Matt Bliss Jaecyn Boné Alexis L. Carroll Chris Durston Dewi Hargreaves Stephen Howard Samuel Logan Vincent Metzo Braden Rohl Michelle Tang

Jaecyn is a queer, non-binary, disabled Asian-American writer and digital artist fascinated by faeries.

Most of their writing involves wlw romance and faery-inspired creatures. Their first novel, Farzana's Spite is a 10-year-old work in progress and the first novel in The Faerth series. Other works include The Killing Song (novel) and Colour Unknown (short), both of which are also part of the Faerth universe.

Jaecyn's art can be described as a neorealistic pop art style with cel shading. They began their digital art journey with a 5-year-old refurbished iPad using their finger as a stylus and immediately fell in love. They do digital download commissions as well as sell prints of their artwork.

Jaecyn is the Co-Editor in Chief of the Limeoncello Magazine, an online Own Voices literary magazine which debuted its first issue on March 21st, 2021.

When not writing, drawing, or chasing after their two children, they can be found either gardening or practicing their ukulele.

None of Jaecyn Boné’s books are published yet as they are still in the stage of querying, but they contributed to the above anthology, along with nine other authors. I had no idea that this anthology existed, and now I’ll be closely following this author to see when their books get published!

19. Forest of Souls by Lori M Lee

Sirscha Ashwyn comes from nothing, but she’s intent on becoming something. After years of training to become the queen’s next royal spy, her plans are derailed when shamans attack 📷and kill her best friend Saengo. And then Sirscha, somehow, restores Saengo to life. Unveiled as the first soul guide in living memory, Sirscha is summoned to the domain of the Spider King. For centuries, he has used his influence over the Dead Wood—an ancient forest possessed by souls—to enforce peace between the kingdoms. Now, with the trees growing wild and untamed, only a soul guide can restrain them. As war looms, Sirscha must master her newly awakened abilities before the trees shatter the brittle peace, or worse, claim Saengo, the friend she would die for.

Lori M. Lee is the author of speculative novels and short stories. Her books include PAHUA AND THE SOUL STEALER (Disney/Rick Riordan Presents), FOREST OF SOULS and the sequel BROKEN WEB (Page Street), and more. She’s also a contributor to the anthologies A THOUSAND BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS and COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES. She considers herself a unicorn fan, enjoys marathoning TV shows, and loves to write about magic, manipulation, and family.

Lori struggles with anxiety, and the common symptoms like fatigue but she doesn’t let this stop her writing amazing books. I read Forest of Souls earlier this year, and it was seriously one of the best books I’ve ever read. I loved the magic, the characters, the world building. Everything about it, including the plot twist ending that had me losing my mind at 2am, was just so unlike anything I had read in any other fantasy before.

20. A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A Brown

📷

For Malik, the Solstasia festival is a chance to escape his war-stricken home and start a new life with his sisters in the prosperous desert city of Ziran. But when a vengeful spirit abducts Malik’s younger sister, Nadia, as payment into the city, Malik strikes a fatal deal—kill Karina, Crown Princess of Ziran, for Nadia’s freedom. But Karina has deadly aspirations of her own. Her mother, the Sultana, has been assassinated; her court threatens mutiny; and Solstasia looms like a knife over her neck. Grief-stricken, Karina decides to resurrect her mother through ancient magic . . . requiring the beating heart of a king. And she knows just how to obtain one: by offering her hand in marriage to the victor of the Solstasia competition. When Malik rigs his way into the contest, they are set on a course to destroy each other. But as attraction flares between them and ancient evils stir, will they be able to see their tasks to the death?

Roseanne “Rosie” A. Brown was born in Kumasi, Ghana and immigrated to the wild jungles of central Maryland as a child. Writing was her first love, and she knew from a young age that she wanted to use the power of writing—creative and otherwise—to connect the different cultures she called home. She graduated from the University of Maryland with a Bachelor’s in Journalism and was also a teaching assistant for the school’s Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House program. Her journalistic work has been featured by Voice of America among other outlets.

On the publishing side of things, she has worked as an editorial intern at Entangled Publishing. Rosie was a 2017 Pitch Wars mentee and 2018 Pitch Wars mentor. Rosie currently lives outside Washington D.C., where in her free time she can usually be found wandering the woods, making memes, or thinking about Star Wars.

Roseanne is another author that struggles with anxiety and wrote one of her two main characters with generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), despite it being a fantasy. I don’t even think I can name a fantasy that had a character with anxiety represented so well. This was a book I read around the same time as Forest of Souls, and I loved it. The cover was beautiful, the characters were brilliant, and I just loved the world building, the magic, and the plot. It was just different to the usual fantasy books I read, and I enjoyed the variation so much I’ve had the sequel pre ordered almost a year in advance.

So, this was my 20 books by 20 chronically ill, disabled or neurodiverse authors list. Blurbs and synopsis were compiled between Goodreads and author websites, and bios were found either on Goodreads, author websites or on amazon author pages. All the information about their chronic illnesses, disabilities or neurodivergence was found online, where they had either explicitly said it or written about it, but if I have something wrong, please let me know so I can fix it!

If you have any other suggestions or know any other books and authors that should be on this list, please let me know and I’ll do my best to add it to the list as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading 😊

#bookblr #reviews #recs #books

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caeora · 4 years

Photo

Zelda Assets + Video!

Another light little asset pack today, with some of the best little assets I think Ive ever made!

(I love the chests and statues!)

To be fair however, both myself and KTech have been working on these and they have been very fun to work on, an excellent pack after the stressful Masterclass weekend and the mega Middle Earth map XD

These assets are made for and from the Legend of Zelda Game series, which I had to then recreate in my own style and colour :)

There are also some textures that you can use to create wonderful little maps as well and I also put together a little video on how you can make maps with these yourself in Photoshop.

There is a creature token pack being made to go along with these assets and after that I want to concentrate on getting a bunch of tutorials out on a wide variety of mapmaking subjects. So if you like to see something in particular let me know!

but as always, you can get these Assets for Free over on patreon!

Youtube Video: https://youtu.be/AxHyNk1rens

#zelda #botw #link #wind waker #link between worlds #tloz #assets #battlemap #roll20 #dnd #vtt

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eirist · 4 years

Text

A Taste of Winter: Snowflake

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei. Neige is a borrowed French word, so I can’t lay claim to it.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: Written for my secret santa: @ravenandcat for the ZoNa Holiday 2019 event in Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it as I did. Merry Christmas!!!

Summary: The warm feeling spreading from your face down to your toes… Along with that tingling sensation you can’t even begin to describe…

Everything in the winter island of Neige was blanketed in soft, fluffy white.

But despite the almost ethereal-like quality the sea of white was exhibiting, the whole place was buzzing with activities from the excited townsfolk as they rushed back and forth in preparation for the celebration that was about to take place tonight.

Perched silently and contentedly on the railing of the Thousand Sunny, two figures watched the whole scene with quiet interest.

“What are you two up to?”

Nami and Chopper simultaneously turned to look at the owner of the voice. Zoro was coming down the stairs with his brows furrowed together in question as he studied them. He most likely came from the galley, given the three steaming mugs in his hand.

The reindeer perked up at the sight of his favorite swordsman. “What is that Zoro?” He gushed curiously, jumping up to stand on the railing as the green-haired man approached them.

“Ero-cook told me to give this to you.” He motioned to the drinks he was holding.

Nami raised an eyebrow at that as she leaned back at the railing. “And you just like… conceded to his request without any fight?” She asked, exchanging surprised glances with Chopper.

Zoro shrugged. “Robin declared a ceasefire. Said something about different balls hanging on the Sunny’s Christmas tree.” A frowned appeared on his face as Nami laughed and Chopper innocently blinked at him.

“Balls?”

Zoro grinned and patted the reindeer’s head. “Never mind it, Chopper.”

That was when realization dawned into the cute doctor. “Oh, he giggled as Nami laughed harder, recalling the events in Water 7. “Robin can be really scary when she wants to.”

“Yeah…”

“Hey,” Nami retorted with a chortle. “In Robin’s defense, if not threatened you and Sanji-kun would not stop fighting.

“Tch,” Zoro clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Point taken,” he muttered handing her one of the mugs.

The navigator pursed her lips at him. “We did agree to spend today as peacefully as possible right?”

Zoro shrugged in a non-committal manner.

“Zoro!”

“Yes, alright?!” The swordsman looked like he was pouting. “No fights. No bickering. No grating the cook’s nerves…”

“Very good!” Nami said with a nod as Zoro handed Chopper the other drink.

“That includes us woman,” Zoro suddenly muttered. “That means no shouting orders or just plain shouting at me today.” He smirked when she scowled at him.

“Ooooh!” Chopper suddenly exclaimed as he stared at the mug in his hand. His sensitive nose caught whiff of the minty sweetness from inside. “This smells delicious!” He brought the mug closer to take a whiff.

“You are right Chopper!” Nami inhaled deeply and immediately warmth spread across her cheeks. “Sanji-kun’s awesome as always.”

A faint snort came from Zoro’s direction and she decided to ignore it as she and Chopper continued to bask in the smell of the cook’s latest concoction.

“Look!” Chopper pointed out. “It’s even got crushed candy cane on it!”

“You’re right!” Nami smiled as she swiped a small amount of whipped cream with her finger, bringing it on her lips. “So good!” She enthused, studying the drink. “What a perfect holiday drink… and it’s pink!”

“Yeah!” Chopper agreed, delightfully taking a sip from his drink to taste it. Nami followed suit.

“I knew the stupid cook had it in him,” Zoro mumbled from the side.

Nami glared at him from over her mug.

“Wow! It tastes really good!” Chopper announced, immediately loving the pink drink.

“True!” Nami said licking her lips after she tasted it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Zoro cringe. Probably from imagining how sweet the beverage is. It was no secret that the katana wielder was not a fan of anything sugary.

She stared at him as she took another drink from her cup, savoring the warmth it was spreading all over her. Beside her, the reindeer was enjoying his drink as well.

Nami noticed that the ex-pirate hunter was holding a mug of his own.

“What’ve you got there Zoro?” She asked, wondering if he was drinking the same sweet pink concoction as they were.

“Coffee,” the tall lad answered curtly.

“Spiked?” Nami grinned, knowing the his preferences.

She got a chuckle from guessing correctly.

“Yeah…” Zoro half-smiled. “Though if you ask me, I could go without the coffee itself.”

Nami rolled her eyes at him before swiveling to observe the milky white town again. Chopper did the same while still engrossed with his saccharine drink.

