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howtofightwrite · 24 days

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Have you read GRRM books? He claims swords needed to be “especially designed for women’s hands” how true is this?

About as true as all of those, “girl guns.” Because, as you know, a woman cannot hold a Glock unless it's pink or sky blue. Which is to say, not even remotely true.

You might get a situation where a child would be unable to operate a weapon designed for adults because the grip is too cumbersome, but even this is going to be something of an outlier. Even years later the Nicholas Cage's line from Lord of War (2005) sticks with me, when describing the AK he narrates, “...so simple a child could use it, and they do.”

Just like basically any other common grip you encounter in your daily life, from screwdrivers to steering-wheels and cell phones, selling smaller, or more colorful ones, is strictly a marketing gimick.

Now, is a legitimate context, but it doesn't really have anything to do with the wielder's sex. If they had the money, the time, and the desire for a perfect grip, they might commission a smith to produce a grip specifically for their hand. Though, the only place I've ever come across this was in competitive fencing. I have seen cases where someone modifies their blade's grip with tape or other materials to better fit their hand, or the addition of a leather (usually shagreen) wrap over their grip, but even that is somewhat unusual. (Shagreen is leather from a shark or ray, and it grips the skin, making it easier to hold, especially when wet.)

Ironically, girl guns do illustrate the one case where have some weight: Weapons as fashion accessories.

I know I've complained about weapons (particularly handguns) as fashion accessories in previous posts, but the truth is that using weapons like this is not new behavior. In the early modern era, one of the ways the rising middle class liked to display their status was with a sidearm. (In this case, referring to a sidesword or, later, a rapier.) I've looked specifically into women carrying sidearms at that point in history, but it really would not surprise me in the least if they did, and if there were, that at least some of those swords were specifically designed to be more delicate and, “feminine,” per their owner's tastes. (Though, to be fair, a more delicate grip on a rapier would be fairly impressive, as the grips tend to be pretty thin.) This is a case where you might want to look into it further, if it really catches your interest, but I've never really run this down before.

If you're still dubious, feel free to wander into nearly any HEMA event, and you'll have a better than average chance of a woman being willing to prove this idea false with a Zweihander, that may in fact be taller than she is. (Historically, Zwiehanders could be over 2 meters long, and chances extremely good that you're shorter than 2 meters.)

I know I'm regurgitating previous posts here, but it really is worth remembering that swords are much lighter than people think. Zweihanders are some of the heaviest battlefield swords from history, and even the heaviest examples weigh less than 9lbs. Women in HEMA can, and do, use them effectively. Swords aren't about being big and heavy, they're about being a (in this case) seven foot long razor blade.

Since we're on the Zweihander specifically (and this may also apply for some of the other greatswords, such as the Scottish Claymore), this is a case where you might have a custom weapon forged for you. However, in this case, that's more about the right blade length, then worrying about the grip being too thick or too thin. Ideally, you want the blade length to match your height (roughly), this is because of the drills with the weapon itself, though you could adjust to a longer blade if that's what you had.

Now, to be clear, the idea of someone, particularly a noble, having a blade custom forged for them specifically isn't strange. That's something that did happen, both at the noble's request, and also as diplomatic gifts from other nations. Examples of the latter resulted in beautiful art pieces that you would never take into battle.

If you had a situation where you couldn't use a sword because the grip was too large (for, whatever reason), there are ways to fix that. In an ideal situation, you could simply pop off the pommel and grip, and then replace the grip with one that was a better fit to your hand. If the tang itself was the problem (this is the metal core of the grip, and is part of the blade, which the pommel attaches to), you might be able to shave (or file) down the tang, and then replace the grip with a new one, fitted to the now smaller tang. I'm not particularly wild about modifying the tang directly, simply because there is a (minor) risk of reducing the structural integrity of the sword in the process. Though, replacing the grip (especially on a sword with a threaded pommel) is very doable, and unless someone, somehow, screws up catastrophically, it should be a pretty trivial modification. (Again, replacing a sword's original grip with a new shagreen grip does make a lot of sense if the owner wants that improved grip.)

But, to the original question, it's not really a thing.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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m1d-45 · 3 months

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just a small idea since you said you had a lil writers block: since wushi (lion dance) is used for important events/occasions and to honor special guests, maybe you could write about how ga-ming does a lil performance for creator?

- curse anon

vanguard’s fortune

note: this is not what you asked ! i thank you so much though

word count: 1k

-> warnings : written prior to 4.4, lots of “if you know you know” spoilers for liyue archon, story, and hangout quests, but nothin big

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept

< masterlist >

despite everything, ga ming knew he was lucky.

he certainly didn’t feel like he was. aside from his continued streak of bad luck at his performances, you never attended any of his shows and your vessels never gave him so much as a second glance. you’ve walked right by him on the street before—and yes, he knows you don’t ‘see’ most of liyue, but he was in the middle of a dance. he’s certain that word must have spread at least somewhat, but even when he put on a show during the last lantern rite, you didn’t attend. it was as if you didn’t even know he was there, skipping his meager stage to meet up with yun jin.

part of him wondered if you simply disliked liyue, but that was easily proven false. you took the time to accompany chongyun on his patrols, xiangling was more than happy to talk about when you’d helped her in a competition in mondstat, and you’d even fetched ingredients for the wangsheng consultant last year. it was the simple fact that you had nothing against liyue, and he was an outlier.

and yet, he was blessed. vision wielders were rare on their own, and only a thin sliver of them had constellations. he was incredibly lucky to be one of the few within your spotlight of attention, but he never felt the love that was supposed to come with it. yes, he had a vision, the lion carved on the back a figure he’s long memorized, but even the latest of liyuen rotations had a chance to exist by your side. though the others always tried to reassure him, their words fell flat. xingqiu had recieved his vision long before he became a vessel, but he had several turns in the sky to try. chongyun was largely ignored and ningguang was rarely missing from the jade palace, but that information didn’t help as much as they thought it did.

he didn’t care that he wasn’t a vessel (as much as one couldn’t care about such a thing) so much as he was ignored. you fought by ningguang’s side and helped yanfei out of the chasm, but he’d never even heard his name thrown your direction. it could be argued that he was being selfish or even egotistical, but he didn’t think so. sword and strongbox secure transport agency was a well-known name throughout liyue, and yet you’d never so much as heard a rumor. it didn’t affect his business—nor did he want your attention for business purposes—but with you helping a film show (at least now he knew you enjoyed theater) in fontaine, he may or may not have been hoping that yilong wharf’s name might have been passed your way.

it hadn’t been, though. his days went on and he continued his rounds as usual, doing his best to promote his dance and maybe getting a few mora thrown his way in return if he was lucky.

but that was fine. irritating, sure, but fine. liyue was in the tail end of preparations for this year’s lantern rite, and he was set on attending. as soon as the ministry of civil affairs opened applications for performers, he’d done his best to secure himself a stage. nobody had given him a secure word, though, saying that it was “up to divine guidance” as if your traveler hadn’t taken the transport up to the jade chamber last week. yes, you often found other things to do during lantern rite, digging into liyue’s past, but you still attended the scheduled events. you still walked the streets and saw the stalls, and there was no way that the entirety of the main road was already taken up when he’d made a point of asking early.

it was because they saw him as a guard first and a dancer second. most people did, and he was lucky they’d given him uncertainty over a guaranteed rejection. the only reason they did at all was because of the constellation etched into his vision, and he was lucky to have that too. he was lucky to have this chance when most street performers could only dream of performing at the lantern rite.

‘lucky.’ it was an accurate word, but one he was beginning to get tired of hearing.

it was fine, though. he was determined—his vision blazed as he left the ministry’s office, a constant warmth at his side—to prove himself, determined to perform for you. he didn’t know when his chance in the stars would be, or when he’d have his time by your side, but he would make the most of each day until then. when, not if, he did, he would do everything in his power to make the best impression possible.

he gave a few polite waves to various merchants as he walked through liyue, making the familiar trek over the bridge and past the gate. the millelith didn’t stop him, and he didn’t stop to say hello, only lingering long enough to acknowledge them with a quick nod. he knew liyue’s hills and they knew he did too, easily navigating to a quiet, flat space of plain. the threat of hillichurls was a constant outside the harbor, but he didn’t let that stop him, confident despite the growing twilight.

ga ming reached into his inventory and pulled on his mask, hands easily finding the controls for the massive puppet. he took a breath, then began to dance, his feet sweeping over the quiet grass.

he had no guarantee when or if he’d receive the chance to chance to win your favor. but if you chose to have him on your stage, he was determined to put on the best show you’d ever seen.

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bonefall · 2 months

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Reading your post about the DOTC leaders made me wonder - in BB, when does the DOTC naming style shift into the modern naming style? If they're already using modern-style names by the time Windstar's (possible) grandson is leader, that seems pretty quick - unless Cloudberry and Ryewhisker had DOTC-style names originally, and just got called modern-style names later on.

They did originally have DOTC style names! There's going to be more shuffles soon as I move to expand the Forest Cats into a third major cultural group, but I'm planning for all three of these groups to contribute to the naming system.

The older story, which I'm going to be shuffling now, is that two-part names came from Mountain Cats, but the name changes come from Park Cats.

Mountain Cats have a given prefix, and a familial suffix.

Whichever familial suffix the kittens receive is "political." Usually the names are split evenly, so as an example, Jackdaw Cry and Hawk Swoop named one twin Lightning Cry, and the other twin Acorn Swoop, but Clear Sky insisted that ALL of his kittens receive Sky as their familial suffix. Except Thunder Storm, of course, who he disowned.

This stops being used after the collapse of the River Kingdom and the massive conflict that came from the succession crisis. After that, Byyrkabraw, directly translated as "scab-forming" and roughly translated as "nepotism," becomes a taboo to be avoided. Sharing last names with your parents and family took on a bad, biased connotation for several generations.

Thus, the system dies in Clan Culture. However, it persists and evolves in Tribe Culture! Brook's name in BB is Brook Where-It-Swirls, and she shares the last name with her two brothers. They've kept last names, but the last names have gotten longer.

What DOES remain in Clan Culture is that Mountain-descendant cats 'prefer' 2-part names, and like to say the entire thing. It's Mountain culture that creates Clanmew's preference for contractions rather than syllable-shortening.

As an example, for a long name like... Dandelionbreeze, send her back in time to talk to a Park or Forest cat and they'll shorten her name to "Dan" or "Lion" or "Bree." It's the Mountain cat who would call her "Danzy," which becomes part of being 'polite' in Clanmew name shortenings.

Park Cats are born "nameless," and earn names as they grow.

