Mondstadt Masterlist

finally somebody said this

"nothing matters, so be kind to each other and make this meaningless world a better place"

so... the world would be better if people were kind? you made a value judgment on different types of worlds? you think people ought to be kind? you think kindness is good?

so you think that the world has value and significance? that some ways of life are better than others? that some things are genuinely good?

then why did you say nothing matters?

C.S. Lewis is one of the most culturally relevant and important authors for western society and Christians in general and i will die on this hill

I always kind of laugh when people get into the “Susan’s treatment is proof that C.S. Lewis was a misogynist” thing, because:

Polly and Digory. Peter and Susan. Edmund and Lucy. Eustace and Jill. 

Out of the eight “Friends of Narnia” who enter from our world, the male-to-female character ratio is exactly 1/1. Not one of these female characters serves as a love interest at any time. 

The Horse and His Boy, the only book set entirely in Narnia, maintains this ratio with Shasta and Aravis, who, we are told in a postscript, eventually marry. Yet even here, the story itself is concerned only with the friendship between them. Lewis focuses on Aravis’ value as a brave friend and a worthy ally rather than as a potential girlfriend–and ultimately, we realize that it’s these qualities that make her a good companion for Shasta. They are worthy of each other, equals. 

In the 1950s, there was no particularly loud cry for female representation in children’s literature. As far as pure plot goes, there’s no pressing need for all these girls. A little boy could have opened the wardrobe (and in the fragmentary initial draft, did). Given that we already know Eustace well by The Silver Chair, it would not seem strictly necessary for a patently ordinary schoolgirl to follow him on his return trip to Narnia, yet follow she does–and her role in the story is pivotal. Why does the humble cab-driver whom Aslan crowns the first King of Narnia immediately ask for his equally humble wife, who is promptly spirited over, her hands full of washing, and crowned queen by his side? Well, because nothing could be more natural than to have her there. 

None of these women are here to fill a quota. They’re here because Lewis wanted them there. 

Show me the contemporary fantasy series with this level of equality. It doesn’t exist. 

shoutout to the color red

No but the Hunger Games really said "what do you hate more- the atrocities or the people who commit them against you? Because like it or not there IS a difference. If you hate the people who commit acts of pure evil more than you hate the acts themselves, what will stop you from becoming just like your enemies in your pursuit of justice? What will keep you from commiting those very same acts against THEM when the opportunity arises? And what then? The cycle of pain and suffering will never stop. Round and round it'll go. Nothing will ever change. But. BUT. If you hate the atrocities. If you hate the vile, senseless acts MORE than you hate the people who did them to you. If you are able to see that evil is evil regardless of who does it... The cycle ends with you. No, you may never get justice. But you will never be responsible for making others, even your enemies, suffer the same crimes you have. The atrocities will never be committed by you, never by your hand. And that's the way you change the world. It's the ONLY way" and that's why I am sure it will never stop being one of the most relevant works of fiction ever created

I have a political thought experiment that I would like to share with you all that I call "Persuading the serial killer," which is really just about how you'd persuade someone who exists outside of your moral framework.

This is inspired by the fact that I watch too much true crime, but the thought experiment goes like this: If you were faced with a serial killer trying to kill you or someone else, how would you convince them not to? Serial killers do not conform to common morals like "killing is wrong," so arguing "You shouldn't kill me because killing is immoral!" is not going to help you. They don't recognize your moral system as real or valuable, so you cannot use it to persuade them. I, personally, would argue like so: "I have a very regular schedule, and people have already noticed that I'm missing. My mother and I talk almost constantly. She alone is probably already panicking that I'm gone and has called the police. I also have serious medical issues on record, so they won't wait the regular 24 hrs to start searching for me. You have a chance to get away now, but not if you spend time murdering me and hiding my body." Straight practical reasons why doing what they want to do will bring about something they absolutely don't want, i.e. if you waste time on murdering me, a high-priorty missing person, you'll get caught and never kill again.

The way this applies to politics is that you're gonna encounter people who do not completely overlap with your morals - probably not serial killers though. Like most Republicans and most Democrats would agree that unprovoked homicide is wrong and bad. No one is trying to pass a bill to get murder blanket-legalized. But obviously, conservatives have different moral views on things like abortion.

You cannot argue with a conservative that abortion isn't wrong. Your opinion that life does not begin at conception or that the right to choose should be in the pregnant person's hands no matter what exists outside of their moral framework just like "murder is wrong" exists outside the moral framework of a serial killer. So if I'm trying to argue against abortion legislation with someone I know is anti-abortion, I argue that abortion laws don't reduce abortions or abortion-related deaths. That the real way to reduce abortions is to make birth control over-the-counter and available to teenagers without parental permission like in the U.K. That if they think that is bad because it "promotes" premarital sex, they need to choose which is worse to them: teenagers having sex or abortions happening because teenagers are still going to have sex. That more support networks for pregnant people who want to keep the pregnancy but worry about their ability to financially support the child would do more good, and that there are several run by churches (but not enough, perhaps they should start one at their church)! That anti-abortion organizations in Europe who crusade against abortion in these ways are more successful at reducing abortion than any country with laws on the books to stop it.