Zoro moved to set his mug down the railing just beside the navigator. Nami did not missed the way he purposely stood behind her, close enough for his arm to brush against hers. His winter jacket made a rustling sound as it rubbed against hers.

She tilted her head a little to look at him as he smirked at her before slyly planting a kiss on her cheek.

Her brown eyes immediately shifted towards Chopper, who was luckily, still too engrossed with his own drink.

The mapmaker looked at him in a chastising manner.

Zoro just grinned impishly at her. With the reindeer doctor just near them, there’s no way Nami can reprimand him for stealing a kiss… or two.

He bent down again to kiss her, letting his lips linger against her flushed cheek longer while keeping an eye on Chopper.

Nami pouted as she elbowed him on the ribs. He bit back a chuckle and caught her elbow when she repeated the action again.

“What are you two doing anyway?” He asked as he released her, moving to grab his mug to take a drink. “What’s in that town that’s got you both occupied?”

“We are waiting for the festivities to start,” Nami answered with a sigh, a bit relieve that Chopper wasn’t able to see her swordsman’s antics. After all they did agree to keep things under wraps for now. But as of late, Zoro seems to be tempting fate by randomly stealing kisses behind their nakama whenever he wants.

She reached out to tug at his earrings as a sort of retaliation and smiled sweetly when he scowled at her.

“And we are also waiting for the snow to fall,” Chopper added in an eager tone. “Nami said it could happen before night time. Luckily, it will fall just in time for the festivities!”

Zoro raised an eyebrow at her. He pondered for a moment before grunting out, “I see.”

“Anyway you should join us Zoro!” Chopper invited. “It’ll be fun! We can catch snowflakes with our tongue!”

“Uh, that is something Usopp and Luffy would want to do.” Zoro drawled, unamused.

“Oh, you are right.”

Nami narrowed her eyes at his unenthusiastic response. “Such a spoilsport Zoro. Even snow doesn’t get you excited.”

Zoro snorted. “Are you saying, you’re gonna join Chopper and catch snowflakes with your tongue?”

She pulled at his cheek. “Maybe not my tongue idiot!”

“Ouch… then what?”

Nami released him with huffed. “Maybe I just want to feel one on the tip of my nose.”

“Huh?”

“Oooh!” Chopper’s eyes twinkled at that. “That is nice Nami!”

The orange-haired girl winked at him. “I know right?”

“Wait I‘m a bit confused,” Zoro held up a hand to stop them. “What’s a snowflake on your nose gonna do to you?”

Nami and Chopper looked at each other, astounded. They both know Zoro is kind of on the serious side of life but surely… he must’ve been a kid once?

“You don’t know Zoro?” Nami looked astonished.

“No.”

“He doesn’t know,” Chopper whispered.

“Poor Zoro…” Nami murmured with a hand on her cheek, feigning a sad expression on her face.

Zoro looked uncomfortable under their sympathetic gazes. He glared at the two. “Oi!”

Nami suddenly grabbed his arm. “We should let him experience it Chopper.”

“Uh-huh, I definitely agree!” The Mugiwara doctor nodded in agreement. “We cannot let him go on with his life without knowing how significant it is!”

Zoro growled. “What’s the big deal with it anyway?!”

“It’s no big deal Zoro,” Nami smiled at him, patting his arm. “It’s just that it feels nice.”

“Feels nice?”

“It does,” Chopper concurred with a smile of his own. “I like the way it spreads this warm feeling all over your face down to your toes…”

“Along with that tingling sensation you can’t even begin to describe…” Nami continued, laughing at Zoro’s blank expression. “Don’t worry. You’ll feel it when you experience it.” She smiled teasingly as he glowered at her. “If you experience it.”

“I really don’t see—”

“Nami!” Chopper suddenly gasped. “It’s snowing!”

They all looked up as a flurry of white flakes that looked as soft as cotton started falling down from the skies.

A hush fell between the three of them. Likewise, all the activities in the town halted as everyone outside paused in their activities momentarily to gaze at the falling white wonders.

Chopper jumped down from the railing and ran towards the middle of the deck, laughing gleefully as more and more snow fell from the sky.

He looked up and squealed when a snowflake landed on his blue-colored nose.

Nami’s brown eyes met Zoro’s grey one.

“I still don’t—” Zoro started to mumble when a white flake landed on the tip of his nose.

The navigator watched him amusedly as he frowned until the snowflake melted away.

“So?”

“It’s… cold.”

Nami bit her lower lip. Then threw back her head and laughed.

“Oi, stop laughing crazy witch,” Zoro groused a bit sulkily. “It is cold!”

It was so typically Zoro. Just plain facts. There was no hint of any soppiness or sentimentality at all.

She continued laughing, even as she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Just like I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

She just answered him with grin and watched as Chopper ran towards the galley to inform the others that it was now snowing.

“Nami…” Zoro grumbled, getting impatient when she didn’t explain herself.

“Forget it for now Zoro,” she lightly tapped the tip of his nose. Then she stood on tiptoes and kissed the place where the snowflake landed earlier.

And that’s when he felt it.

The warm feeling spreading from your face down to your toes…

Along with that tingling sensation you can’t even begin to describe…

The snowflake on the tip of his nose.

Nami drew back with a smile. “Merry Christmas, Zoro.”

He stared at her for a moment, before returning her smile with one of his own.

He actually didn’t need to wait for the snow to fall. He already had his own snowflake with him all along.

“Merry Christmas Nami.”

#ZoNaHoliday2019 #ZonaSecretSanta #zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro #nami

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writerfromtheshore · 4 years

Text

Ga-Koro and the Fog

The canoe slid down the beach, stopping at the water’s edge. An oar planted itself into the sand next to it. Its handler looked out to the scene before her, observing the day’s conditions.

Waves rolled onto the shores outside Ga-Koro, whitewater spilling onto the untouched sands of the morning. Just beyond the break, a fog engulfed the ocean. The haze hung over the water, stretching as far as the eye could see. Smaller puffs of fog rolled through as a faint breeze blew over the water. No winds blew strong enough however to clear the water for the day, and the ocean beyond the shores remained curtained.

“Can you… not go out today? Play some Kohlii with me instead?”

Kai did not raise her Kanohi to respond, simply talking into the boat as she tied in her equipment. “No,” said the Ga-Matoran. “It could be like this on race day. I have to train through the conditions.”

“Nokama would not allow a race to happen in these conditions,” protested Amaya.

“Yes she would,” Kai said. “It’s not even that bad out.”

“‘Not that bad’?” Amaya mimicked her friend. She rolled her eyes and threw her arm to the sand around them. “You cannot even see the top of the beach, and the fog is still rolling in. How are you going to be able to see out there?”

“I have to be prepared for whatever happens on race day,” Kai insisted, although as she looked out at the water she could hear the confidence leaving her voice. The fog was almost impenetrable to see through. But she was already here and rigged up. The waves were not rough at all. How could she miss out on this opportunity to row?

“Look, I know you’re set on this, and this is your chance to beat Macku,” Amaya said. “But can you not do your long row? Practice some starts? That will really help you come race day.”

There was a bitter silence as Kai tossed the decision around in her head. The water lapped at her legs as she held the stern of the boat in the shallow waters, holding it steady for a break in the set of waves. She had already practiced starts that week, and had not gotten to her long row. She had really been looking forward to this workout. Kai was someone who created a plan and stuck to it. But the more she watched the fog, the thicker she could see it rolling in…

“Fine,” she finally said. “I will work on starts.”

“Thank you,” her friend replied. Rummaging through her pack, Amaya brought out a lightstone. “I’ll just stand here with this, so you have something to look for on shore.”

Nodding thanks to her friend for the support, Kai jumped into the boat.

There really was no stopping Kai and her training, Amaya thought as she watched Kai. Macku was the best rower of the village, and something just burned within Kai to outdo her. The Ga-Matoran’s hotheadedness rivaled some of the Ta-Matoran that Amaya knew. But Kai was determined more than anything to be the best rower in Ga-Koro, if not on all of Mata Nui.

Kai could not beat Macku if she did not make it back to shore though. Amaya held the lightstone as high as she could, hoping her friend could see it clearly enough.

Kai though had rowed out of sight. Amaya felt a surge of panic. She hoped Kai would have stopped before going as far as she had. But before Amaya knew it her friend was swallowed by the fog. She waited several long moments, holding the lightstone as high as she could. But after what seemed like too long, Amaya realized Kai was not going to reemerge from the fog.

“Oh no,” Amaya managed to say as dread filled her.

It had seemed like Kai had only taken a dozen or so strokes before the shore disappeared. Amaya’s mask grew small on the shoreline as she launched. A few strokes later the fog slipped between the two Matoran, and even the greeen underbrush of the jungle was completely shrouded by the fog.

“No!” Kai cried, turning the boat around. She pulled as hard as she could, making her stroke rate high. Kai felt an immense resistance as she pulled, as if something were holding the boat still in the water.

The the boat moved, but not in the direction Kai wanted it to. One moment she was still, the next she was being pulled out to sea. Looking over the gunwales she could see murky seawater under a flurry of white bubbles.

I’m still in the rip! Kai thought. Her strokes grew frantic, and in her mind’s eye she could see the mapped out currents of Ga-Wahi. Several rip currents pulled out to sea from the beach, making their way to the whirlpools out on the open harbor. Kai had seen many a boat get sucked out and pulled down into some of these whirlpools. Frantically she rowed to avoid becoming the next Matoran to fall victim to these.

She could hear the whirlpools as they pulled her closer, somewhere still hidden in the fog. Kai pulled her oars in, giving up and listening for the whirlpool she was being pulled quickly toward. Several thoughts went through her head as she looked around, thinking of a strategy to save her boat.

The boat dipped as it entered the whirlpool. Kai kept her oar high side, the Ga-Matoran using it as a rudder. Get the bow and the oar face to meet, she thought as she use the oar to till. She could feel the resistance as the whirlpool sucked the boat in its momentum as much as it tried…

The boat was suddenly coasting over calming waters, gliding itself away from the whirlpool. Kai fell back into her seat, listening to the slight trickle of water running along the bottom of the boat. Her mind was racing, hardly believing what she had just done.

She looked up out of the boat into the water, to see the whirlpool was already gone. All Kai could see was fog and the ocean around her. Squinting as hard as she could towards where she thought the shoreline was, she could not even see any signs of land. The lightstone Amaya had brought proved to be impervious to the shrouding mist. Not even the sound of the waves lapping the shore could be heard.