It's PARK culture that was so centralized and ceremonial, with kings and a clearer hierarchy. As kits, they're just called by a characteristic trait. The Biggest One, Little Ears, Ginger. Their first real name is given when they're assigned as an apprentice, and they become [Mentor's Nickname] [Dominant Paw].

So as an example, because the prince is always mentored by their father and the king at the time was Arc-of-Park, Riverstar's very first name was Arc's Paw.

Once they're fully trained, they can earn titles. On average, a cat will earn two or three of these in their lifetime, discounting outliers like Titles Georg. These are three words or less, and usually reference strengths and achievements. Willow Flayed Bare, Slate Keeper, The Wind Runner.

These titles are made official by the King, which is where Warrior Name changes originally stem from.

In a situation where Park Cats have left their kingdom, they will turn towards the cat they recognize as an authority to make these name changes. In WindCo, either the "parriarch" of a homestead would bestow these names, or The Wind Runner herself. Thunder Storm began doing it on request, as the Park Cats who joined his cause wanted their names to come from him.

It's not seen as "appropriate" for a cat to name themself... but there are rebellious cats, who may forge their own titles, if they're willing to eat the social implications.

River's Ripple was quite independent. He came up with his own name, and then asked his papa to make the name official. King Arc of Park argued with him a lot about this, especially because the name he chose sounded a lot like an apprentice's title, and only caved in when he realizes there would be a MASSIVE scandal if it looked like his prince would willingly bypass the will of his father entirely.

(The Wind Runner's name was "crowdsourced." She didn't give it to herself; that's what WindCo calls her.)

Forest Cat names...

So there's the two-parts from the Mountain cats, and the name changes from the Park cats... and now I'm trying to work in a third element here, which I'm still trying to figure out.

I'm thinking of putting ranks into their names, since I'm starting with a given that Slash/Shai/Silverpelt is their leader. Maybe have it so that the name the Park/Mountain cats call him is "Slashes" in reference to his leg markings, but his real name is Silver-Star, with all of his cats just referring to him as his rank, Silver (formally) or his given name, Star (informally)

(Over time his name is going to become Silverpelt. They believe that he became heaven itself. Ssoen becomes Clanmew's opening particle for omnipotent knowledge, Star becoming the leader suffix.)

Then make it so that his followers follow the Rank-Given name system. So there's Claw-Milkweed, her daughter Kit-Bramble, a good hunter might be Whisker-Violet. So, over a very short number of generations, both the Forest Cat and Park Cat naming systems start to meld, since it's not all that different.

ALSO NOTEWORTHY: The Wind Coalition was more mixed with Forest Cats than the River Kingdom was. So the Park/Forest name schemes beginning to mix together would be beginning up on the Moor, while there would be more Mountain/Forest mixing happening in Thunder's Clan.

This is a WIP section btw, these guys are still extremely new.

Anyway, skip forward a few generations

Cloudberry's and Ryewhisker's names aren't the ones they had in life. The were active 25-ish years after DOTC, after the collapse of the River Kingdom when things had begun to "settle down."

With the Law of the Deputy, Commandment 3, WindCo and River Kingdom are now Clans. They operate with a Leader and a Deputy.

In-canon, Cloudberry is the daughter of the RiverClan leader, Emberstar. I'm not sure if that's going to remain; because I still haven't chosen who Riverstar's successor is. The Law of Loyalty is Commandment 4 and I'm committed to Duststar of WindClan being alive and in a position of power during the succession crisis.

It could be that Cloudberry's father is Riverstar's successor, OR I swap Ryewhisker to be Duststar's son/grandson instead and include a small detail that Duststar feels a need to prove he's NOT being biased in favor of his dead descendant by forcing this commandment through.

Maybe both, that could be fun. Romeow and Mewliet type thing. Two Clans, alike in their digkitty.

Anyway, point being, Cloudberry is from Park Cat culture as a member of RiverClan, which was heavily influenced by some pretty open travel between the groups under Riverstar's rule. The modern naming system was coming together, as cats of these three cultures mixed, but it wasn't quite there yet. So Cloudberry probably had a full title, while Ryewhisker had a title and a rank.

It might even be a translation quirk. Cloudberry is also called "knout," and it's a red-orange fruit that comes to be heavily valued in the Clans. Knout Berry Keeper, which is only remembered as Knout-Berry, written as Cloudberry.

(It would be cute if the direct translation was Cloudberry Cloud.)

For Ryewhisker, the most I know with him is that he's somehow related to the guy who invents Tunnelbuns, or at LEAST some kind of inventive contributor (such as a person who invents bread). He gets his name from that-- Rye is one of the most easily accessible grains.

I haven't nailed their names down yet, since by the modern era, they're known as Cloudberry and Ryewhisker. But they did actually have different names, which have changed over the years.

They also didn't speak Modern Clanmew, their native tongue was actually the border between the Mountain/Park/Forest pidgin and the creole language that would soon be born! A linguist might describe it as Ancient Clanmew.

#BB!DOTC #Better bones au #BB!Cloudberry #BB!Ryewhisker #Clan History #Park Cats #I think it's one of the most interesting periods in Clan history. Though unfortunately won't get a lot of spotlight #Since BB is still a rewrite project at the end of the day #And all of that is like... loosely based on COTC (my beloved) but also full of original content #I once made a joke about Cloudberry opening her mouth and olde english tumbling out #Dark: ''hey cloudberry hows it hangin''#Cloudberry: Cnut cyning gret his arcebiscopas and his leod-biscopas and Þurcyl eorl and ealle his eorlas and ealne his þeodscype #Dark: *clicks tongue* ''i see''

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steelthroat · 4 months

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Ok, ok, ok- hear me out! The main trine of Seekers, but they're outliers and absolutely overpowered.

So, Starscream is immortal as usual. I mean it, he just cannot die. No matter how hard everyone (or himself) tries, he just doesn't die... or at least his Spark, and when I have the time, I'll elaborate and give him complications because yeah.

Thundercracker can control electricity, idk how idk why, but I need him to have a cooler power than just idk sonic booms. Let him live to his name. When there's a battle and there's a storm, I want him to be fkn overpowered. "Isn't it too much?" NO??? Just take a look at Trailbreaker or MEGATRON??? You can't stop me from giving my Boi cooler powers. Obviously, complications- but not now, now I need him to be cool and smile for the camera.

Now... now this one will sound crazy but! Skywarp. So, he can warp himself, now imagine him warping himself super fast at close distance. Not just fast, super fast, like for a VERY short amount of time it almost looks as if he cloned himself. Do you see where this is going? He can't do it for more than a few seconds or he's dead lol.

Now imagine you're a simple autobot on the battlefield, it starts raining, I mean like- a lor, very bad weather okay? Now you hear three jet-engines, and the sky is lit up by thunders.

Now you raise your head up to the sky and here they are. They're even worse than the tales that surround them. Thundercracker is redirecting thunders everywhere on the battlefield, Starscream is on a killing rampage and nothing is stopping him and then Skywarp starts diving towards you and suddenly there are like... 5 of them who shoot in your direction before becoming one once again.

You're fucked. You're all absolutely fucked.

#transformers #maccadam #steel rambles #possible fanfic idea #thundercracker #starscream #skywarp #this worked better as an animation in my head #I swear the moment I learn how to animate things is over #I am gonna do it #I won't sleep at night until I make this thing a reality #this is what I think of instead of studying #well enough procrastination for today Manzoni is waiting for me #maccadams

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eganeyes · 18 days

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thinking of vampires and werewolves integraded in the military clegan au im sighing in agony

werewolf!bucky vampire!buck ofc lets fall to the expected norms mainly because i am a dog coded bucky enthusiast and also as much as i think of buck as a doberman he's very much vampire coded

werewolf vampire feud being an actual and expected thing, the 100th being gunned from the beginning of the war as a trial unit to see how humans, vampires, and werewolves are able to work together. most units kind of failing at it because everyones too territorial, too much blood history, too blood-proud, and humans too cautious.

enter the 100th, always the outlier, ever the undisciplined.

officer training begins far before their assignment to the 100th, so the buckies meet each other first. born-werewolf currently lone-wolfing john bucky egan's proverbial but also quiet literal fur bristling when he firsts scents the air of his new base and zeroing on buck cleven, the vampire who's going to sleep on the bunk right next to him. millennia-old ice-cold buck cleven smelling the wet dog fur and hearing the low growls first before looking up from folding his handful of monogrammed kerchiefs to a werewolf standing by the bunk next to him, presumably assigned that bed.

buck promptly ignores the guy, which bucky doesn't take at all very kindly. john still gives the guy his name though, a week down the line, because, well, he's very pretty and very smart and very capable of putting bucky on his back.

werewolves being high in the sky is unheard of. bucky suffers through the 'trying to get closer to the moon?' jokes easily enough. no sun smiting vampires here btw, should i say they glitter like the cullens or nah. just the slightest glitter then, lets say that there's a glow when the sun hits their skin, vampires being the suns favorite child or something and when they die they return as ashes to the sun to give those vampire pilots some fear of flying too close to the sun.

complicated-relationship-with-the-moon werewolf bucky vs complicated-relationship-with-the-sun vampire buck oh the ache

but like more on the other guys because fuck clegan theyve caused me enough grief

werewolf dougie vs human blakely. sooo attached to dougley you don't understand. dougie imprinting on ev like a baby chick, scenting his clothes and his jacket and his pillows etc. blakely being sooo flustered the first time dougie actually greets him like pack—as in dougie touches his nose to the side of ev's nose, runs it to the side just before his ear, and down to his neck—face cherry red and spluttering while dougie just has the most satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream look in his face. maybe after their first successful bomb-drop practice mission? idk just obsessed with the image.

vampire duo crubbles, centuries of being together reflected on the way they're never apart on the ground. croz's diet has to be like incredibly precise and certain blood sits weirdly in his stomach so up in the air paired with the anxiety of being so close to the sun he's puking out anything that's left in his stomach. ms. jean crosby known keeper of both harry crosby and bubbles payne, only woman to keep those two in line, but nobody actually knows what she is.

another werewolf and vampire pair: hammy and brady. hammy being a werewolf disaster duo with dougie, squabbling and rucking up the base like pups, bucky having to snap at them to cut it out when he's also wagging his out-of-sight tail wanting to cause mayhem too but maybe not when some very important general is by the base yeah. brady just brings that vibes of being incredibly old and incredibly stuffy and incredibly stick-in-the-mud at first you know?? hammy first meeting his vampire pilot and scoffing because that's literally the stereotypical vampire he's shit upon pre-army. until he sees brady pilot. until his pilot manages to execute a move so beautiful he doesn't end up as a pile of burnt fur within minutes of a trial flight. until he sees john fucking brady crack a smile at him with the slight glitter of the dying sun caressing his skin. dougie, smelling this shit from literally 4 miles away groans because brother, really?