You can apply this with a lot of things, but in short, when arguing with someone with different political views or morals that are mutually exclusive with yours, it's a bad bet to appeal to "but that's wrong! but that's bad! but that's immoral!" Jump straight to the practicalities, i.e. "That won't get you what you want, and here's why," not "You shouldn't want this." This won't always work (ex: you might run through all those abortion arguments, not satisfy the conservative you're arguing with, and in the process figure out that they really just want to legally punish people for premarital sex and don't actually care about abortion). However, leaving your morals out of an argument is your best bet at getting through to another person who may not share them.

*Updated to remove use of the term "psychopath" because I'm told that's an outdated concept.

AHHH I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY STORY!!!

I've wanted to share a g/t story with you guys for a while, and I'm so happy to finally make that dream a reality! Feedback is appreciated, and I really hope you guys enjoy! These are characters I've spent a good bit of time with in my head, and I'm so happy you guys get to meet them now!

Alright, enough talking. Without further ado, may I proudly present to you lovely g/t fans:

The Ballad of the Two Travelers

Chapter One: The Encounter

Tristan sat beside his little campfire, trying to relieve the tense, uptight feeling in his limbs. His left arm was wrapped in a poorly-done sling; the result of an unfortunate incident with a giant zombified wolf a few days prior. A twilight breeze licked at his skin, nudging little locks of dark curls from his forehead and causing the flames to sputter and twitch every now and then. He prayed that the gods would be merciful and let the wind lighten up; he was too tired to start another fire should this one be snuffed out. He leaned slightly closer to the flames, extending his right hand in an effort to regain some of the feeling in his fingers.

He'd been traveling for weeks across the Misted Vales, a heavy pack on his back and a trusty sword at his side as he made his way through the grey plains, bony forests, and murky swamps that littered the once-fertile lands. The Blight that cursed the realm was spreading, and many a village had fallen from illness and starvation in recent times. Tristan's own village was already plagued with issues of its own– constant monster attacks, lack of soldiers or protection from the now-defunct nobility, and infighting among its inhabitants – and the oncoming blight wasn't helping matters.

No one knew what had started it, but most suspected it was yet another consequence of some long-forgotten war between humanity and its many foes. The Blight was a magical disease that had run rampant in recent years, killing crops and poisoning the living, dooming them to a slow death of madness and decay before succumbing and rising again as an undead. Monsters had already been a threat in the past, but now they brought with them the added nuisance of being much harder to kill. They shrugged off wounds effortlessly, had increased stamina and strength, and they had an increased appetite for the still-living. Such horrors ravaged the Continent, and yet they all paled in comparison to the giants.

For a hundred years, the giants had harbored a relentless anger towards the humans. Groups of them ranging from as little as two to as many as 20 roamed the lands, wiping out any human settlements they could. The majority of them were the angry, vengeful wives, daughters, and sisters of the many giants who were killed in a long-forgotten war, and thus they took advantage of every opportunity they could to take their revenge against the remainder of humanity. Tristan had been lucky enough to not have encountered a giant before, but he'd met survivors of their rage; he'd heard fragmented ramblings of footsteps like thunder, great hands and ferocious roars, and villages left decimated in the wake of beings that towered over a hundred feet tall.

Life in the Continent was so deadly, in fact, that one may wonder why one so young was embarking on such a deadly journey. Indeed, Tristan often wondered the very same thing himself.

For Tristan was on a quest to the great Godbearing Mountain in the far north, where an ancient spring ran that could cure any disease, at least according to the stories he'd heard. If someone were to fetch water from the Godbearing Spring, then perhaps the curse could be undone, and the remaining humans could start afresh. The idea of traveling to the north for the spring had been passed around in the village, but what with the onslaught monsters that roamed the lands, the angry giants who stomped any human into bloody paste upon sight, and the ravenous Blight that was slowly seeping its way into the very roots of the Continent, it had been decided by the village council that a quest wasn't worth the risk. They were to hunker down and try to wait out the chaos around them, something that Tristan couldn't accept. Tristan didn't know how, but he felt deep down that those stories had to be true, that there had to be something that could be done to put an end to this madness. All it took was courage and bravery, like the heroes in the old stories... right?

So Tristan had gathered some supplies, stolen his father's old sword from under his bed, and snuck out of his little village at midnight. He'd been traveling for about two weeks, and he was beginning to regret his decision. He'd come to a rest in the Misted Vales, a wide plain of grey grass and a thick fog that covered the entire area.