Where in Mata Nui’s name is land? She wondered.

Bringing both oars out onto the water, Kai looked around before she started to row again, in a direction she thought was land. Maybe coming out here today was not such a great idea.

***

Nokama looked out from the edge of her lilypad, watching the fog hanging over the waters of the Endless Ocean. Not much, if anything, could be seen out there. She could feel the ocean was for the most part calm, but Nokama in her wisdom knew there were dangers in calmness. She could barely see beyond a few dozen bio. She could glean nothing out there. Why Kai thought it was a good idea to go out in this was beyond her comprehension.

She turned from the water, giving up on trying to see through the fog. Amaya was still standing behind her, nervously twiddling her thumbs.

“That was very ill considered for Kai to go out there,” the Turaga said.

“I know, Turaga,” said a very worried Amaya. “I tried to tell her that, but she is headstrong. She insisted she had to be out there.” The Ga-Matoran looked down at the floor, almost ashamed of herself.

“This is on Kai, not you, flax-maker,” said Nokama. “I will have a talk with her when we find her.”

“When we find her?” Amaya asked. “What are we going to do? Are we sending one of Marka’s ships out?”

“Goodness no,” Nokama replied. “I am not sending more ships, and more importantly more Matoran, out to get lost in this fog.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Fog walks,” Nokama said. “There is a relatively fair chance Kai will make her way back towards land. When she does, you will be there to greet her. Gather the Guard and patrol the coastline. Bring lightstones. Take the Guard with you. Position yourselves as you see fit from the Great Telescope to the Charred Forest. Walk together in pairs. Until the fog lifts, you are on patrol.”

Amaya nodded, making her leave.

“And Amaya,” said Nokama, her tone softening somewhat. “Please be safe.”

***

Amaya walked down the beach, twin lightstone signalers in hand. Looking out at the ocean, she could only think of Kai out there on the water, rowing aimlessly and probably to her heart’s content. I hope you’re having fun, sister, Amaya thought. You have us all worried sick.

“What in Mata Nui’s name made her think this was a good idea?” asked Nireta. Amaya shrugged, unsure of what to tell her. Amaya and Nireta were not the best of friends, but these were the partners that were picked amongst the group.

“She was deadset on being out there,” Amaya said. “I got her to compromise— she said she would only do starts and not whatever workout she had planned.”

“She shouldn’t have gone out at all,” said Nireta. “Fog is just too messy to take chances in. You can mess with rain and wind, but fog… that’s just something you do not mess with.” Nireta proceeded to go into one of her cartography adventures, talking about how she stayed at camp when she was mapping out some region. But Amaya was not paying attention, fixated on the ocean as she was. All she wanted was for her friend to come rowing out of the fog, safe and sound. I would have like it better if you used common sense and did not go out there, she thought. I can only hope that you are safe.

A flash of light in the corner of Amaya’s eye brought her back to shore. Two lightstones could be seen up ahead, moving up and down. It was another Matoran fog walking, spotting Amaya and Nireta. The signal was a question, asking the pair if they had seen anything. Amaya swung one lightstone up and down, the agreed code for no. The signaler ahead flashed a thanks, disappearing as they turned and walked the opposite direction.

They had taken up a post at one of the beach chairs off of Ga-Wahi beaches, watching the waves lap the sands. A few Matoran wanderers paced by, watching the two with an odd curiosity. But they said nothing, and continued walking.

Nireta told several more stories— this mapmaker had enough hot air to keep the talkative Takua the Chronicler occupied. But Amaya was only half listening. She was more preoccupied with the fog. Her friend’s safety was really the only thing on her mind. Nireta’s stories were just noise to her.

She looked out at the fog with her Kanohi Akaku, the telescopic lens on her mask zooming in and out as the fog rolled by. Even with the advanced sight the mask gave her, there was nothing she could see. The fog obscured all, so thick that it was.

“I thought fogs like this burned off by the afternoon,” said Nireta after a while. Maybe she realized that Amaya was not listening, and was trying to change tactics to get her to talk.

“I thought the same, but this must be some strong cool front to keep it here,” Amaya said glumly.

The worst part was that it was sunny as well. High in the sky, shining through the haze was the sun, a single burning ball in the sky. Amaya watched it for a few moments, able to look at the sun without squinting her eyes. The ball of light burnt steadily, but as much as it tried, it did nothing to incinerate the fog. It just hung up there, in the middle of the sky, a white ball of useless light. Amaya glared at it, as if expecting it to say something, but it just sat up there. She glared harder. But to her frustration, a stray patch of fog floated across it, obscuring the sun even more than it already was. Useless, she thought. I give up.

“This breeze is nonexistent,” Nireta pointed out. She was turned around, watching the leaves of the palm trees not far off. More than twice the size of a Matoran, big leaves hung in the heat of the day, casually swinging in the air. The breeze really was nonexistent. The fog rolled along the water, they both observed, but it was not moving anywhere anytime soon.

Nireta hopped of the stand and went for a dip in the water. She took a few strokes out, and then came back in to Amaya. Even in the quick swim she took, Amaya was losing sight of her in the fog. This was thicker than anything Amaya had ever seen.

“I am going to see who is adjacent to us,” Amaya said as Nireta climbed back onto the chair. “And yeah, I know the way around this beach.”

*** Kai had finally had enough. She was stuck out on the water with no idea of which was was shore bound and which was seaward. She had done her long row which she originally intended on doing, secretly hoping that partially through the workout she would find land. Her secret hope had gone unfulfilled, and she had undergone her whole workout. Now that she was finished, she was done rowing for the day. She wanted to be off of the water now, to continue about her day. She had no idea where she was, however. Now she was stuck on the ocean. So she had to keep rowing.

Kai really had not thought this through this morning.

It was a slight annoyance, but she went with it anyways. Lightly stroking the calm ocean, she paused, letting the boat run out over the water. She pulled her oars in, simply sitting and feeling the ocean rock the boat. Little ‘bloops’ in the water could be heard, and the boat rocking back and forth, but the ocean was quiet.

Kai supposed she must be pretty far beyond the shores. No sound of the waves crashing could be heard anywhere. And she could not tell which way to start headed anyways. One moment the sea rose to push the boat starboard side. The next moment it sent her drifting towards port. There was no discerning direction out here.

Kai gave a half groan as she out look onto the fog. This is not good, she thought. Amaya, please do not be mad at me. Yeah, I should of listening to you. It was a good workout, yes, but you were right, I’ll admit it… please Amaya, just do not go to Turaga Nokama about this.

Yes, in retrospect, Kai supposed she should have known better. But something burned in her, and she could not think straight sometimes until after she rowed. It was just something inside her hardwiring.

Kai leaned into the bottom of the boat to her pack. She had packed a snack to her pleasure. The workout had depleted her of energy. The nutrition from this small fruit was not much, and would only temporarily sate her. She absorbed the energy, feeling if only a little replenished. Maybe if she started to track back, and listened really hard, she would be able to find her way back to shore. Grabbing the oars and shipping them back out into the water, she began to lightly pull and get the boat moving.

***

It was Kotu who was stationed north of them, sitting on the sand and staring out to the ocean with her arms crossed. She sat slumped in another chair along the coastline. Kotu sat with no partner, just by herself. Amaya cringed as she realized whom she was approaching; Kotu was known not to be the friendliest of Matoran. Perhaps sticking with Nireta was not so bad.

“This day is shot,” Kotu said. “If Kai could stop being tempted by the lure of the ocean for once…”

“Macku is your best friend and just as much of a competitor,” said Amaya. “Are you telling me that she has not made a mistake or two in her time?”

“Not one or two that costed the entire village a day of work,” said Kotu. “I have Rahi to tend to. They have needs, and they power the village.”

“Everyone else is anxious too,” pointed out Amaya. “I have been worried sick. Kai’s my friend, and I told her all morning that she should not go on this row. I saw her disappear and have been anxious all day. I just want her found and this stupid fog gone.”

“I have never seen it this bad,” Kotu replied. “This fog is absurd. It’s thicker worse than the darkness in Onu-Koro or the heat in Ta-Koro!”

“Who is your fog walk partner?” Kotu said.

“Nireta,” Amaya told her.

“Does she have a lightstone?” asked Kotu, noticing the twin handles in Amaya’s hands.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Amaya said. She turned from Kotu to see the path of the beach she had come from the fog floated through, and the path was even more obscure than when she had left. “I’m going to head back and check on her,” she said, taking a nervous step in the direction of her post. Kotu nodded, bidding her farewell.

It only took a few steps for Kotu’s stand to be encompassed by the fog. Amaya turned to watch it, seeing the phenomenon, growing slightly more concerned than she already was. Visibility on the beach basically was down to nothing now. The fog was so thick that she could not see a few bio in front of her. Even with the telescope of the Kanohi Akaku she wore, albeit powerless, it was getting harder to see. This was very concerning. How in the world was Kai going to make her way back to shore?

She would follow her footprints back to her post. They were still a good marker of her path. Amaya trudged back along the path she had come, tracing the relatively fresh prints back to where she knew would lead her to the stand. Amaya kicked shells as she walked back, idly curious about each one as she passed. She could not think in anger or worry about kai anymore, any longer— she just had to go let her thoughts go and get immersed in what was around her as she waited.

Except that which she thought were her footprints were abruptly cut off by a fresher track of prints.

Amaya froze, staring at the print on the sand. A singular wide track travelled up the beach, cutting directly through one of Amaya’s footprints. She froze, knowing exactly what those tracks came from.

Tarakava.

She gripped her tools fiercely, listening as best as she could for the sound of the Rahi’s approach. The Tarakava were largely a water hunting species, so whatever had drawn it to shore was not a good sign.

A roar came from behind her, and Amaya spun, only to be sent flying. The punch of a Tarakava had sent her flying across the beach, crashing headfirst into the sand.

Fear enabled her to spring to her feet in no time at all. Amaya jumped to her feet, comign face to face with the Rahi. It towered over her. It remained where it had appeared, growling as its forearms grew tense.

She could not outrun a Tarakava, Amaya knew that much. But she also knew she did not want to meet her end at the means of this Rahi. So to outsmart it? For now, she knew she could do that. But what was she going to do?

She saw her lightstones were not far away. If she could just get to them in time…

The Tarakava growled, winding up for another punch. But as it charged, the Matoran threw a fistful of sand at its eyes, throwing off its aim. The creature roared as its eyes were hit with the sand. The punch missed, and Amaya went diving sideways for the lightstone. Amaya got a hold of the mineral and chucked it at the Rahi’s gears. The Rahi tried to launch itself forward in a rage, but it could not, its gears jammed. It fell to the ground, the stone in its gears throwing the creature off balance.