vampire!kenny stuck in the body of a 19 year old never to grow old, waiting for his passing from the sun whenever that is. very human very warm very kind rosie rosenthal easily grasping at kenny's ice-cold-yet-sun-blessed skin and sparks fly from the flat of the palm meeting rosie's and to the tips of his bronze burnt curls.

fiery human chick harding able to go toe-to-toe with wolves and vampires, mouth stretched wide the first time he has bucky egan sitting on his visitor's chair whose metabolism is working overtime trying to burn the devils piss of a hooch out of his system. meeting born-werewolf jack the next hour who's bucky's only equal in their eclectic werewolf pack—whose fur is clearly bristling from bucky grounding him but he clocks instantly that this were will be the one who will actually snap on his new boys' heels if they ever step out of line.

currently kind of obsessed with this aaaa might come back with other ships (demacon i Will love you into existence) when it hits (hopefully) probably when the bi!buck euphoria melts a bit

#mota #mota hcs #clegan #dougley #rosielemmons #hambrady #i don't actually know their shipname :((#mota vampwere au

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presidentofthelipglossclub · 3 months

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rewatching rescue bots as many times as i do really highlights just how much heatwave is right about. like pretty much every episode he either predicts emergencies or is directly involved in how they happen. this guy is some sort of catalyst ok i'm watching "sky forest" rn and the other bots are talking about cody and frankie and heatwave is silent. and then he goes "something just doesn't feel right" and then not even a full minute later things start to go wrong.

this kinda fits into "the rescue bots are Other" but like especially heatwave this stuff applies to. i think he might have a future sight outlier and just doesn't realize it. another big time i remember this happening is when he, chase, cody and frankie went through the groundbridge and it "malfunctioned" (during s4). this was when quickshadow first showed up but it was before they knew it was her, and they saw her in vehicle mode and cody was like "what's a car doing out here?" and heatwave said "we're here aren't we?" and i know it was unintentional but he was literally right. the car was another bot out there for literally the same reason the others were. he predicted it on accident. he was also the one who revealed quickshadow by telling her who they were and to reveal herself. like he's just always correct?

#he gets visions i think #every now and then #no bc EVERY EPISODE hes the reason shits happening #sometimes indirectly but still #tfrb heatwave #tf heatwave #heatwave rescue bots #rescue bots heatwave #rescue bots #transformers rescue bots

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aragornsrockcollection · 2 years

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The silly post about Elrond’s healing just being very strong Dad Energy™️ made me want to put forth a theory I’ve had for a while about what Melian is the Maia of, and how that affects the powers of her descendants.

So it’s no secret that the Valar are a pantheon in the style of the Pre-Christian Europe, like the Greek and Norse pantheons; head-honcho god has bird/sky themes, and all the big archetypes are filled: war, nature, forge, spring, death/doom, chaos, sea, weaving/history, hunting, dancing, dreams, healing/medicine, stars, and pity, the last one being Nienna and a bit of an outlier who makes a lot of sense filling the role that Mary fills in Catholicism, which makes the whole group align better with Tolkien’s Catholic worldview of compassionate deities, a concept that was NOT prevalent in those pre-Christian gods.

A few main members of the archetypal pantheon are missing, One is a god of music, which makes sense because ALL the Ainur are gods of music due to the nature of the universe. Others are taken up by maiar, such as Arien and Tillion being the sun and the moon, Tillion being a Maia of Orome the hunter, which draws Artemis connections, and Arien being a Maia of Vana the ever young. Eonwe is the messenger and

Melian’s role is never expressly defined unlike Arien and Tillion and others. She’s associated with both spring and healing through Vana and Este, and her contribution to the song pre-children seems to be songbirds-more specifically teaching the nightingales to sing songs, since birds should fall under Manwe or Yavanna’s purview (she is said to be akin to Yavanna, but that’s vague and not fleshed out).

But she’s also seen as one of the more powerful Maia, and I don’t see that justified by being the Maia of songbirds. Again, music is ALL of the Ainur’s thing, and what do songbirds have to do with healing, the main power her descendants inherit?

Well, what do songbirds have to do with spring? What is the point of their songs?

It’s attracting a mate. Birds in spring is euphemistically associated with love and sex.

Melian is the only Maia we know of to marry one of the children, and this pantheon is MISSING a goddess of love and marriage and motherhood. Her daughter then goes on to have THE romance of legend, and while Luthien is acting out of love for Beren she is basically unstoppable.

We never see Luthien use her power any other way, outside of her love story, and the idea that she would NOT be as powerful when her songs were not in service of saving her love is actually pretty compelling to me. And also solves the problem of “Why did Luthien, who can put a spell on MORGOTH, let Celegorm and Curufin keep her hostage for a bit.”

The idea of Melian being the Maia of Love and Motherhood also makes sense in context of her abandoning Doriath. If her power comes from love of her husband and daughter, then the girdle was doomed once Thingol died whether she stuck around or not, so her leaving is more forgivable.

Love being such a huge theme in Tolkien’s work, it makes sense why Melian and her descendants are SO powerful. And why they are canonically the most beautiful creatures to walk the earth, as beauty and love are usually intertwined in these figures of mythology.

And Tolkien connects love and healing many times in his work. Aragorn working in the halls of Healing specifically orders Eomer to be the first person Eowyn sees, because her love for her brother is more true than her toxic obsession with him. Also as noted in the other post, his magic healing includes giving them a kiss on the forehead.

Faramir and Eowyn’s whole relationship plays out in the halls of healing, and Eowyn’s arc in this time is seeing no value in healing, either herself or others, until she finds love and hope in Faramir and basically in the same breath vows to become a healer.

Elrond’s compassion and Big Dad Energy and love for everyone is indeed what makes him the best healer in middle earth. And I’m going to argue there is a legit reason for that, with the source of his family’s healing talent being this world’s goddess of love. And of motherhood, which I think translates well to Elrond being everyone’s dad. Perhaps I should say “parenthood” since that is so obviously passed down.

Tl.Dr. Melian is the Maia of love, romantic and familial, which is the source of the Peredhil’s healing powers (and extreme attractiveness).

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pencildragons · 4 months

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snippet from my upcoming foxquin fic sinner, sinner (come to dinner) for foxquinweek !!!!!

“Commander Fox,” says the Chancellor, smiling his kindly smile. Fox stands very still and stares straight ahead, past Palpatine and through the great transparisteel window at the city below, skyline exploding in the brilliance of the sun’s final dying rays. The fanciful part of him that will one day be responsible for his death imagines that, if he’s just still enough, Palpatine will forget him entirely. It’s ridiculous, he knows, he knows, of course he knows, but he clings to it anyway, endeavours to move as little as possible, turns trying to hide even the slight rise and fall of his chest into some sort of test of how good his impression of being a block of stone is. “Sir,” says Fox. “Commander Fox,” Palpatine says again, still smiling that awful fucking smile, but sadder, now, mournful, bushy eyebrows doing something terrible and expressive. “You have disappointed me.” “Yes, sir.” “I gave you a very simple directive, Commander, and still you failed.” Fox is barely breathing now. Only a few klicks away, the spire of the Jedi Temple burns in a halo of pink-red, spearing through the cloud-strewn sky. It looks like one of the paintings hung in the Senate rotunda corridors, the ones that like as not cost more to procure than he did. His throat is dry. He tries to swallow. It sticks. It is likely he is dehydrated. There is a little light flashing on top of the spire, warning away in-atmo transports and low-flying starships. Orange-blue-green. Orange-blue-green. He stares at it, so he doesn’t have to look at Palpatine. “Yes, sir.” “Such inadequacy is, of course, unacceptable, Commander, as I’m sure you’re aware. I really had hoped it would not come to this, you understand.” Liar, Fox thinks. You love this. “But there is only one way to learn, and that is through experiencing consequences of your actions. Perhaps next time you will not take your sworn duty so lightly, hmm?” “Yes, sir.” “Draw your blaster, please, Commander.” Fox blinks and, in his surprise, breaks his stillness to turn his head to face Palpatine properly. “…Sir?” “Must I repeat myself twice? Draw your blaster from your holster.” Slowly, Fox draws. He wonders if this is some sort of test, if he’s going to be punished further for making his weapon naked in front of the Supreme Chancellor of the entire fucking Republic. (In the light of the dusk spilling through the window into the opulent office, Palpatine’s eyes seem almost gold. It is for but a brief moment, just the rays of the fat sun catching oddly, and then they return to that sharp, ice-chip grey like nothing at all happened.) “Good,” says Palpatine, and smiles again. Like this, he looks like some natborn’s father’s father—grandfather, he believes the term is—all benevolent wrinkles and knowing looks. “Set it to kill.” Fox sets it to kill. It is not a difficult thing. He is just as much a weapon as the blaster in his hands, well-oiled, clean, smooth. Efficient. He was designed for this. It is easier to follow orders mindlessly; his brain, like all their brains (except, perhaps, Kote’s, but Kote’s a little fucked up and is an outlier for everything else, anyway), is primed for command, made to obey. A perfect, thoughtless gun, with just enough ruthlessness and self-determination to set them apart from the CIS’ droids. That’s the idea, anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Kaminoans failed in the execution of something. “Turn around, Commander,” Palpatine murmurs, words soft and smooth and rich as the heavy velvet-fabric from his home planet that he has all his clothes cut from. “And fire at will.”

rbs deeply appreciated :]

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yearningaces · 6 months

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Coming in With another Asexual reader story but this time something different:D

It had been a fun day, both you and Helios had wandered to the next town over, taking in the different restaurants and small shops, getting worn out soon after and making the long drive home. But the driving was always the most fun. Helios had his own star cruiser after all, being a creature from off world and from a more space faring species, he had little things like that.

Though he'd swear up and down that the autopilot was a scam and untrustworthy... That meant you could lounge either in the small sleeping pod with the side open so you could still see and speak with Helios as he piloted, and appreciate the otherworldly image of him.

Deep purple skin, darker runes running along both sets of arms up to his neck. His back legs always made you think of a rabbit but he swore they resembled the Ka'hnr from his home world. An apex predator apparently.

Even his two sets of eyes always caught your attention, a color you couldn't name but to you it seemed blue... Then again there are many colors humans can't see.

You watched his feather tipped tail flicking lazily as he sat at the pilots seat, watching the sky ahead and passing by another flock of birds.

"Heli?" You finally called out after some time, dropping from the sleeping pod and settling in the co-pilot seat you usually were in.