By the time the Rahi’s struggling, flailing body hit the ground, Amaya was gone running.

***

Fortunately Kotu was already on her way, having heard the roars of the beast. “What in the Great Spirit’s name was that?” asked the Rau- masked Matoran.

“Tarakava!” Amaya yelled.

“Tarakava? On land?” Kotu repeated. Her eyes lit up wild at the mention of the Rahi beast. She cocked her head in confusion. “How did you outrun it?”

“I jammed its gears,” Amaya explained. She panted as she caught her breath. “But that will not hold it for long.”

“What? Where is Nireta?”

“I didn’t even get to her after I left you,” Amaya said. “We need to get to her before it does!”

“Hold on,” the Rahi tender said, dashing back to her post. Amaya stood slack jawed and confused until Kotu came back with several ropes over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said, a small smile on her mask.

Nireta met them at the remnants of a crushed lightstone, where Amaya quickly caught her up to speed. The other lightstone was nearby, but the Rahi was nowhere to be seen. Kotu kicked sand over the glowing remnants and strode over to the other lightstone, plunging it deep in the sand. “No use letting the monster know where we are,” she said.

The tracks led up the beach, towards the Le-Wahi jungles not far off. Kotu unwound her ropes, comjuring a lasso . She cast several of her tools across the beach. Fiddling with several knots here and there, she set a trap to her liking. She stood up, pleased with her work.

“Aren’t we following the tracks into the jungle?” Nireta asked. Kotu looked at her skeptically.

“Tarakava are primarily aquatic creatures,” Kotu informed her. “It will come back to its home soon.”

“So we just wait now?” Amaya said, looking at the trap Kotu had set. The Rahi tender nodded.

“Or we could lure it out, if you would rather prefer that method,” Kotu said to her. “And if you have sufficient bait.”

Amaya looked at the two Matoran, then shook the idea from her head.

“We will wait,” she agreed.

***

Far below Ga-Koro, Makuta smiled at the controls of his machine. He could telepathically sense what unfolded on the coastline, feeling the high levels of anxiety in the inhabitant’s minds there. It honestly brought a smile to his mask.

“That is enough for today, I suppose,” he rumbled to the machine in front of him, shutting off the controls. The natural winds of the oceans above would blow away the fog, but it would take time. He would sit back and wait, letting the rest of the show play itself out.

***

A slight breeze drifted through the trees, bringing the scent of Matoran to the Tarakava’s nostrils. It could not see them, however, as hard as the creature peered. Looking out at the beach, it glared, searching for its prey. It could not see them, but it would find them. The Makuta which controlled the Rahi’s mind wished it so, and so it would find them.

The only thing that it did see on the beach was the fog, and the lightstone which shone on the foggy beach. It was shiny. But it was not food. The Tarakava knew that this was somewhat valuable to the Ga-Matoran. The voice of Makuta inside its head also told it that this was a trap of some sorts. The Ga-Matoran would not leave an object of value so open in the sand. It was a trap, the primal voice of reasoning in the Rahi’s mind knew. But the only way to get the Matoran to appear was to go into the trap. It would punch its way out if it needed.

The Tarakava slowly crawled out of hiding, eyes fixated on the shining lightstone. As it crawled out, the beach remained still, and there was no sign of any Matoran. The Tarakava crawled closer, inspecting the stone’s quiet glow.

Sand flew up, and a line appeared. The Tarakava whirled to see the line leading to the top of the trees in the jungle, where it travelled downward from a branch. But what it was connected to it could not see, as a net came up to obscure the Rahi’s vision.

“Now!” shouted Nireta, holding as tight as she could to her end of the rope. The end was tied to the base of the tree they were hiding near, but she pulled to secure the net.The net came up around the Tarakava, and the trap was sprung.

The Tarakava flailed, immediately throwing out its powerful forearms as it tried to escape the net. A roar came from its jaws. One forearm was stuck in the netting, and it pulled, trying to free itself.

“It’s going to tear the net!” Amaya said, dashing onto the sand. Kotu shook her head, throwing her lasso at the beast’s forearm sticking through. The rope held, and she pulled.

Amaya readied a bamboo disk, throwing it at the Rahi’s face where the infected Kanohi sat. It thunked against the rusted and pitted mask, knocking it askew but not off.

“Watch yourself!” Kotu barked as she tugged on her rope. The Rahi struggled to reach for Amaya as she cautiously strode over to retrieve the disk.

The next disk hit its target. It hit the infected Kanohi head on. As soon as the mask dislodged from the Rahi’s face, its roars dulled in ferocity, instead becoming whimpers as it struggled against the bonds the Matoran had on it. Kotu nodded, letting her rope slack. At Kotu’s signal Nireta did the same, letting the net fall from around the Rahi.

The Rahi did not wait for the Matoran to clean it up. It went screaming away, darting back into the water from which it came. Only the discarded mask remained of it.

“Turaga Nokama would be proud,” said Nireta. “Three Matoran, taking down an infected beast!”

Kotu nodded, picking up the infected mask. “I will have to turn this into her upon our return to Ga-Koro.”

“Hey,” Nireta said, looking out to the ocean. “Do you think the fog has let up a little?”

***

Kai looked around now, feeling slight excitement as the winds began to blow. She could feel the breeze on her neck as she rowed along, but could not see the fog letting up. Sometimes the haze would shift, and she thought she could make out a few shapes here and there in those moments. The shape of the domed seaweed huts, or a larger more mountainous shape. She would row in that direction, only to find it being a fog cloud.

A motor sounded in the distance. Kai’s head perked up, and she immediately stood. She tried to raise her arms but lowered them, feeling the soreness in her shoulders.

“Hey!” screamed Kai. “HEY! HELP! I AM OVER HERE!”

She stumbled as the words escaped her lips, falling back against the gunwales of her bat. But the Kai continued to fall, the rails not stopping her momentum. Fear overcame the Matoran as she hit the water…

… and promptly sunk to the ground barely a bio below the underside of her boat.

Kai broke the surface, treading frantically as she panted for air. She had made it to land! And she had been that close the entire time? It made her mind race.

Kai collapsed upon reaching the shore, one arm pulling the boat until it caught the sloping ground of the beach. She sat on her hands and knees, feeling utterly exhausted. It had been a long day.

Voices slowly reached her ears, and Kai looked up to see a handful of Ga-Matoran looking at her.

“Have a good workout?” one of them said.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry…” Kai apologized profusely, picking herself up despite her exhaustion. Her limbs had never felt heavier. “I will never go out in conditions like this again.”

“Next time, seaweed brains,” came Amaya’s voice. Kai looked up to see her relieved mask. “let’s just play Kohlii.”

A pile of ropes thumped onto the sand at Kai’s feet. “What are these?” she asked.

“So you can tow the boat back to where you found it,” said Kotu. “I will speak with Nokama, but this is fitting punishment for the stunt you pulled today.”

“How far away is the boatyard?” asked Kai. She hung her head. She was so tired.

“Maybe half a kio down the beach,” said Kotu. “Good thing the sun is out, so you know where you are going.”

Kai looked at her boat, and then back to the ropes. She could not row another stroke, so it looked as if this was how she would spend the rest of the day. Fair enough, she thought.

#bionicle #hauntings #Mata Nui Hauntings #Ga-Koro #Makuta #Rahi #rowing #Fog #bonkles

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brassikarts · 4 years

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Weekly check-in.

Hi. How y’all doing, RPC?

My last few days weren’t so hot but I’m on the upswing. Maybe. I’ve done some good writing but none of it WoW related, though that’s going albeit slowly. I’m more D&D focused these days, it seems. Sorry.

Here’s what I’ve been up to, outside of work and child: maps. If you wanna see them, click the cut. If you want a map for something, DM me. Let’s talk.

I made a map of the multi-level inn we stay at (The Blooming Rose) in D&D using the Trial version of DungeonFog. Here’s the basement:

The summoning room is a secret, and will remain a secret for a long time I suspect because our OP alchemist was A Bad Man and our current alchemist and Oracle is a sweet bean and wouldn’t even think of it.

I’ve also done 3/8 bedrooms:

From L to R: Lian’s, Sylvar’s (currently occupied by a literal void of magic?), and Loretta’s. Lian’s room should also have a rabbit but I couldn’t find one I liked. Loretta ought to have clothes bursting out of that wardrobe but hey.

DungeonFog’s a lot of fun, and I like larger scale stuff with Inkarnate too. And fantasy illustration in general. And playing. And VA’ing. I wonder if I could make being a nerd with organizational and networking skills an actual job. I like mapmaking and stuff like this and it’d be fun to turn something I enjoy into my job rather than... what I do.

#ooc #nerdness

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howtohero · 4 years

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Maps of Mythical Realms

One of the most exciting things about being a superhero is gaining access to a whole host of places that mere mortals are 80-90% sure don’t exist. Imagine waking up one morning to find out that places like Atlantis, Atomspace, Albuquerque 2 (picture Albuquerque, New Mexico, but with twice as many peacocks in positions of political power) are just totally, unequivocally real! It’s a fantastic experience, revelation, and story to tell at the annual superhero dinner and retrospective which I would guess is a real thing. That 10% would be completely validated! And that’s only talking about the As! You’d immediately want to get out and start exploring these places that your superpowers, costumes, and urge to do good have finally granted you! Of course, if you want to do that, you need to get a map.

Without a map to these fantastical regions you’re liable to fall into an agony abyss or get eaten by a thirty foot long vampiric eel or or get sucked into a quicksand cloud and be forced to relive every embarrassing memory from grades 3-7. (If you’re looking for embarrassing memories from grades 1-2 or 8-12 you’re gonna wanna check out the whirlpool trees or the hypo-toxin puddles. But you would know this if you’d bothered to look at a map.) A map will tell you where to get the best weapons, food, rest and where all the monsters hang out and usually they’ll have a cool picture of a sea monster that they either think is in the ocean or that they hope is in the ocean. Maps are pretty cool. You’ll never hear me say a bad word about maps. The people who make these mystical maps though [they’re called cartographers] (that’s silly they aren’t making carts) they’re really the worst let me tell you.

Magicartographers are truly the world’s greatest tricksters and that is not really a quality you want to see in somebody giving you a guide to navigate through an uncharted, magical, archaic, unpredictable, improbably, incredibly dangerous, (unusually scented), unusually scented good call, mystical land. Mythical maps will have features appear and disappear at random. Well, I say at random but really you can expect locations to disappear right when you need to know where they are. That’s a fun little thing. Magical maps will sometimes fade out completely. You’ll be wandering through the Forests of Eldyrikh and you’ll be thinking to yourself “good golly I’m sure glad I have this map so I don’t accidentally stumble into the forbidden part of this forest that is stocked with dangerous monsters!” and then BAMF, your map is gone. It’s just a wrinkled piece of parchment and you’re going to be eaten by monsters. It turns out “Good golly I’m sure glad I have this map so I don’t accidentally stumble into the forbidden part of this forest that is stocked with dangerous monsters” was the super secret deactivation code for the map. Which, to be clear, is not something I believe maps should have! I could maybe see the reasoning for a deactivation code, you know, to prevent dwarf hunters from getting their hands on the map or whatever, but a secret deactivation code that isn’t even known to the rightful holder of the map? That’s absurd. Who is that for? Why would it be a common phrase that any hapless adventurer might say? The only conceivable reason would be for pranks. That’s all.

Another thing these mapmakers love to do is make their maps very difficult to even find. It’s almost like the mapmakers from these realms don’t want random superheroes traipsing around in their secret lands. Rude. To find these maps you have to go an epic quest, without the aid of a map just so you can then go on an epic quest with a map. I suppose you could try to acquire a map to find the map you’re looking for, but odds are that you’d have to go on a whole third quest just to get that map so you can go on a quest to find the other map so you can on a quest to an enchanted country-sized petting zoo. (Which country? Countries are not a uniform size.) The easiest (and most morbid) way to find a magical map is to keep an eye on the obituaries section. Magical maps are much easier to find when the person who designed them is dead. Just be on the lookout for names that sound like they would probably belong to magicartographers. People with names like “Giorgioch Landspindler” or “Wanda Chimeravitch” are probably associated with mythical mystical realms in some capacity and they’re likely to have some dope maps hidden among their possessions so as long as you can get to, and break into, their homes before anybody else, you’re probably gonna find a sweet map.

Another way you can acquire one of these maps is by personally commissioning the creation of one. Magical maps are usually not mass-produced and they can be quite costly to commission, but if you really want to explore a realm, or if you really believe you have the power to spread good their, then this is the best way to guarantee you’re getting a real one. Due to the high value of these maps, many people have taken to making frauds and fakes and passing them off as the real deal. These maps contain myriads of inaccuracies and are all but guaranteed to get you killed. We all remember the time Professor Paleontologist used a map to travel through Dinorassica, in search of the dinosaur spirits who granted him his powers, only to wind up navigating himself into the gaping maw of a Spectralsaurus instead of the Cave of Ancients. Lucky for him the Spectralsaurus is intangible so he was fine but it could’ve been disastrous for him, and it can be disastrous for you. So commission a map, for your own safety. The prices of these maps obviously vary but you can pretty much bet that these mapmakers have no use for mortal currency. In fact, if a magicartogropher tells you they accept human currency, you can just assume they’re charlatans and not do any business with them. Magicartogrophers might ask for your fondest memory, or an unborn child, or your second favorite thumb. They might have you go on a scavenger hunt for them, acquiring echidna knuckles and lemming eyes. (Luckily for you, if they send you get multiple lemming eyes, you only have to gouge out one lemming’s eye and the rest of them will just do it for you. Score!) You might even get lucky and be able to do a map swap with them. You’d be surprised how many magicartogrophers just want a simple subway map, so they can get around town in peace.

While magical maps are essential to any successful journey through a strange and supernatural land, it is important to be careful and wary when using them. Always make sure to have a spare, in case your first one bursts into flames or turns out to contain the trapped soul of an evil wizard (I’m telling you, these map pranks get more outlandish every year!). Always make sure you’re getting your maps from reputable sources, like the insides of volcanoes or buried beneath a world wonder. And last but not least, always make sure you actually know how to read the maps. They might not look like mortal maps, you have to make sure you understand what all the symbols and measurements mean. Otherwise you could get eaten, maimed, cursed, turned into a worm or forced to relive traumatic memories. So travel safe and travel smart and always have a map.

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neuxue · 5 years

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 39

VERIN!

Chapter 39: A Visit from Verin Sedai

Where were we? Oh yes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

“You never held the Oath Rod,” Egwene accused her.

Odd that that’s the first conclusion she jumps to. Verin has the ageless face, after all; she must have sworn oaths of some sort. Then again, I suppose Egwene can be forgiven for being thrown a little by that reveal. And for not wanting to jump to the other conclusion that might immediately come to mind.

“I don’t trust you,” Egwene found herself blurting. I don’t think I ever have.” “Very wise,” Verin said, sipping her tea. It was not a scent Egwene recognised. “I am, after all, of the Black Ajah.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She!

She just!

Did that!

Just came right out and said it. I waited ELEVEN BOOKS to find out what her deal was. ELEVEN BOOKS of wondering and suspecting and second-guessing and she just SAYS IT. LIKE THAT. RIGHT THERE.

WELL NOW WE KNOW, I GUESS.

Just. Well played. So very, very well played. One of the characters who held her cards closest to the chest all series, one of the most difficult to pin down, and so of coursethe reveal is on her own terms, direct and straightforward and stunning even if it’s not completely surprising.

Well. Played.

Also I’m suspicious of how often and pointedly the tea she’s drinking has been mentioned. The scent you don’t recognise is called foreshadowing, Egwene.

Egwene felt a sudden chill, like an ice cold spike pounded directly through her back and down into her chest.

Damn it Brandon get your hemalurgy out of my WoT.

Verin was Black. Light!

Nice forced juxtaposition in the phrasing there.

Those eyes that always had seemed to know too much. What better way to hide than as an unassuming Brown, constantly dismissed by the other sisters because of your distracted, scholarly ways?

Indeed. Who looks too closely at the absentminded scholar? Who suspects duplicity of a plump older woman with ink smudges on her dress? Who thinks too hard on disturbing comments made by a distracted Brown with little attention to tact? Verin, and people like Verin, are so easily…not even overlookedso much as set aside. I wonder, sometimes, why we’re so quick in times of crisis or uncertainty to disregard those who have made it the subject of their life’s work and study. Why we hold so strongly to this notion that scholarship means setting oneself aside from the ‘real world’, even when, without the real world, there would be nothing to study.

It’s my whole thing with the ‘lol the mapmaker can’t actually navigate’ nonsense with Roidelle a few chapters back. Like listen, fuck you, I can read and use just about any map you give me. I can navigate by the stars in either hemisphere. You think I spent my Ivory Tower Years studying the earth without getting my hands dirty? I did not haul a literal bucket full of shit through a jungle in volcano-melted shoes for this.

(Yes, there are parts of academia that are, to put it kindly, Out Of Touch, and whose publications are more self-referential and inbred than your average European monarchy. But the ease with which we write off ‘scholars’ and ‘academics’ as hopeless in all matters relating to the Real World is kind of mind-boggling.)

Anyway. Rather than diving headfirst into an essay on the insidious nature of anti-intellectualism, I’ll just say…Verin really did have the perfect disguise.

Not quite as much to the reader – it’s been very much made clear that she was up to something and that the distracted-and-muddled act was very much an act – but in-world? Even in ourworld, without the insight given by the narrative, who would have looked twice?

Verin, of course, just responds to Egwene’s shock with possibly the most English thing she could possibly say aside from ‘shit weather we’re having, isn’t it?’:

“My, but this is good tea.”

I love her.

What a troll.

She just SHOWED UP IN EGWENE’S ROOM, DRINKING TEA, AND ANNOUNCED THAT SHE’S BLACK AJAH. AFTER ELEVEN BOOKS. OF GIVING AWAY NOTHING. EVEN IN HER THOUGHTS.

She is, truly, On Another Level.

I’m also just running through everything she’s ever done or said or thought in the last eleven books with the certainty of hindsight and my brain feels a little bit like one of those flipbooks you play with as a kid.

Just…*shakes head* well fucking played, Verin.

“I would offer you some tea, but I sincerely doubt you want any of what I’m having.”

Even I don’t mention tea as frequently as it’s been mentioned in these last two or three pages. What exactly is in that tea, Verin?

Egwene’s still in panic mode, and I love the way this is played out, with her thoughts scattered and frantic, juxtaposed against Verin’s calm, collected, and utterly shocking matter-of-fact, conversational, mild statements.

But while Egwene – I suppose understandably – sees Verin immediately as a threat after that admission, I…don’t.

“I compliment you on what you’ve done here, Egwene.”

‘I’m Black Ajah, but more importantly, I love what you’ve done with the room! Such a good eye for colour, and the minimalist style is so in right now. Tea?’

When you get an opportunity like this, you don’t squander it. And she is making the absolute most of her chance here, and I honestly don’t even blame her. She could say something reassuring, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Verin has always dealt in truths, not platitudes.

I love her, you guys. I love her so much.

“It was more important to continue my research and keep an eye on young al’Thor. He’s a fiery one”

TOO. SOON.

That was rude. Fuck. Wow. Okay.

“I’m not certain he understands how the Great Lord works. Not all evil is as…obvious as the Chosen. The Forsaken, as you’d call them.”

Two things here. One: there is absolutely no way Verin is truly aligned with the Shadow. Two: she gets it. She understands what’s going on, with Rand and even, I think, with how the Shadow is manipulating him without ever having to truly turn him.

“I’m convinced that it isn’t intelligence, craftiness, or skill that makes one Chosen—though of course, those things are important. No, I believe it is selfishness the Great Lord seeks in his greatest leaders.”

YES. THIS.

THIS, EXACTLY.

Of course Verin is the one to put it into words so clearly. With one exception, they are so focused on their own power and their own promised rewards and their own plans and successes and positions of favour that they don’t even see the game they’re truly playing. They serve themselves, not a cause, and because they are intelligent and crafty and skilled, they become incredibly effective pawns in that game, set on a board they hardly understand and let loose to serve a purpose they never truly consider because they are so hell-bent on their own. And so they will destroy the world and themselves with it and never notice until their own flames consume them.

It’s also an interesting statement to consider in the context of Rand, given that Verin has just voiced her worries that he doesn’t understand how the Great Lord works.