Helios ear twitches towards you as his attention refocuses. "Yes, galaxy?" His voice was as soft as always, focused and gentle.

You ponder for a moment, trying to understand what exactly you had in mind and settling on something you've been thinking about for a while. "I'm trying to decide if there's a difference because of species, or mentality between us." The remark is a warning the conversation might be serious, or humerus. Such conversations tended to be.

As such, you saw Helios's ears both perk up, his tail curling upwards in attention, inquisitively listening to your words. "What exactly would that be this time?"

"You know as far as relationships go along humans, I'm a bit of an outlier in some aspects."

Your words are sincere enough that it gives Helios a pause. To him, you're the only human if not creature he's ever been with, so he's not quite certain to your meaning. "My galaxy, I'm not understanding completely. Whatever differences you notice I'm unaware of but adore you exactly as you are."

And it's just genuine enough to make your cheeks heat up just slightly. "Sweet words, but there really isn't anything missing in your eyes?"

His maw shakes 'no' innocently. "What would I be missing when you are right here?"

"Intercourse?" You supply, something neither of you have done, attempted, or even spoken of.

Helios four eyes blink slowly and he waits a few moments. "Enter what?"

...

"Sex."

"Is that like a food?"

"Food?"

"Yeah, like the human food, 'Sneks'."

"... Snacks?"

"Yeah! Those!"

"Snacks doesn't sound at all like sex?"

"Says the native human speaker."

That earns you a small chuckle. "Fair enough, but you don't know what that is? You know the reproduction process? Most humans see it as vital to a relationship or life." Your explanatory tone drops into something almost bitter, and it doesn't miss Helios attention for a moment.

"So what?" He begins, trying to both lighten the mood and understand exactly what's going on. "I can't think of anything else I'd want to do with you than what we do ... Well, that's a lie. Eventually we're going to have our bonding ceremony and be a bonded pair -and that I'm looking forward to. Maybe taking in a few Starspecks to raise. You know, the little lights that fall from stars? That's all I want with you."

It takes a few moments for his words to register in your mind. "Really? You don't think I'm like... Withholding-?"

Before you can finish he interrupts gently, his lower left arm reaching out to grab yours. "Really. Besides I think I understand what you're referencing and it's something that -while not exclusive to your planet- isn't something every species deals with. I believe the human term for my sort is 'reproduces asexually' and that's if we reproduce at all. Young ones are rare. I'd much prefer Starspecks."

You grip his hand tighter. The realization settling in and leaving you so relaxed and comfortable. You'd never allow yourself to be pressured into that uncomfortable situation but it felt so much better knowing Helios was the same as you, in his own way.

"Would that be alright?" He asks at your silence.

"Yeah." Your voice is quiet enough for him to pull your seat closer so he can wrap both of his left arms wrap around you as you continue. "Yeah, that's alright with me."

#letters of yearning #x reader #monster boyfriend #monster romance #gender neutral reader #monster x reader #asexual #asexual reader #alien x human #alien x reader

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dduane · 10 months

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I hope this doesn't come off the wrong way, given the previous thing about different ways people write, but I just wanted to tell you because I'm so excited: I finished the first draft of that script! I actually finished a writing thing for the first time in over a decade! I've never attempted to write a script before, and now I've finished my first first draft. My friend said that's a big deal, and it makes writing other scripts much easier when you finish your first. Is that what you've found?

Oh apparently I have a few more questions, sorry: The first time you finished a project, and you knew you were on literally the last few paragraphs or scene, or what have you, how did that feel for you? And when you were done, did you initially love writing, or did you debate ever writing again? Did you start working on something right away, or did you break for a little bit?

Sorry, I'm just so excited and proud of myself right now, and wondering what feelings might come next. I haven't been this proud of myself in I don't know how long. I mean, I know I have to finalize it, and even still, I know I'll never be able to get it made. However, for right now, I'm proud of myself! I'll probably go back to being sad I'll never get it made tomorrow though, which sucks, but it's a good night right now!

I hope you're doing well today! Sorry for the bombardment of questions.

First of all: congratulations! You've got every right to be excited. Screenwriting isn't easy or simple even at the best of times. Doing it well requires that you write in ways that can seem really counterintuitive when compared to working in prose. And it's always, ALWAYS a big deal when by completing something you break a long creative dry spell. So GOOD ON YOU! You got the job done. :)

(And now, of course, comes rewrite. The brain—yours, or someone else's—always has notes. But I'm sure you knew that.)

While I know how it is to be relieved on finishing a first script, my weird work history makes me kind of an outlier when it comes to discussing this. I went with unexpected speed from "I'm Just A First-Time Novelist, What Do I Know?" to "I'm Just A First-Time Screenwriter, What Do—WAIT WHAT??". Because the man who was soon to be my story editor on Scooby and Scrappy-Doo walked in the door one evening, having just read The Door Into Fire, and said, "Would you be interested in writing cartoons?"

It was kind of a surprising career development, but I quickly learned at that point in my life that when the Universe turns up on your doorstep with the Moon on a silver platter, you don't tell it to try next door: you say "Wait right there and I'll get a knife and fork." In the space of a given month of being walked around Hanna-Barbera for the first time, I turned in my first animation script... and then sagged in my chair on getting the phone call when my story editors told me, "That's a strong start. Now we have some notes." And all I could do was collapse with relief that I had not fucked it up.

However, this situation also left me in no position where I'd be able to debate ever writing a screenplay again... because suddenly there were a couple of very intent guys telling me "Okay, new story premise coming over to you, we need the outline by next Thursday and the script the Thursday after, you okay with that?"

(Are you kidding me? I thought. Let me get the knife and fork!)

So as I said, I'm really an outlier in this regard. The next three years of my life pretty much went as above, as Tom Swale and Duane Poole (great Thoth rest both their gentle souls) took me with them from one show to another, and kept me busy. (Thereby financing the writing of So You Want To Be A Wizard and The Wounded Sky and assorted other work.) But there's no question that each time you finish a script, each time you type FADE TO BLACK, you feel better about the whole enterprise. It doesn't precisely get easier. But it gets more familiar. And that helps. (If I have to be locked in a haunted house, I'd sooner it was one I'd played in when I was a kid than one I'd never been inside before...)

Anyway, again: congratulations. But also: Do not be too sure you'll never have it made. ...Granting you that "made" can look a lot of different ways in different times and places, and can shift under your feet without warning. But the world that depends on scripts can do very, very weird and unusual things without warning. Best to do your homework and be ready for them... and know where the knife and fork are.

Also, a side note: As you do more of this work you may well find that finishing a script leaves you with more energy, not less. I think this may be a lot more normal than we routinely allow ourselves to believe. It makes sense to me, from the psych-nurse end of things, that successful completion of a project allows the release of a lot of energy that you've been holding in reserve to help you cope if something went horribly wrong with the piece of work you just finished. Me, when I've felt that rush, I do a thing that C. J. Cherryh taught me: immediately roll another sheet of paper into the typewriter. ...Though these days, it'd be "open a new file." You don't necessarily have to do anything with that blank page or screen if you don't want to. But it's wise to be ready.

In any case: all the good luck to you (because sheer blind luck plays its part in this business, no matter how much we wish all our hard work counted for more)! ...And let us know how you get on.

#writing #process

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smallgodseries · 1 year

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[image description: A watercolor portrait of a smiling young strawberry blond in wide wire-rimmed oval glasses and a yellow t-shirt with a black biohazard symbol on it. Behind Cooper, a group of dark robot silhouettes with glowing eyes. Behind them, huge high-tech towers. And behind those, the starry night sky. Text reads, “191, COOPER • THE SMALL GOD OF MAD SCIENCE”]

• • • • •

Children are full of questions. It’s their natural state. What they aren’t full of is limitations. To a child, turning off gravity or repealing the square/cube law seems just as reasonable as a game of tag or a baloney sandwich. It’s just that for most of them, the games and the sandwiches are easier to come by than the death rays or the massive revisions to the laws of physics.

And then there are the outliers. The smart kids with the stars in their eyes and the static in their heads and no real concept of the line between “can” and “should.”

Those are the ones he adores. Those are the ones who adore HIM, the ones who whisper his name in the night, or a name that he recognizes as his own—he’s Cooper, yes, but he’s also Raj, and Shinji, and Jordan, and Marie. He is whatever his faithful need him to be, as fluid as thought, as mutable as the ideas he represents. He comes to the frustrated and the furious, and he makes them better, and he encourages them to change the world.

Some of them outgrow him, shift into the service of other small gods of science, pledge themselves to OSHI, small god of lab safety, or Grant Grant, small god of proper funding. Some of them abandon science entirely. But others will remain his forever, dreaming of dinosaurs and science without limits, dreaming of changing the world.

Some of them will do it. And in the end, that’s all Cooper wants. Science unfettered, science running wild and free and unrestrained.

He wouldn’t mind a few dinosaurs, if you’re taking requests.

And he’ll be there the whole time, death ray by his side and not a safety light in view, ready to change the world as soon as he can figure out a reliable power source.

#Small Gods #smallgodseries #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

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cherrisma · 1 year

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The Desert’s Tears.

Ships. Cyno x Reader

Warnings. Angst, major character death (reader dies). Dottore uses his modified robots to fight Reader and eventually kill them (so he…indirectly murders you. SORRY DOTTORE STANS), Reader has a vision but it’s not specified what element and weapon they use (up to you!).

Prompts used. 6 (“you’re… bleeding.”), 10 (“don’t die on me.. please.”), 17 (“why did you do that?”)

Written for @versadies’ Farewell, Love event! (at last its FINALLY FINISHED WOOOOOO)

You and the great General Mahamatra were… an unlikely pair.

You were an adventurer, ever playful, sweet and chaotic, and the Cyno, well… he was intimidating. Terrifying to most, in fact. The fact that Cyno would prepare your bag whenever you were going on a longer expedition, even going as far as to prepare a joke book for you, one joke per day of the journey, was enough to make the people of Sumeru that knew of Cyno’s nature to start questioning, how the hell did you do it?

You were the outlier, the one who could easily calm down Cyno from nearly beating people half to death (HACK COUGH, the academia, HACK COUGH).

You were the person who made the General Mahamatra with his imposing stature love you too much to admit publicly. That’s how important you were to him, and this… this is the story of your very last day with your lover, the General Mahamantra Cyno, and the day you died to a certain expelled academia member-- and fatui harbinger.

----

It was a starry night, and you were in the desert for a job. Cyno had work in the area as well, so you two decided to travel with each other for the time being. Grasping his warm hand in yours, your other hand gently lay on the sand beside you. Cyno looked at the sky, marveling at how beautiful you looked. He pointed to a single shooting star, and told you to make a wish.