Because Rand has an…interesting relationship with selfishness and altruism. Especially now. He has pushed himself into a state of literal selflessness – total denial of the existence of a self – but for the sake of self-preservation. He did it because it hurt too much to hold on to anything of who he was, to let himself feel. So it’s a selfish motivator…and yet, the motivation behind that is a layer of altruism, because that need for survival arises from a need to fulfil his duty to a selfless cause.

And so we go around and around in circles; is he selfish or selfless in his choice to leave his humanity and life and redemption behind? Is it more selfish to seek death or survival, to martyr himself or to endure, to live for something or to die for it?

Listen, I’m a scientist and a programmer and an atheist, and also I cannot get enough of spiralling questions of eschatology and metaphysics and fate in fiction. It’s a thing.

(And that’s not even getting into my obsession with divinity as an entire concept).

But back to the Forsaken. I think Verin has it absolutely right here – power and cunning and other abilities are all well and good, but if you want a group of people you can control and predict and move around like the pawns they are (while they believe themselves to be the players, and masters of the game), selfishness is a perfect trait to select for.

Wise of Verin to see that.

And, back to Rand for just a moment here, maybe that’s part of where he struggles: he’s too close to the Forsaken in his knowledge of them from Lews Therin’s memories to take that step back and view them as an outside observer, yet at the same time he’s so far on the other side of the spectrum in terms of motivations to see this unifying trait and understand how it works and how to use it.

“The Chosen are predictable, but the Great Lord is anything but. Even after decades of study, I can’t be certain exactly what he wants or why he wants it.”

Because, unless you’re Moridin, I think it would break your mind to truly understand what it is he wants. None of the Chosen seem to fully understand it either, because if they did, would they still fight for it? Total destruction of everything, a world remade in the image of chaos, wouldn’t serve any of their goals. And yet because of that selfishness, they are made to serve precisely that cause, and are kept blind by their own narrow ambitions to what end they truly work towards.

“And what does this have to do with me?” Egwene asked.

“Not much,” Verin said, tsking at herself. “I’m afraid I let myself get sidetracked.”

In which Verin’s tangents are more insightful than many character’s introspection. Not to mention about a hundred times more communicative, suddenly. I love when an enigma of a character finally decides it’s time to spill her secrets. It’s so satisfying.

Verin’s so proud of Egwene for what she’s done with the Tower. It’s lovely to see, not just to have someone in a position to recognise and appreciate what Egwene has managed to do, but to have it be someone who’s known Egwene since even before she went to Tar Valon, someone who watched her first learnings and chided her for her early mistakes, and also who knows and understands what’s going on, on a level that seems to be far deeper than most Aes Sedai. Verin sees. And so her praise is worth far more than most. Especially now, when she seems to be so sure that time is short, when she’s making her final play.

Egwene’s still trying to figure out what the hell is even going on here, and…

Oh.

“A number of years ago, I faced a decision. I found myself in a position where I could either take the oaths to the Dark One, or I could reveal that I had actually never wanted—or intended—to do so, whereupon I would have been executed.”

ALL THE SECRETS COME OUT.

DOUBLE AGENT VERIN.

So this was the mistake she alluded to in her thoughts. This is why she’s thought so many times about how sometimes you just have to make the best of the situation you’re given.

“Many would have simply opted for death. I, however, saw this as an opportunity. You see, one rarely has such a chance as this, to study a beast from inside its heart, to see really what makes the blood flow. To discover where all of the little veins and vessels lead. Quite an extraordinary experience.”

“Wait,” Egwene said. “You joined the Black Ajah to study them?”

YES!!!!!!!!!!

VERINNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The scholar driven by a desire for knowledge, faced with the consequences of that search, and choosing to push forward anyway, to sacrifice herself not by dying but by living, and swearing herself to a cause she never wanted to join, and seeing it as an opportunity. To keep studying them. HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS SHE?

“Tomas. Does he know what you’ve done?”

“He was a Darkfriend himself, child,” Verin said. “Wanting a way out. Well, there really isn’t a way out, not once the Great Lord has his claws in you. But there was a way to fight, to make up a little of what you’ve done. I offered that chance to Tomas, and I believe he was quite grateful to me for it.”

No man can walk so long in the Shadow…I wonder if Ingtar knew.

It’s such a lovely little addition to this whole reveal; Tomas is a fairly minor character, but it adds that extra bit of depth to an already fantastic scene that she found a way to offer him some small form of redemption, by joining her in hers. It ties everything together just that little bit more. There may not be a way out, but there is a way to go forwards, a way to fight.

Verin was a Darkfriend…but not one at the same time.

It’s not so different from Ingtar’s choice, really. It’s just the timeframe that’s different.

“You said he ‘was’ quite grateful to you?”

And, like Ingtar’s choice, I don’t think there’s much chance of this not being a fatal one.

“The oaths one makes to the Great Lord are quite specific,” she finally continued. “And, when they are placed upon one who can channel, they are quite binding. Impossible to break. You can double-cross other Darkfriends, you can turn against the Chosen if you can justify it. Selfishness must be preserved. But you can never betray him.”

I just love the way she gets so cleanly to the heart of it with her observations of the role of selfishness. It explains so much, so neatly. And yet they are all bound, though they claim to set themselves above everyone else; all of them must serve, in the end, but they are so easily manipulated into believing that they rule.

She looked up, meeting Egwene’s eyes. “‘I sear not to betray the Great Lord, to keep my secrets until the hour of my death.’ That was what I promised. Do you see?”

…oh.

Oh, Verin.

The tea is poison and this is her final play. Killing herself in order to betray all of her secrets, because it’s the one loophole open to her. The only way to share the knowledge she spent decades collecting.

Decades of secrecy and evasion, of hiding behind that distracted scholarly mask, of observing, unseen, from within. And it all ends here, in a single hour of honesty, with the captive Amyrlin she can look at and be proud of.

VEEEEEERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

She joined them to stay alive because the alternative was death and now she’s choosing her own death as a way of allowing herself to betray them THIS IS TOO MUCH.

“A curious hole in the oaths,” Verin said softly. “To allow one to effect a betrayal in the final hour of one’s life. I cannot help wondering if the Great Lord knows of it. Why wouldn’t he close that hole?”

Because no one selfish enough to serve him would ever think to use it. Because to use it would be an act of absolute altruism, anathema to any in a position to do so.

Except Verin.

“Perhaps he doesn’t see it as threatening,” Egwene said, opening her eyes. “After all, what kind of Darkfriend would kill themselves in order to advance the greater good? It doesn’t seem the kind of thing his followers would consider.”

What she said.

Or…maybe it’s almost meant as a taunt, a cruel reminder of the cost of betrayal. A way of saying to those who might be considering it, who might be regretting their choice, ‘you can betray me but to do so demands your death’. A loophole kept as a warning sign, and a way of making any who might be wavering turn back.

Egwene shook her head. It seemed such a tragedy. “You come to me to confess, killing yourself in a final quest for redemption?”

Not quite, I don’t think. She wouldn’t waste all those years just to gain peace of mind in a confession. She’s come to share knowledge.

IN THE FORM OF HER NOTEBOOKS.

ALL HER NOTES.

THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD.

“Every woman in the Brown,” Verin said, “seeks to produce something lasting. Research or study that will be meaningful. Others often accuse us of ignoring the world around us. They think we only look backward. Well, that is inaccurate. If we are distracted, it is because we look forward, toward those who will come. And the information, the knowledge we gather…we leave it for them. The other Ajahs worry about making today better; we yearn to make tomorrow better.”

That, right there, is a perfect and utterly lovely redemption of the stereotype of the scholar. Thank you for this.

The desire to leave something lasting, to not just know but to share that knowledge with those who come after, to lay the foundations for future generations to learn from and to learn beyond. A distractedness that comes not from ignoring the world but from looking to its future. A study of the past or the present for the purpose of that future. This is absolutely beautiful. I want it framed on my wall.

I love Verin so much.

“That tome is the…work. My work. The work of my life.”

The work she is quite literally giving her life for. It’s sad but there’s this sense of absolute triumph to it as well.

“Names, locations, explanations,” Verin said. “Everything I learned about them. About the leaders among the Darkfriends, about the Black Ajah. The prophecies they believe, the goals and motivations of the separate factions. Along with a list, at the back, of every Black Ajah sister I could identify.”

And with that one book, with this one hour, with this single but incredible act of betrayal that should be impossible, she’s just dealt a potentially crippling blow to the Shadow.

It costs her life, but she’s done what so many aspire to: created something that could change the future. All that knowledge she gained, all those years of studying, and now she can leave it in the hands of someone who can use it. She can quite literally hand it to the next generation, leave the knowledge she gathered in the hands of the one who will shape the future. It’s a quite victory, witnessed only by Egwene, but what a victory it is.

I. LOVE. VERIN. SO. MUCH.

I just.

I love this tone of triumphant sadness, of a sacrifice that is the exact opposite of in vain. She’s dying for this, but in doing so she’s achieving the the epitome of her Ajah’s ideals. She’s carrying out the most thorough betrayal the Shadow has perhaps ever seen, and handing Egwene information no other Aes Sedai has even come close to managing to uncover.

Her life’s work is thorough and practical and meaningful and could quite literally help save the world.

“I doubt I caught them all,” Verin said, smiling. “But I think I got the large majority of them. I promise you, Egwene. I can be quitethorough.”

And this is one of those things that could so easily tip over into deus ex machina territory – handing a protagonist a list of everyone in the secret evil organisation that’s been causing problems for the whole series and also several centuries previously, right as we move into the final act? Giving her a list that multiple characters and plotlines have been spent trying to find even part of? – and yet manages to avoid that entirely because of how perfectly Verin’s character has been written since the beginning.

Because this doesn’t even remotely come out of nowhere. This has been seeded from the very start, even if I never would have been able to say that this is specifically what it was going to come to. Verin’s been there almost from the beginning, and she’s been so clearly up to something, yet in a way that never quite reveals exactly what…but the fact that she’s been around, and keeping the reader guessing, makes this kind of reveal work. Because you know that somekind of reveal must be coming. And everything she’s done up until now fits so perfectly in hindsight, and makes absolute sense, and it all feels like a natural and surprising-yet-inevitable end to her storyline.

It doesn’t come out of nowhere; it just finishes and ties off what has been there all along.

Egwene looked down at the books with awe. Incredible! Light, but this was a treasure greater than any king’s hoard. A treasure as great as the Horn of Valere itself. She looked up, tears in her eyes, imagining a life spent among the Black, always watching, recording, and working for the good of all.

“Oh, don’t go doing that,” Verin said.

I mean, if I were someone who cried at books, I’m pretty sure I’d be doing the same.

I’m glad that not only does Verin see and understand and and appreciate all that Egwene has done, when so few others are really in a position to, but Egwene understands just how much Verin has done and sacrificed, and what it means.

“This is worth one woman’s life. Few people have had a chance to create something as useful, and as wonderful, as that book you hold. We all seek to change the future, Egwene. I think I might just have a chance at doing so.”

And I’m glad that Verin herself understands just how much of a victory this is, and sees it as such. This is worth her death, and she knows it, and so there is a sense of peace and acceptance rather than tragedy.

Magic bookmark! I want one.

“I will admit that the poison was a backup plan,” Verin said. “I am not eager for death; there are still things I need to do. Fortunately, I have set several of them in motion to be…seen to, in case I do not return. Regardless, my first plan was to find the Oath Rod, then see if I could use it to remove the Great Lord’s oaths. The Oath Rod appears to have gone missing, unfortunately.”

Saerin, Egwene thought, and the others.

How beautifully ironic. They’re using the Oath Rod to try to find the Black Ajah, but because they have it, a Black Ajah double agent couldn’t use it to free herself of the oaths preventing her from betraying the Black Ajah without killing herself.

Also, the Oath Rod itself seems like a bigger loophole than the ‘hour of my death’ phrasing. Or would a Black sister not be able to voluntarily free herself from her oaths because to do so would be a betrayal of the Dark One? Maybe it only worked with Talene and any others because they didn’t decide to renounce all oaths that bound them; they were forced to? Otherwise it seems like a huge vulnerability, to swear Black Ajah members to these binding oaths but leave them free to unbind themselves should they so choose.

Verin, at least, seems to think it might not have worked, even if she hoped it would.

What are the other oaths they take, I wonder?

“One of the Chosen is in the Tower, child. It’s Mesaana, I’m certain of it. I had hoped to be able to bring you the name she was hiding under, but the two times I met with her, she was shrouded to the point that I couldn’t tell.”

I mean, I think you can be forgiven for not uncovering the secret identity of the Forsaken you’ve identified in the Tower, given everything else you’ve done, Verin. I’m also anything but sure of who Mesaana’s hiding as. I suspected the Brown who helped Elaida with the coup, but now I can’t even remember her name (which is kind of unlike me; I have crap memory for people’s names IRL but I’m great with fictional characters) so that tells you how sure I am.

“So many decisions you must make, for one so young.” […]

“Thank you, Verin. Thank you for choosing me to carry this burden.”

Verin smiled faintly. “You did very well with the previous tidbits I gave you. That was quite the interesting situation. The Amyrlin commanded that I give you information to hunt the Black sisters who fled the Tower, so I had to comply, even though the leadership of the Black was frustrated by the order. I wasn’t supposed to give you the dreaming ter’angreal, you know. But I’ve always had a feeling about you.”

It is a lovely way of bringing so many things full circle here. Egwene being set to hunt the Black Ajah all the way back in TDR, and Verin giving her the information, and choosing to trust her with the dream ter’angreal…and now Verin coming to her, and choosing to trust her with her life’s work and her secret and her redemption, and handing her the key to the puzzle she was set to all that time ago.

And this whole scene has been full of this sense of mutual recognition and understanding and respect between them; Verin of what Egwene has done and Egwene of what Verin is doing here, with her last act, and what it means.

So much trust, and oh, how it is rewarded.

Trust usually is, in these books, on the rare occasions that it happens.

“You will be Amyrlin. I’m confident of it. And an Amyrlin should be well armed with knowledge. That, among all things, is the most sacred duty of the Brown—to arm the world with knowledge.”

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT LOVE THIS? BECAUSE I LOVE THIS. THIS IS SO GOOD. It’s just a slight…shifting of angles, in a sense, on the usual perception of Browns, but it casts so much in a different light, and it’s beautiful. We’ve almost exclusively seen the Brown from an outside perspective, and they almost always are portrayed as distracted, esoteric, intelligent but more caught up in knowledge than in anything ‘useful’, absentminded…and Verin doesn’t contradict that so much as shine a light on everything behind it. She gives the Brown Ajah depth, and with that, purpose and meaning and value. To arm the world with knowledge. That is a sacred duty, and a necessary one, whatever the knowledge may be.

It’s what Rand himself was trying to do, by setting up his schools in order to try to preserve something against another Breaking of the World.

And it’s just so, so nice to see, after twelve books of fond disdain for the Brown Ajah. To have them redeemed this way, illuminated this way. To have the narrative itself illustrate the fallacy of such a limited view of scholarship and knowledge.

“I’m still one of them. Please see that they know, although the word Black may brand my name forever, my soul is Brown. Tell them…”

“I will, Verin,” Egwene promised. “But your soul is not Brown. I can see it.” Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Egwene’s, a frown creasing her forehead.

“Your soul is of a pure white, Verin,” Egwene said softly, “Like the Light itself.”

Verin smiled, and her eyes closed.

Ahhhhhhhh.

What a perfect farewell to such a fantastic character.

It’s a completely different context and manner of death, but it still puts me in mind of Ingtar, and his final redemption. The way his last words were ‘for the Light, and Shinowa’ as he turned at last away from the Shadow, after Rand offered him understanding and his blessing and, through that, redemption. Egwene does something similar here, in promising to let the others know the truth—and what a beautifully sad last request that is, to have done so much and to just want it known that she was truly of her Ajah, that she did what she did in the service of the Light—and in that last evocation of the Light, and the sense of peace it brings.

Goodbye, Verin. You were every kind of awesome and you will be missed. But damn, what a way to go.

It felt callous to double-check, but there were some poisons which could make one appear to be dead and breathe only very shallowly, and if Verin had wanted to trick Egwene and point a finger at the wrong sisters, this would have been a wonderful method. Callous indeed to double-check, and it made Egwene feel sick, but she was Amyrlin. She did that which was difficult and considered all possibilities.

Callous, but good to be certain. She trusts Verin, and admits and accepts that trust…but that doesn’t stop her from doing the pragmatic thing just in case. And yet – perhaps more importantly – her ability to do the pragmatic thing, and her consideration of all possibilities, does not prevent her from trusting. She doesn’t step across that line into paranoia; she’ll check because it’s a possibility she should be sure to eliminate, but she will also trust. She’ll do the callous thing when necessary, but she doesn’t allow that callousness to become her only mode.

Her heart trusted Verin, although her mind wanted to be certain.

That’s a good way of putting it, actually. And she can balance those two, rather than blocking one off. No point not double-checking, but she can use that as a way to affirm her instinctive want to trust, rather than as a way of rejecting it completely.

All in all, they’re each incredibly lucky the other turned out to be worthy of that trust, aren’t they? If Verin were Black Ajah in purpose as well as in name, or if Egwene were truly powerless or incompetent, that could have gone very badly for one or both of them.

And now she has a babysitter again. Good timing, all things considered; she could have shown up five minutes ago and then where would they be? Still, I can absolutely sympathise with Egwene’s annoyance at someone interrupting what otherwise promises to be a solid chunk of reading time.

Slow clap to Egwene for managing to hide a bodyin half-truths.

She would simply have to wait. And read.

And RAFO.

Kind of literally.

She shoved aside the longing to embrace the Power and create a ball of light by which to read. She’d have to be satisfied with the single candle’s flame.

There’s something about this that feels rather…fitting. Symbolic, even. The Amyrlin Seat, the Flame of Tar Valon, dedicated to the victory of the Light, imprisoned and effectively powerless but for a single candle’s flame, with which to reveal the secrets that will help her bring down the Shadow. She doesn’t need enormous power, or a force of light; she will make do with a single candle’s flame. One candle against the Shadow, but it can be enough.

Especially contrasted against Natrin’s Barrow, just before this. Where all the light the Dragon Reborn with the Choedan Kal could summon couldn’t seem to keep the Shadow at bay and, if anything, seemed only to help it.

I just like the contrast of images, and of the moods the evoke. Rand, illuminated to the extent that he looks like little more than Power and light made flesh, and yet everything about it is cold and frightening and ominous. And then Egwene, quiet and unable to channel and alone in a dark room with nothing but a candle, and yet there is a sense of hope and energy and victory, of a much-needed true victory for the Light. Even if it is only a small candle against so much darkness, it is enough.

She’s gone straight to the list of names at the back of the book—I guess Egwene doesn’t share my aversion to spoilers.

Katerine, Alviarin, Elza, Galina, Sheriam…all names we already know, so far.

Steel yourself, Egwene, she thought, continuing to read down the list.

Steel yourself, as she reads through a list of women’s names. How…perfect. That has to be deliberate.

(A list of dead women’s names, one could argue; it seems unlikely most of them will be allowed to live).

She worked through the feelings of betrayal, the bitterness and the regret. She would not let emotions get in the way of her duty.

Here, again, we have a slight similarity to Rand that is actually more of a difference. True, she steels herself against the names on the list, hardens herself to face them. But more accurate, perhaps, to say she prepares herself to face them. She knows it will be hard, knows it will hurt – it already does; some of those names are already shocking or painful. This is not an easy task. And she also knows she can’t let emotion overcome her, or get in the way.

But she doesn’t shut it out. She works through the feelings of betrayal. She allows them to exist, and processes them, acknowledges them before setting them aside. She lets herself feel, even as she reminds herself to not let that get in the way of what she must do. It’s not a binary switch, a complete suppression of emotion to the point where she denies even its existence. She’s just…doing something difficult, but something that must be done. It hurts, and that’s part of it, and she can steel herself against it to some extent, but she doesn’t try to block it off entirely. She just has to get through it.

There’s a difference between setting aside emotion in order to approach something rationally and trying to shut it off altogether in an attempt to avoid the pain it causes.

Her role as Amyrlin demands that she read these names, and deal with the truths they reveal, and figure out what to do about it. And so she will, and she’ll do that even though it hurts Egwene to have to read them. But she doesn’t deny that part of her that is Egwene, that part of her that does hurt. She just works through it and puts it to one side for now, because now is a time for being Amyrlin.

Moria? Isn’t she the one who convinced the rebel Hall to vote in favour of an alliance with the Black Tower? Damn. I liked her; that was a good speech.

Each name was like a thorn through Egwene’s skin.

At least it’s not (yet) a white-hot line of fire across her soul.