I wish that [ name ] will always, always be safe by my side, you heard him murmur as you thought to yourself, as long as Cyno is happy, I’m happy.

As you drifted off to sleep, Cyno smiled and kissed your forehead.

-----

It was the morning now, and the rising sun illuminated your face in a beautiful way, making Cyno not wanting to leave you, but alas, you must. Your missions for today didn’t cross. You were going to clear out some robots left behind from the desert king, and Cyno was tracking down some academia members who’d stepped out of line. Journeying away from each other, Cyno had a nagging sensation at the back of his head, telling him to follow you and keep you safe, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. You could protect yourself perfectly fine, especially after all those sparring matches you had together to hone your skills.

You looked at your map, and saw the robots deactivated in front of you-- which was obviously normal. But when you went up close and got ready for combat-- they didn’t activate. Odd… you pondered to yourself. Meanwhile, a certain fatui harbinger was staring at you, his eyes boring into the back of your head.

“What an interesting test subject!” you heard a voice exclaim behind you, and you turned around to see Dottore with a grin on his face, his mask concealing most of his face. “I’ve heard of you! Although you don’t seem like much, you’re known as the General Mahamatra’s lover… with astounding fighting capabilities rumored to surpass his.”

You scowled at him, as he continued his dialog. “I just happened to finish tinkering with those robots near you. Now wouldn’t someone of your level be a great test subject for them?” your eyes widened as you now understood the meaning behind his appearance. “I do hope you put up a strong fight. After all, there’s quite a few different variations I want to test out~!” Dottore said as he sauntered off. Hearing a familiar mechanical roar, you drew your weapon and cautiously watched as the altered robots came to life.

-----

When was this going to end?

This was perhaps your 8th or 9th robot you took down, and all the ones that you did take down, well. Those all had… moderations to them. Perhaps they would be bigger, have more HP or defense, and some even had similar attacks to the robot guarding the desert king’s tomb!

You were getting worn down, your left arm bleeding and right ankle twisted. Another attack grazed your cheek as you realized you weren’t going to last much longer. The good thing was, though, that there were only two more left! If you just pushed yourself a little further, you’d be able to defeat them (and see Cyno again). You landed one more attack on the closest robot, killing it, before everything faded to black, the last thing you heard was a familiar cackle from a certain fatui harbinger, laughing at you as you

Slowly

Lost

Consciousness

-----

CLANG! Cyno quickly got rid of the final ruin robot that was remaining.

“[ Name ]?” Cyno’s voice cracked as he saw you. He knew something had felt wrong… and now it was too late. Your body was still warm, fresh blood gurgling from your wounds. “You’re… bleeding… what happened?”

He felt your neck for a pulse, and felt a soft- very faint, mind you- pulse. He immediately began to treat your wounds, but without any proper equipment, it was hard. When you cracked open your eyes, he breathed out a sigh of relief, before refocusing himself on treating your wounds.

“Cyno…” you exhaled, barely able to squeeze out the words. “Cyno… please stop.”

“No. I can’t. Not until you’re okay,” he responded, nearly finished with the wound on your stomach - when did you get that? - and moving onto the one on your shoulder. There were clumps of your blood on the sand, and Cyno couldn’t bear to look at your face.

“… I’m going to die anyway, Cyno. I’ve lost too much blood already. Don’t- just don’t waste your energy on-” you coughed, another glob of blood splattering in the sand.

“Stop talking. Please- please just focus on getting better and not dying on me.” Cyno forced out, panicking as your pulse lightened.

You grabbed Cyno’s wrist with the last of your strength, forcing out the words at this point. “I… l-love you, Cyno…”

Cyno felt your heartbeat slow to a stop as your body grew cold even as the scorching desert sun beat down unrelentlessly on its citizens, a single tear making it past his mental defenses.

That night, even the desert shed tears for how much Cyno mourned, although he did not cry. The harsh desert winds blowing hard and cold and unstoppable as the General Mahamatra mourned the loss of his first- and only- lover.

REBLOGS HELP MORE THAN LIKES!

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bokettochild · 1 month

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Febuwhump Day 19 - "Please Don't"

@1caru @sweetlemonad I believe you asked me to make Four suffer?

Rating: Teen(?)

Wordcount: 4,600

Summary: Four has been acting strange as of late, and it's making Warriors worry. Worry becomes anxiety as he watches the smithy, and it's quickly apparent that while the others don't see it, something is Wrong with Four, something very, very bad. Maybe too terrible to be fixed.

(WARNING!!!!!!! This fic does not have a happy ending! There's room for interpretation, but it does technically qualify as lead character death and a bad ending, so read with caution!

Four is weird about magic.

They all have some hang ups of course, Twilight especially, which is odd considering the recent reveal of his own magic usage, but everyone has something they’re wary of. Legend doesn’t like the unknown as a rule, but if he’s allowed to learn about it, he’s less likely to avoid and more likely to just be cautious. Time grew up with magic, but he’s wary about anything that exudes large amounts of power, as the side effects are often weighty for the price of using it. Sky is still becoming accustomed to everyday magic use, whereas it’s part of Hyrule’s life, while still being something that’s a threat for the traveler. Wild thinks it’s cool, but mostly since it’s almost gone entirely by his time without great amounts of effort. Wind, like Legend, is wary of the unknown, but in the end, he’s just as curious as Wild is.

As for himself, Warriors grew up without much more than old stories to tell him about magic, stories he’d pass to his little sisters later in life, still not aware of how prevalent the forces that he spoke of truly were in his world. The war had plunged him headfirst into a world of magic usage and its users, and like with swimming, he’d been forced to acclimate quickly lest he be pulled under and die. Now, he’d dare to say he’s the person least likely to react to sudden magic usage, provided it wasn’t too very bizarre. Shapeshifting is an outlier, since there’s no way to get accustomed to suddenly different forms, or any way to expect it, but still, blasts of magic or power from weapons? They’d gone off all the time from the fighters gathered across time, during the war. He’s used to strange new magics appearing out of nowhere.

Four is odd about them though. Four is wary of anything he doesn’t understand, but unlike Legend who will poke at it, shields raised, Four will keep away at all costs. As far as the smithy seems concerned, magic and he can keep their distance, and while, unlike Twilight, he doesn’t object to others using it, he firmly rejects offers extended to him to let him try things as well. The Master Sword is their key example of such behavior, but there are others too; Legend’s items, Twilight’s crystal, and generally most magical weapons that are not their shortest’s own.

So, seeing Four watching, listening so intently as they sit down and demand answers from their rancher, it’s strange.

They’d all been a bit affronted at the secret of their wolf companion and the rancher being the same, but now that they have the opportunity to learn what, precisely, was the reason for it, how it happened at all, they’re all eager to have answers. By nature, it seems the hero’s spirit carries with it a sense of curiosity that can’t be dimmed no matter how many generations it has passed through. It’s less proficient at teaching, but that’s become a null point as Legend carefully handles the thing, asking questions rather than letting them all rely on Twilight’s abysmal attempts at explaining how the thing works or how he’d come to have it.

He’s not sure how Legend hasn’t transformed, since, according to Twilight, it should change whomever handles it. Still, the vet seems to be taking advantage of his apparent invulnerability to examine the magical item and do whatever a magical collector and scholar like himself does with such sorts of new things.

Four paying rapt attention though, eyes following the vet’s hands as Twilight explains that it is, essentially, shadow magic condensed, formed from a curse placed on him that a powerful magic user had lifted for him.

“How does shadow magic not screw you over?” The vet is dangling the necklace before his eyes, making them cross as his ears pin back, a harsh scowl fixed on the crystal.

Twilight shrugs, also watching the vet, but relaxed, mostly, as though he doesn’t fear what happens if the magic activates, but still would rather it not. Warriors wonders what would happen if it did. “It’s pure magic. Dark only in nature, but all ill intent was- wiped away I guess? She didn’t explain fully, what with us still dealin’ with the world nearly endin’ an’ all.”

The vet flicks at the crystal with one finger, making it spin slowly, glinting oddly in the fading light of the sun, contrasted by the low burning flames of their campfire. “Pure dark magic...” he muses. “Not evil...just...hnnn....”

“Ever seen something similar?” Wind asks, slumped across the rock the vet and rancher sit on, arms cushioning his head as he looks up at the two, blinking slowly like he’s maybe beginning to tire out after their long day.

“Nope.” Twilight sighs.

The vet tips his head on one side, nose shivering in a thought that’s not shared. “Maybe?”

Four hasn’t blinked since the idea of pure shadow magic was presented, and there’s a glitter in his violet eyes that makes the captain uncomfortable. He’s not sure what it is, Four’s a good kid and rarely is any trouble, but something about that look in his eyes.... it’s worrisome.

“Have you interacted with dark magic outside of Ganon‘s before?” Hyrule asks, staring at the vet as the other stops the crystal’s spin with one gloved hand. “I mean, at all?”

“Some,” the vet says, and then hands Twilight his necklace back, although his eyes linger even as the rancher holds it carefully by its chord. A twitch of the ears and then the younger adds, “a lot actually. There are so many dark mages and whatnot that I’ve met personally, and that's just in my world.”

“Your world?”

“I’ve been to others, and yeah, one of them actually had dark magic as the norm. Light magic was...” his ears swivel back, “people weren’t keen on meeting light magic users. Still, they weren’t awful, just different.” Violet eyes a shade softer than Four’s lift to catch the rancher’s midnight blue. “Your magic user friend, was she from a place where that was the norm?”

Twilight nods, tucking his charm back where he apparently keeps it, between his layers and around his neck. “Yeah. Not sure if hers was a ‘nother world or just...dimension?”

The vet nods.

“Whatever it was, her magic was what everyone had there, and folks good or bad could use it.”

“So,” Four finally speaks, and there’s something, Warrior can’t name what, but maybe it’s the intensity of those dark eyes on the magic master and the rancher, “dark magic isn’t inherently evil, just... different? Is that what you’re saying?”

The two exchange a glance, and by the prick back of the rancher’s ears, head lower but gaze staying locked with softer violet, he supposes the rancher cedes the right to answer to the scholar rather than speak himself. Legend accepts it easily though, titling his head on one side and fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist, not meeting Four’s eyes, perhaps because he’s thinking too hard, or maybe some other reason. “Here in Hyrule, as a rule, dark magic is just power clouded with impure intent and harmful nature. Anyone can wield it, anyone magically skilled that is, but it’s purity is determined by the purity of your actions.”

“And you know this because...?”