I have to say, it’s not easy to make a character reading a list into an interesting or engaging scene, but this is well done. There’s a palpable sense of tension running through this whole section, even if most of it is simply names strung together with brief interludes of Egwene’s thoughts on them. It draws the reader’s focus alongside Egwene’s; we’re seeing these names through her eyes, an relentless assault of name after name that she has to confront, some of which area easy or mean very little, and some of which are harder, but she can’t dwell on them. The fact that we do only get those brief thoughts from her, before returning to the list of names, helps drive this feeling of urgency and also of…Egwene trying to hold herself together, in a way. Of pushing through and steeling herself and having to just keep reading, keep confronting truth after truth, trying to keep herself rational and calm and together.

So Elaida is not Black Ajah. Or at least, Verin was all but sure she isn’t. That’s no more surprising to me than it is to Egwene, but it’s good to have sort-of-confirmation.

Hi Nicola. Perfect timing yet again – both interruptions have come exactly when they’ll be the least incriminating or disruptive. First right after Verin died, and now right as Egwene has finished reading and hidden the books.

Hidden notes in the food; we’re deep into intrigue territory now.

And now Meidani stops by…and the ruse is up. Verin is very obviously dead and Meidani is understandably a bit ‘um what the fuck why is there a dead Aes Sedai in your bed’.

“Verin Sedai was poisoned by a Darkfriend shortly before her conversation with me. She was aware of the poison, and came to pass on some important information to me during her last moments.”

I love half-truths. An elegant lie spoken with not a single untrue word is honestly a thing of beauty.

Meidani paled, then looked at Egwene, likely wondering how she could be so callous. Good. Let her see the collected, determined Amyrlin. As long as she didn’t see a hint of the grief, confusion, and anxiety inside.

She can be that collected, determined Amyrlin…but she also doesn’t deny that the rest exists beneath that surface, even as she maintains it. She can hold a separation that isn’t a true denial or suppression. She can be callous when necessary, but she can also still feel that grief and confusion and anxiety.

And she also doesn’t spend time hating herself for having to be callous when callousness is necessary, because she accepts that necessity. She may not like it, but she doesn’t turn it against herself, doesn’t direct that pain inwards as some kind of punishment. Whereas I think part of the reason Rand has reached a point where the only way he can endure is to deny all feeling whatsoever, and simply accept that he is damned and there’s no point trying to save any part of himself, is that he internalised too much of that anger and pain at what he had to do, turned it into self-loathing and used it to punish himself for what he must do. And so now the only way he can be callous when needed and do what is necessary is by becoming that entirely; otherwise, the pain of his self-hatred at having to do any of it becomes too much. Easier to just accept that he’s damned and have done with it; he still hates himself but now he doesn’t have to fight against it.

Whereas Egwene doesn’t allow necessity to develop into that sharp-edged self-hatred, because she understands that it is simply necessity, and that she, Egwene, is still there beneath it. She can work through the emotions she feels and set them aside when needed, but she doesn’t spend time inflicting pain on herself as punishment for what she must do. Instead she embraces the pain she must endure, because she can hold onto the knowledge that she is doing all of this for a purpose, that there is a reason for both the pain and for the harder things she has to do, and that it will be worth it. That she’s fighting for something important enough to make those things worthwhile.

That all makes far more sense in my head than I can seem to get it to on paper but I tried.

Meidani’s basically here to act as a news feed: Elaida’s still Amyrlin but the Hall is pissed off, mostly.

“They informed Elaida that the Amyrlin was not an absolute ruler, and that she couldn’t continue to make decrees and demands without consulting them.”

Must—not—make—political—analogy—

“[Saerin] also noted that your own insistence that the Red Ajah not be allowed to fall—spread by a group of novices who overheard you—was part of what kept Elaida from being deposed.”

Sucks when doing the right thing makes your life harder. And yet she couldn’t have done anything else; she is here to heal the Tower and she cannot let another Ajah be broken apart if she is to do that. This is just a test of her resolve, really.

It smelled of a compromise; Elaida had probably met in closed conference with the head of the Red Ajah—whoever that was, now that Galina had vanished—hashing out the details. Silviana wuld still be punished, although not as strongly, but Elaida would submit to the will of the Hall.

But at least the government will remain open and the Aes Sedai won’t have to work without pay.

So not a perfect outcome, but it definitely seems as if things are tipping, slowly but more and more, towards Egwene. Though this may have played out too soon; it wasn’t quite enough to push Elaida over completely, and now the issue has been resolved, so there will have to be something else to push them again.

Luckily – for a given definition of luck – Tuon seems to have set something in motion that could do precisely that…

Given just a little more time, Egwene was confident she could get the woman overturned and the Tower reunited. But dared she spend that time?

She glanced at the table, where the precious books lay hidden from eyes. If she staged a mass assault on the Black Ajah, would that precipitate a battle?

Somehow I don’t think you’re going to be given the chance to find out. I’m not precisely sure how Egwene’s timeline lines up with Tuon and Rand’s, but I rather doubt, given the pace this book is setting, that Egwene’s going to be given much time to consider how to proceed before events decide it for her.

“I want you to report to the others. They must take Alviarin into captivity and test her with the Oath Rod. Tell them to take any reasonable risk to achieve it.”

Or not. Alright then. Egwene’s not wasting any time.

She may not be able to act on all of Verin’s information immediately, but she certainly isn’t going to just sit on it and wait for some sort of opportune moment. Fair enough; this is important enough and bigger than any personal goals she may have. Once again she’s putting the Tower ahead of herself: it’s not about becoming Amyrlin or gaining power for her own ends; it’s about healing the Tower and part of that, now, means taking the steps she is now in a position to take to eliminate the Black Ajah if she can. She’s not going to wait until it would give her a strategic advantage if she can do something about it now. And that is impressive. It would be so easy to hold everything back, to wait and make it part of a play for power. And maybe it still will be, but if it is, it won’t be because she’s withholding information or delaying acting for the sake of her own goals. It will be because that coincides with what she can do for the Tower in any given moment.

“It’s well known that [Nicola]’s one of your greatest advocates among the novices.”

It was odd to hear that of a woman who had effectively betrayed her, but the girl couldn’t really be blamed for that, all things considered.

How easily she can brush off that betrayal, now.

It’s growth even from Honey in the Tea, when the thing that broke Egwene’s determined calm was seeing Beonin and thinking Beonin must have been the one to betray her. Now, she’s moved past the point where it matters who betrayed her and why, because because again, it’s not about her, and holding a grudge against a novice won’t help the Tower, so what’s the point?

So Egwene sets Meidani to the task of ensuring that Alviarin is captured…and then just tells her essentially ‘oh and hide the body on your way out’. Bless.

And then she puts herself to sleep for a quick dream visit. Now that her bed is vacated of the corpse. I just…wow, Egwene. Wow. She has things to do and a Tower to heal, and she’s not going to let anything stand in her way. Or lay down and die in her way, as the case may be.

While she waits, she’s following all the possible trains of thought regarding Sheriam being Black Ajah, which basically results in a mess of what-ifs pretty much designed to cause system overload.

I do like the way we get a full three paragraphs of it; it conveys the full sense of both how tangled everything can get when you know even one person is Black Ajah, and the sense of panicked back-tracking trying to find all the possible places that could have had an effect, and also the sheer overwhelming impossibility of doing any such thing…but the difficulty of switching off that line of thinking, once you’ve started it.

What of Egwene’s own rise to power? How many of the Shadow’s strings did she dance on without knowing it?

That way lies madness, Egwene.

This is an exercise in futility, she told herself firmly. Don’t go down that path.

I should have just turned the page. But yes, that. It’s so easy to get caught up in that tangle of hypotheticals to the point where you paralyse yourself in terms of doing anything at all for fear of making things worse…but that’s not going to help anyone. She can’t look back; all she can do is look forward with more information now than she had before, and try to make the most of the situation she finds herself in. Trying to figure out all the possible ways in which she was pushed into it is tempting, but ultimately isn’t going to help her get anywhere. Find the winning move based on where the pieces are now, rather than wasting time trying to figure out how they got there.

For a moment, she felt herself to be the country girl many thought her to be. If Elaida had been a pawn for the Blacks, then so had she. Light! How the Dark One must have laughed to see two rival Amyrlins, each with one of his loyal minions at her side, pitting them against one another.

It is good that she can recognise this, though. She can’t afford to dwell on it, but she’s not arrogant enough to think that she’s somehow exempt from this manipulation. And there is a bit of anger at herself here…but she fairly quickly shifts it and refocuses it outwards rather than inwards, into determination rather than self-destruction:

Whatever his plan, she would fight him. Resist him. Spit in his eye, even if he won, just as the Aiel said.

There’s nothing she can do about what has already happened except learn from it and keep fighting, and find a way to move forward, find a way to turn what she has now into a position of strength.

“Siuan,” she said curtly. “You may want to summon yourself a chair. Something has happened.”

Siuan frowned. “What?”

“First off, Sheriam and Moria are Black Ajah.”

Don’t waste any time there. She did tell Siuan to summon up a chair, I suppose she figures that’s warning enough. I’m with you, Egwene, I hate small talk when there’s shit to be done.

“I need time to plan and think, an evening perhaps.”

An evening to process several decades’ worth of spying and research and a near-comprehensive list of hundreds of Aes Sedai who secretly serve the Shadow and to figure out how best to deal with all of that doesn’t seemlike too much to ask, especially as she’s not even getting any kind of overtime pay, but this genre being what it is…not sure you’re even going to get that much, Egwene. Think fast.

“This could be dangerous.”

And the award for UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE AGE goes to SIUAN FUCKING SANCHE.

“Are you still captive?”

“Not exactly. Elaida has—” Egwene hesitated, frowning to herself. Something was wrong.

You’ll have to be more specific, Egwene. The list of things that are wrong could fill Verin’s journals several times over.

Oh.

Shit.

She didn’t even get ten minutes, much less an evening.

Nicola shaking her arm. “Mother,” she was saying. “Mother!”

The girl had a bloody gash on her cheek. Egwene sat up sharply, and at that moment the entire Tower shook as if from an explosion.

And it was shaping up to be such a quiet, relaxing, peaceful evening.

Oh shit she can’t channel, can she? That’s uh….Bad.

It wasn’t Tarmon Gai’don, but it was nearly as bad. The Seanchan had finally attacked the White Tower, just as Egwene had Dreamed.

And she couldn’t channel enough Power to light a candle, let alone fight back.

GODDAMN IT SANDERSON THESE CLIFFHANGER CHAPTER ENDINGS ARE KILLING ME. Have some mercy for those of us who make terrible life choices and decide to liveblog these books!

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