A flinch. “If one of us- those who wield magic- used our abilities with impure intent, it would take on a darker quality. If your goals start becoming selfish, or your wishes more violent, or even if vengeance or pride colors your actions instead of something else, your magic can alter to become more shadow like.”

His focus on Four drops at those words, mind flicking back. Pride, Legend said, could color your magic to darkness. “Is that why our shadows end up as they are? They’re a manifestation of impure intentions coloring our magic?”

A nod. “I think. Granted, they can also be fueled by other magic, if they gain enough sentience to be their own self. Then they can just draw on whatever magic is around them for strength, but they usually form as a result of selfishness and the like,” the vet’s shoulders hunch slightly, stiff with a thought that’s likely guilt if his experiences are at all like the captain’s. “That’s why they say the Master Sword might sometimes reject her masters. If your magic becomes corrupted enough by your thoughts and feelings, there’s no light magic to mark you as her intended wielder, and she’ll register you as a threat instead, making it impossible to wield or so much as lift her.”

Twilight shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting to the blade. Has he experienced that too? Should- is that something warriors can ask him? Maybe such a shared experience could be something they could talk about, use to connect with each other in the wake of the shit show that their relationship has been of late. Later though, right now, in front of the others, such a thing wouldn’t be best.

“But shadow magic is just magic with different intent?” Four pushes, “not it’s own type?”

A nod from the vet, ears still pinned back. “As far as I know. As a rule though, I don’t tend to linger and study dark magic, so I only know a very little bit through observation.”

“How then,” Time speaks up for the first time in a while, one good eye fixed on where his pup’s necklace lays, although it’s now covered with cloth and armor, “can it be pure?”

A snort. “That’s what I want to know! So far though, my best guess is that other dimensions and worlds sometimes have the reverse; darkness being the safe and good things, and light being a piercing and dangerous thing to them. So ill intent would be light, and purity would be....” a frown and the screwing up of doll-like features, “like the moon in contrast to the sun? People say the moon represents purity in some cultures, so for those worlds where darkness is good, like night, the dark nature of magic might be seen like we see the moon, but light magic is cruel and harsh like a desert sun.”

There’s nods all around, some with understanding clear on their faces, others with confusion, and some, like Wild, with cluelessness. Even for his frustrations with the kid, it makes him smile a bit to see Wild trying, but so clearly left out of the loop that anyone would know he’s just following their example and pretending to have a clue of what’s happening. It's a sure reminder that, for all the stress the boy causes, he’s still a kid under all those scars and wildly wielded weapons.

“When we get to my era, I want a chance to look at that thing again,” the vet turns on their rancher, curiosity still glittering under furrowed brows. “There’s someone we might be able to ask for answers there.”

He doesn’t say who, and Twilight doesn’t ask, but the rancher agrees easily enough.

The conversation slips away after that, Wind pestering Legend about his experiences with magic, the vet pushing the kid out of his space with a smirk and refusals, and Time asking his pup a few questions while the rest of them drift into something more understandable for their group as a whole. Through it all though, Four’s gaze remains fixed on where the crystal lies, eyes unchanging even in the flicking light of the fire and the dying glow of the sun.

Warriors has no clue why he’s watching the smithy, but the hair on the back of his neck standing on end and the shiver that creeps down his spine as he does so keeps him watching.

Four is weird about magic, discussing it or using it. Unlike the others whose intentions are somewhat clear, he doesn’t let on at all why he’s the way he is, or how he feels, just that he won’t touch it.

That night, as they settle to bed, Sky and Wind on first watch together and already chatting easily beside the fire, the captain’s mind won’t let the thought go. Resting his head on his arms, his mind flickers back to the thousand fairy stories he used to hear told by the village elders to smaller children when he was young, to the ones he’d picked up in bits and pieces when he was older, in Castletown, and even the few he’d learned during the war. There’s an irrational part of him that wonders if the reasons figures from the fairytales had treated magic as they did would match the smithy’s own, but there’s really no way of knowing. Even if the tales are based, in part, on the ventures of ancient heroes, there’s no way to know for certain what’s founded in fact or not.

Still, it’s been a long while since he’s drifted off with a fairytale rolling about in his head, and he’d dare say he sleeps better for it.

After that night, Four continues acting weird. There’s something wrong behind his eyes, something almost familiar, in ways that set off alarm bells in the captain’s head. Something about Four has changed, and while he can’t name what, the dark glint of eyes; eyes that, before, he could have sworn were changing color from time to time, but which are now always just a shade darker than the vet’s, now are glassy in their shine, absent, clouded. It’s not like a fever, he checks for that, and It's not anything that effects the smithy’s fighting, but there is a change. There's something Wrong, and Warriors doesn’t know what it is.

The others don’t see it though; not most of them. Sky stares at him, worry creasing lovely features as he asks if the captain is feeling okay. Time nods it off but doesn’t seem worried. Twilight- he doesn’t go to Twilight, or Wild. He’s...he’s not sure how well talking over his own concerns with those two will go considering their aptitude for not sharing with the rest of the group about things. He’s convinced it won’t help him at all. Wind listens, but dismisses it after a time, after talking with the smith and apparently assuring himself all is well. When he brings it to Legend, the younger man looks grim, and he sees the vet watching Four with wariness, but that’s not entirely unusual to begin with; Legend’s always been more wary of Four than the rest of them, although he’s never said why.

It’s nice to have someone take his concerns to heart, but considering Legend is a bit paranoid, that’s not saying much really. He’s sure if he’d said anyone was behaving oddly, in a way that the vet doesn’t have answers for, he’d still see walls rising against that person.

Four is different though. He was quiet before, but now he’s very quiet. He was reticent before, but now he’s almost avoidant. Where advice came easily, now it’s slow if it comes at all, and where battle strategies could be formed with the thought that their small smithy could and would slip between them to watch their backs, now injuries fall for the absence of the youngster, who’s often fighting alone rather than with the rest of them.

He gets that the others don’t notice, he does. Twilight and Time and Wild have each other, Sky is so often caught in his head or chatting with the vet, Hyrule isn’t close to most of them, but least of all with the smithy he shares little in common with. With Wind, the smithy seems himself again, in most ways, but the moment their youngest’s back is turned, it’s like a shadow falls over the smith’s face.

It’s making him feel wary. He can’t name why, and he hates himself a bit for it, but he finds he’s checking randomly for the knife he carries, hand slipping to his sword without him even thinking of it, and there’s a hissing at the back of his mind when they make camp. On one hand, he’ll be wanting to settle far away from those dark eyes, but on the other, there’s part of him that can’t stand the idea of not putting himself between the smith and the kids in their group, between Four and even Time. He doesn’t even know why! He knows Four is a hero, and that the smithy has never done anything to harm anyone in this group, but he’ll find himself debating being close to or far away from the other more than he’d like, and it’s only when he wonders why that he even registers that somehow, he’s started seeing Four as a threat.

Nothing’s been done, but a voice in his head whispers that something will be, and he needs to be ready. The feeling that wells in his chest is familiar, but he can’t identify it, just knows he’s felt it before, although when is unclear. It makes sleeping even harder than it was before, and he finds himself nervous as a result; lack of sleep mixing with the need to always be on guard to send him into a state of almost constant anxiety.

The others start asking after his health. Time and Wind are demanding to know if he’s neglected his own injuries while treating theirs. Even Wild, who he’s never been close with, starts giving him slightly bigger portions. The champion never says anything to him directly, but when the kid thinks he’s not looking, heavy cerulean eyes will settle on him, worry pinching brows together and pulling at scarred features. The cook watches, making sure he’s eating, and then looks actually distressed when even food doesn’t seem to have any effect on the captain’s condition.

How does he explain to them though that the reason for his state is a screaming anxiety that eats away at his mind and heart, it’s source unknown?

He can’t even be mad at Twilight when the rancher approaches him as the wolf, settling at his side with all the ease he used to before they’d known. He knows now, they all do, but Twilight acts the same as usual and he can’t- he can’t deny that being allowed to stroke through rough fur does help, at least a little. The laughter when Wind pouts at being denied the same also helps, but it doesn’t stop the incessant fear building up within him. No, because the moment his eyes fall on Four, whose own gaze is fixed over small shoulders, the shiver rises again up his spine.

Something is wrong, and he’s seen something- done something to know that he recognizes this feeling, recognizes something off about Four, but he can’t name it. He wracks his mind for the memory of what this is, but thinking of the war, thinking of everything that happened, the betrayals and Cia and- he can’t do it. He tries, he does, but it quickly becomes apparent that thinking about that, out here, while already running thin with anxiety, will probably send him into an episode.

Zelda calls it PTSD. He doesn’t care what it is though- he’s not putting the kids through talking him out of it or seeing him like that.

He gives up searching his memory for answers, but he keeps his eyes open.

Maybe that’s why, when darkness has fallen over camp one night, and most of the boys are sleeping, Wind curled up against his side and the rest settled around the capfire, he’s seems to be the only one who sees Four slip from under his blanket, nearly silent, and creep towards where the rancher slumbers, back to back with his cub.

Time is on watch with Sky, the two talking in low voices as they walk around the perimeter of camp, senses turned without, to where threats should come from, but not within, where the smithy’s hand slips between Twilight’s layers, emerging again with the crystal in hand. A small knife slips forwards, cutting the chord neatly and tugging it free, although for half a moment he almost expects it to drag across sun-kissed skin and paint the rancher’s throat scarlet with the man’s own blood.

Somethings wrong. Something is very wrong.

Alerting Four that he’s awake though, when the other is so close to the rest, armed and clearly guarded against being noticed, isn’t optimal. As long as no harm is being done to his brothers, he’ll bide his time, wait until Four is in such a place that whatever has gotten into him won’t be able to cause the smith to harm the rest without Warriors stopping him.

Luckily, for them anyway, the purple-eyed smith doesn’t linger any longer than he needs to tuck his knife away. He’s creeping out of camp without a sound even as Time and Sky patrol on the other side, voices low and straining in what’s probably a very stilted debate that Warriors can’t bother to think of a subject for. His own eyes follow Four though, hands already rising to uncurl Wind’s fingers from his shirt. It's a process, because the kid is usually a light sleeper, but tucking his scarf around the younger seems to assure the unconcious teen that all is still well, and that the absence of the captain’s warmth is not cause for worry. He used to have to do this during the war too, on early mornings or when he needed to slip out for a leak or a drink or just to breath the night air for a moment.

He escapes without any of his brothers waking. Sky and Time see him, it’s hard to not with his size, but he just tells them he thinks he saw something. He can’t name what, doesn’t want to worry them before he knows why his own heart is pounding uncontrollably, but he tells them to keep their eyes and ears open and stay with the rest as he slips into the trees, sword in hand, shield grapsed tightly in his other hand.

If Four was going to do something to the others, he would have done it when he was still in camp. Time and Sky likely won’t need to tend to anything. He, on the other hand, is prepared for the worst.

Even so, he’s not expecting what he sees. He can feel his very heart shatter, something like a sob buiding up as an all too familiar sightreaches his eyes when he finds the smith again. A shadow warrior standing beside someone he’d seen as a brother, embracing each other as those dark purple eyes lock with crimson. Four’s smile is’t quite right, and the crystal- the shadow-

Dark magic, Legend said, comes from magic users whose intent becomes impure. A pure source of shadow magic though, condensed and palpable, easy to slip off with, to steal, would offer a far greater source of such power. Enough power to give form, as the scholar had stated, to a shadow. A threat. An enemy.

An enemy Four greets with a sharp smile and a warm embrace, one that’s welcomed with the same as the thing rises from whatever spell or magic had been cast, the remains of Twilight’s crystal now broken on the ground.

Now he understands. Betrayal is a familiar feeling, one he knows intimately, but of course he’d never wanted to think that- believe that he’d feel it because of the actions of a brother. He knows what it is to watch those he trusts slip off into becoming mere puppets for the enemy, a threat to those he loves.

He also knows that letting puppets roam free, while waiting for a chance to fix them, leads to precious lives lost, to the death of innocent people, and more pain than just slitting a few throats would give him. He learned that the hard way, he knows it well. By the end of the war, corruption was a disease that’s presence was a death sentence for the victim. Better to kill them quickly, better to end the infection, better to stop the spread and the continued loss, the pain of watching so many innocent lies be claimed by a force that would take their agency.

Yes, they were innocent. No, it was never their faults. Still, for the sake of all, their deaths had been required, a sacrifice to preserve everyone else. A neccessity to ensure the army of the enemy, the tools available to them, the pawns and skills thereof, would not increase.

He’s killed a brother before, but it doesn’t make it less painful anytime he has to do it again.

Hiding isn’t worth it anymore. He’s many things, but a coward that strikes without warning he will never be. Purple and crimson lift to stare at him, and fear flashes in one while aggression paints in teh unfamiliar ones.

“Captain-”

He doesn’t answer. Talking back to puppets, treating them like people, it makes it hurt more. Better to not see them as people anymore once they’re nothing more than pawns. Assigning names, memories, loe to the ones he’s had to slaughter for the safety of his people- all it does it kill what’s left of his heart.

“Wars, what are you-” a swing of his blade has words cut off, the smithy ducking back, fear rising.

The shadow lunges, and that, he knows, is the greater threat to him.

“Wars, stop! What are you doing?” The smithy shrieks. It sounds like him, the flicker of red, of warm red like fire, not like blood, sends a foolish hope through him that maybe, beneath whatever magic has taken hold here, there’s a glimmer of his brother. Memories of another he’d had similar thoughts of, only to have a knife lodged in his guts seconds later, have him shaking the thought off. Dark magic is too strong to show any weakness too. The only hope in anything where it’s involved is if the source lies before him and easily destroyable, and the sharp clawed shade of the smith might not even be the cause of the strange nature he’s witnessed as of late.

When the shadow lunges at him, he strikes back, unleashing every bit of power he’s got into the blow and sending the monster flying back, cracking against a tree trunk as the smith’s voice rises In anguish. “Captian, don’t! Please, don’t! He’s my friend!”

Befriending evil? How- how long? Does he know Four at all?

The shade bleeds red, somehow. Maybe it’s magic, meant to twist his mind, manipulate him, make him feel pity. He’s seen that before though. It won’t work, not on him, not on the hero who’s felled similar such monsters for hours on end at times. The color of the enemies’ blood makes no difference; it all spills the same regardless.

“Warriors, please!” The shriek rises, and the smith flies at him, hand raised.

His focus is on the shadow, rising again with crimson spilling from between grey lips. He can’t see what’s in the smith’s hand; if there’s a weapon, if there isn’t. He can’t spare a glance to see what color flickers in eyes that used to change with a blink. There’s no time.

Instinct, born of years of fights, of endless battles and betrayals, has his hand moving without a thought.

Four’s cry of pain as he crumples to the earth crushes anything that’s left of the captain’s heart.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #lu warriors #lu four #ketto writes #tw implied character death #tw violence #tw ptsd

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trainingdummyrabbit · 3 months

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[She expected to feel scared. And perhaps she was, on some level. But it was the type of fear that danced on the edge of excitement. The silent promise of a “This is It.”]

Or: A post-Ruina musing of the library and Angela.

Angela was used to silence. There had always been moments of screaming chaos, sights she'd passed over that anyone softer than herself would retch at; it was all par for the course. But the moments that had really clung to her had always been the silence.

Moments between loops spent alone, staring at flickering screens disconnected from minds just out of reach, asleep. Lulls in management as she waits for the inevitable shoe to drop, casting everything back into cacophony. Isolated, as she stared at the unbuilt bricks of the future she would carve for herself, made of others’ hopes and dreams. The type of absence that had no true voice to complain, but eyes that casted judgement. The wordless pressure of resentment.

She never much liked silence.

…Even still, she found herself returning to the balcony, again and again. There was much work to be done, of course. Repairing the library was a tall task after the mess that was made of it, especially now that she was piloting with her own will. She did not mind– this sort of task was simply in her nature. Direct, organize, rebuild. This time, however, she was not on her own.

It was an odd thing to get used to, working so closely with those she had such a… complicated history with. And though they seemed willing enough to help, something still itched at the back of her mind. Again, the echo of that pressing silence rolled in and, against her nature, she found her mind wandering. And there she was again, staring out into that seemingly endless distance, in the spot where they’d lost one home and gained another.

It was a strange feeling. She thought she'd have had enough of this by now, casting herself back into the embrace of solitude. She had expected it to grate on her mind as it always did, enveloped in the downy cling of distance. It was something she had always done. Welcomed her like the incessant tug of a spider's thread. And yet, despite it all, the circling, the thrashing, the running– she could not feel that weight. No, in fact, she felt lighter than ever. She did not get what she wanted. She no longer had any failsafes– no lifeline to cling to, no beaten paths to follow. It was just her, the city walls in the distance, and the expanse of a world she had never gotten the chance to see. All here, right here, right now.

She'd expected to feel resentment. Another plan she couldn't follow through on, another ending ruefully snatched from between her fingers. Another life that was robbed of her, from right under her nose. But… something was different this time. This expanse was empty, yes, but the wind whistled across it as it would anywhere else. The sun still rose and set, casting everything into hues uncapturable in the frames of pictures. Stars still hung in the sky, numerous, dancing. And here she was, capturing it all in her own two eyes.

This world– this life– was still unforgiving. She had heard stories of the outskirts, of the creatures that lurked there, of the horrors that played out, again and again. But… was that not true of anywhere? Of everything she had gone through, this would not be the one to put her down. For once in her life, she realized, that voiceless gaze that had hung over her all this time… she could no longer feel it. She no longer worried of her presentation, that heavily enforced dance she was compelled to follow. This time was different. This time… this time she was truly an outlier.

There was a difference between Silence and Quiet.

Silence implied the lack of movement. Stillness. Silence implied solitude. A plane of glass between the self and the outside world, plainly in view but painfully distant. It’s the denial of the senses, and the dissolution of the self. Silence was what was expected of her. But quiet… quiet was a relief. She was alone, yes, but not truly. Even standing alone, facing the world with naught but her own thoughts, even still the distant shuffle of movement could be heard. Barely audible voices, squabbling, laughter. Breathing. Alive– it was alive. She was alive. Quiet was a respite. The lull of ocean waves, and a breath taken to start again.

Start again.

That was what she always wanted, right? The chance to begin anew, the chance to stand on her own two feet. The opportunity to forge forward through uncertainty. This was what she fought for. No, this was what they fought for. After so long stumbling blindly through layers and layers of darkness, the maze of human fear and desire, here she was. Once again she looked off into the distance, the sun gently making its descent behind the horizon line. And for a moment, that was simply all. Streaks of color, dimming skies, and the silent sigh of the open air. Yes, maybe a bit of quiet would do her some good.

And for a good few moments, she simply watched the sun go down. She could not feel the breeze, but she could see the ends of her sleeves ruffle in its current, hear the faint whistle of the rush past the library’s boughs. Alive. And she raised her gaze, up towards the tiny pinpricks of light slowly peeking their way through the waning reach of sunlight. And watched. Captured neatly in her gaze. This moment was hers and hers alone. And nobody could take it from her.

Quiet.

…And then, slowly, gently; she pulled her eyes from the glittering stars above and turned away from the balcony railing– committing every tiny light to memory. They may not have gotten what they wanted, but this was far from the end. It was nothing more than a slight detour. Nowhere to go but straight ahead. There was always more work to do. And with a silent nod to nobody but herself, Angela walked back inside. Ready to take the next step.

#ive not posted writing like this here before potion of be nice to me. ok 👍#pikart #projmoon #um um. this is technically half of a whole; but idk if/when ill finish the other half bc i. am not confident writing for roland yet <//3 #anyway i havent written anything in months and have also never written for Her so iam being very brave 👍 yay #dubiously proofread; imvery tired; just needs 2 be out of my system. you understand. nods.

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likeadevils · 6 months

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which albums do you think took the shortest amount of time to put together? i think that evermore was very quick (only two or three months?), am i right in thinking that lover and folklore were pretty quick too?

evermore was super quick! there were about five songs written from october-december, but about 12 songs were written in about a month, between mid august and mid september. which is just crazy. like that’s more songs than the standard edition of debut like that’s insane

the bulk of folklore was written in two months, between may and june, though the jack songs were mostly written between march and april, with some pre pandemic songs (my tears in dec 2019 and trying in jan/feb 2020)

midnights was a bit more spread out— high infidelity and would’ve could’ve should’ve were written in march 2021, i believe bigger than the whole sky and snow on the beach were in early 2022– but still the bulk of it came together in november/december 2021, making it a year in total but mostly done in two months.

rep took almost exactly a year— she starts writing it in september 2016 and finishes in september 2017. the bulk of the album was likely finished by july 2017 though, so it goes was just a super last minute addition.

lover was recorded in about four months— the bulk of the album was between november 2018 and february 2019. there are some exceptions, like death by a thousand cuts in late april and likely london boy in early june, and maybe a few jack songs throughout 2018, but we don’t know for sure which. she was also probably stockpiling songs a bit before jumping into the studio, but we don’t know for sure.

1989 was another stockpiling album— she did this love in 2012, a couple songs jan 2013, and then that aforementioned stockpiling period while she’s on tour, and then a big rush in oct/nov 2013, and then another rush in jan/feb 2014. it sounds like now that we don’t talk came fairly late in the process though, possibly as late as fall 2014, which would make it a two year long writing period, but as far as the original album goes, about a year and a half.

red was also about a year and a half— we have all too well being finalized in march 2011 (after being started in dec 2010), and then 22 and i knew you were trouble in june 2012. there are probably some outliers— stay stay stay might’ve been as early as summer 2010, some stuff on the vault might’ve gone up until september 2012– but that’s at most about two years of consistent writing and recording.

if we’re counting sparks fly (halloween 2006) then it took four years to write speak now, but excluding sparks fly georg the earliest song we know for sure was if this was a movie in april 2009, and then it ended with the story of us in june 2010, which is a little over a year. she was likely writing songs for speak now earlier in 2009 though, making it her standard year and a half, but we just don’t know for sure. the recording process was also spread out throughout both years— the first session for the album was in march 2009, and the orchestra sections were the last thing recorded, in july 2010.

fearless had two big recording sessions, in december 2007 and march 2008, so recording wise the album came together super quickly. that being said, if we just take the first and last songs written for the album, fearless has a pretty big stretch— she had stuff from the vault from like 2005, and then come in with the rain in september 2006, and white horse in december 2006. and then the last song is similarly up for interpretation, with forever and always in late september 2008, and mr perfectly fine in march 2009. so even though it came together very quickly once she got in the studio, counting the vault it was four years to write it, making it one of the longest timeframes, but standard edition is still a fairly long two years.

and then debut! i’m a bit more hazy on debut’s timeline, but a perfectly good heart was written sometime in 2003, and should’ve said no was the last thing written and recorded, on august 10, 2006, making it about three years.

so it’s pretty much an exercise in counting— the earlier and album came in her career, the longer it took her to make it, until we get to post pandemic where she’s busting out almost complete albums in two month periods (ts11 looks like it’s bucking that trend though, so let’s see!!)

#asks*#timeline*#sorry for taking so long to answer i had to write a bit of an essay about it

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tsunderetypea · 10 months

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Little Slayer 2| TLoVM x platonic!reader

Preface| Every party had their outlier. For some, most people would think it was Scanlan of the legendary group Vox Machina. Yet as we know fate has its own working on the matter.

Enter amnesiac Y/N who happened to cross their paths. For the most part they appeared utterly normal as a human could be but well as the party would soon realize there is more to them than meets the eye.

Word Count| 1766

Link to [Part 01] | [Part 03]

—

[A/N]: I’m thinking the title might change as the story progresses but who knows

Also apologies if I don’t cover everyone’s point of view, it’s not easy writing about a bunch of characters!

Also there might be violence and stuff but this is TLoVM what can you expect lol

“Wow I thought Grog losing his muscles was more depressing for him than not getting to keep the kid,” sighed Scanlan as he took a swig of his ale though not before watching Grog lay his head on the wooden table.

“Me too,” agreed Pike as she looked on with a small frown over her best friend’s state. “Our journey is not exactly for young folk,” reasoned the Matron of Ravens’ champion.

“It’s still upsetting to watch. I feel bad for him though,” Keyleth looked down at her drink.

“At least we were able to help in some form,” Percy attempted to see things from a positive perspective. “Indeed,” murmured Vex.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll see them when we leave in the morrow.”

–

Breaths from the cold night were visible as you panted from running. You weren’t running from anyone to be exact, more like you were trying to find the group that helped you earlier.

That’s if hopefully, they hadn’t left which is why you were running in the first place. You wanted to properly thank them for giving you enough money to fill the gnawing ache in your belly from hunger.

But it was futile.

It was too dark now and the moon that once illuminated your path was now dark.

Wait… there had just been moonlight a moment ago.

A strange sensation resonated in your being, that felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Yet you never thought you would be screaming a word that struck the hearts and minds of common folk with fear.

“Dragon!” you screamed as you ran into the street, hoping in some shape or form your cry of alarm would somehow alert everyone in the nick of time but it was too late.

The hard flapping of wings entered your hearing though not before blue fire spurted downwards from the sky onto the ground, burning the buildings around you as you ducked for cover from the flame.

The dragon roared as it flew above you, spreading more of its flame. The fire was unlike any that you’d seen before, as the heat of the flames made you hotter than before even though you were a good distance away from them though its damage was just as heavy as screams of terror filled the night air.

“How pitiful… you think you can escape from my grasp?” the dragon bellowed as it landed on a tower that from what you can see had to be in the center of town. Using its vantage point from there, it stayed perched on the stone structure while aiming its head to burn whatever it saw move.

Those who were trying to survive by escaping unfortunately met their demise by the blue flame.

“Let it be known that I Scargone, master of cremation, am taking this town for the Chroma Conclave!” announced Scargone as he lifted his head up to the night sky before unleashing his fiery breath.

‘I was wrong… my luck went to shit!’ you cursed as you hunkered down in the alleyway you ducked into. Your body was too scared to move, frozen in fear as much as you knew you had to leave there with your life.

“Get the others to safety!” you heard an all too familiar voice say which in that moment helped you to break free from your frozen state. Carefully you peeked out from where you hid.

“Scanlan and Percy make sure to get everyone out before joining us against this bastard. I want casualties to be at a minimum…” it was them, you finally managed to find them.

‘Wait they are going to stop the dragon?!’ now panic filled your being because even though you just met them, you didn’t want them to die!

“We just killed a dragon not long ago, had one be in our midst for a while and now we have to kill another one again!..” groaned the archer woman from earlier.

‘So they have encountered dragons before… even killed them.’ you never would have thought they were dragon-slayers as they were not what you imagined when one pictured them. You thought they would be more rough and tumbled and maybe some missing a limb. Maybe Grog looked the part but not really anyone else.

“If it is destiny dear sister then so be it. The rest of us are killing a dragon.” her brother acknowledged placing a hand on her shoulder before nodding to the others for initiation of their plan.

“Let’s go Scanlan,” ordered the man with glasses, the one that also offered to share his gold with you as he turned on his heel racing ahead of the gnome also from earlier.

“Coming, geez!” the bard bantered back as they went their separate ways.

You debated about what to do. It would be stupid to follow after them, but you also had a strange feeling inside of you other than fear if you didn’t do something.

Perhaps it was cowardice.

But they also knew what they were doing, they killed a dragon before.

Your heart began to pound faster and faster as you debated about what to do, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

‘Ugh so help me…!’ without a moment to think, you got up from your hiding spot and ran out of the alleyway as your legs seemed to have a mind of their own following in the direction of where Grog, the giant that held you earlier, went along with his part of the party.

As much as you reasoned with yourself that they could handle it; something inside of you said for you to go and there was no avoiding it.

Within a moment’s notice, it had not taken long for them to reach the center of town as much as the blue flames made an attempt to burn them from existence.

“Voluntaire!” Vex shouted as she took out her broom from her magical pouch, not wasting a moment to get on and reach to the sky so that with her added height she would be able to shoot at Scargone with Fenthras.

While they were distracted with Scargone; it was easy for you to slip by. It was not easy for you to hide as fire seemed to corner you with every step you took, but you had to make your way somehow.

“I…want to… rage!” you could hear Grog yell as he used some kind of object against the ground to launch him in the air. You were able to see him as the gauntlets on his hands glowed as he neared the beast.

Scargone having noticed him wasted no time in breathing his devastating flame to first Vex and then Grog. Vex managed to maneuver out of the way but Grog was able to feel part of the blue flames.

“Grog!” screamed Pike as she watched him fall, thinking he was not able to withstand it. But with a clap of the Titanstone Knuckles, he stopped his descent and ascended once more.

“That was nothing!” he grinned as he finally touched down onto Scargone.

“Pathetic…” the black dragon hissed as he tried to bite the half-giant though not before noticing a dark shadow move in his periphery. Vax using the newfound wings of a raven from his vestige threw his blades at the beast, though his aim was not accurate as he tried to evade the wings of Scargone as another means of attack.

“He’s stopped spewing that dastardly blue fire thanks to brother and Grog,” Vex huffed, coughing from the dark smoke from the flames Scargone had ignited earlier.

“Keyleth, we won’t be able to fight if the smoke is slowing us down, do something about it,” the half-elven twin ordered as the air Ashari did as she was told. “Pike you and I need to buy time with Grog and brother until Percy and Scanlan get here. Maybe we’ll need Mythcarver to take him down.” she rationalized as the gnome cleric chuckled before saying a “right” before heading over to help their friends.

So it was the four of them against one dragon as you watched Keyleth put out the smoke and flame with her air-druid magic. Though as much as she put them out, Scargone would go ahead and add more as he tried to aim at his attackers.

Though from your viewpoint you could tell he was growing in aggression and it won’t be long until he maybe changed course. Maybe there was a weak spot on him.

A weak spot? How had you known that? You wanted to deduce how you knew on that matter but something caught your attention.

When Scargone turned his head trying to set Vex on fire; behind his jawbone were what looked like gills almost like that of a fish. The others wouldn’t have noticed it because of the darkness of his hide and the smoke that exhumed which covered it from view.

Until you were able to see it.

“Enough!” Scargone yelled agitated as he lifted himself from his perch, rising high in the sky as he took off probably in an attempt to remove Grog from him as he was the only one who managed to be on him.

“There goes Grog again,” commented Vax as he hovered in the air, his eyes narrowing trying to spot the dragon.

“Brother he is using the night to his advantage and there is no way we can keep up with him. It's like Umbraysl all over again,” pointed out his twin sister as she hovered beside him.

“Even worse, I don’t think we’ve managed to put a dent in him…” groaned Pike as she wiped the soot from her face. “We need another change of plan. We have to keep him grounded until Percy and Scan get here like Vex said earlier.”

“You’re right, but what can we do? Even with these vestiges, it seems we are always at the shorthand of the matter…” Vax couldn’t help but voice his thoughts as he landed on the ground with a thump.

“You need to exploit his weak spot.” an unfamiliar voice spoke softly.

The eyes of both twins widened in surprise for they did not sense that there was someone else among them as they and the others with them looked over to see you illuminated by the light of the blue flame.

But it was only until recently that they discovered that Vex could not sense all dragons and now apparently they could not sense you as you approached them.

There was something off about you and they knew it.

What were you?

#tlovm fic #little slayer #the legend of vox machina x reader #the legend of vox machina #vox machina #vox machina x reader #platonic!reader #tlovm x reader #critical role the legend of vox machina #critical role

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