Tristan glanced around him nervously. He'd heard plenty of tales about the Misted Vales, but he hadn't expected them to be so.... misty. The fire barely had an impact on the hazy air; he could barely make out anything, near or far.

The thought was not comforting to Tristan, who'd already had his fair share of uncomfortable monster encounters (his arm was testament to this) and wasn't keen on having any more. It sent shivers down his spine to think that just about anything could come from those clouds of thick fog....

Of course, at that moment, there came the sound of a rhythmic rumbling that lightly shook the ground, and a silhouette appeared in the fog, heavily obscured by the mist yet clear enough for Tristan to tell that whatever was approaching, it was close.

Tristan's heart quickened, and he felt the prickly sensation of sweat appearing on his brow. He saw a movement, and nearly fainted as the shape woman emerged from the mist, standing over 70 feet tall. As she approached, Tristan could make out wavy hair and a huge cloak that trailed lightly behind her. Each one of her steps crossed at least forty feet, her boots leaving slight impressions in the ground behind her. Her pace was eerily slow, almost relaxed, not what Tristan would have expected from a rampaging giantess, but it was terrifying nonetheless, as her eyes were hidden behind the shadows of her cowl.

The boy scrambled about on his knees as he hastily gathered his things, wincing to himself as he tried to sling his pack over his shoulder. His eyes darted about the surrounding area for potential hiding spots, areas to widen the distance between him and the approaching threat, anything, but his eyes could hardly make out anything in the thick fog.

Don't panic, he thought, you've come this far. You can handle a giant... you have to.

But as the giant woman grew closer, Tristan found his thoughts to be little comfort. Within moments, she would be on top of him.

He glanced to his left, to the simple broadsword resting a few feet away in its sheath. He hastily crawled over to it, wrapping his fingers around the plain leather-bound hilt, and mentally screaming at the prospect of drawing the sword as the giantess grew closer and closer. He adjusted his position in an effort to face the giant woman, who seemed to be even bigger than he'd guessed now that she was closer. The woman was at least 100 feet tall; the top of Tristan's head barely came up past her ankle. The sight of her leather boots was intimidating, to say the least; Tristan could almost hear the sickening crunch and feel his bones break as the thick soles pressed him into a pulp on the ground....

His hands shook as the shadow of the giantess loomed over him. There was a moment of stillness and a frightening silence, the only thing audible being the thumping of Tristan's own heart in his ears. He gazed up at her, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity filling his heart.

“Greetings, little one.”

Tristan realized with a start the giantess was speaking to him. Her voice was soft and powerful at the same time.

“I am Lyra,” she said, her voice serene as she looked down at him. “It appears that thou art alone in thy travels.”

She gracefully lowered herself down onto one knee, bowing her head slightly to meet his level a little better. Tristan nervously scooted back a few steps. “I would offer thee my companionship,” she finished.

It took a moment before his brain fully accepted what she had said.

“Um.....” he finally answered, his voice hoarse and unsure, “w-what?”

The giantess was silent for a moment. Then she lifted her cowl from her head, revealing wavy brown hair and a fair face with amber-colored eyes. She affixed those eyes upon Tristan now, and her lips curved into a soft smile.

“To travel at all in these broken lands is a trial for even my own kind. Blight, beasts, and monsters alike roam about, seeking prey for food or for pleasure to cross their paths. To do so requires courage, wits, and just a bit of foolishness, as well as trusted friends to watch one's back against the dangers of the world. Many of my own kind have been claimed by death, even with all these things.

“And yet thou,” she said, curiously tilting her head, “appear to be alone. In a world where all wish for naught but the destruction of those such as thou, thou hast dared to cross these lands alone. I would not wish the deaths of any in this land, especially not one as ador–” She paused, and bit her lip before finally saying, “admirable as thou. Therefore, I offer thee myself as a companion.”

Tristan didn't respond. He couldn't, he was paralyzed from fright and shock. A giantess was talking to him, and so casually, as if she wasn't arguably the most dangerous, terrifying thing Tristan could encounter at this time.

“Oh, art thou wounded, little one?” she was asking now, indicating his arm with a finger that was surely as long as he was tall. Despite the sympathetic tone in her voice, Tristan cringed, praying internally that she would decide he wasn't worth the trouble and that she would leave him alone.

Of course, it wasn't his day for his prayers to be answered. The giantess leaned closer, her hand now about a yard away from his face.

“Do not panic, little traveler,” the giantess said in a soft voice. “I only wish to get a better look....”

Tristan's breath caught in his chest as the giant girl gently brought her hands on either side of him, the warm, fleshy surface of her right palm gently pressing into him and scooping his body into her left hand. He was being lifted, lifted into the air while the giant girl gently nudged him into the middle of her palm. Before he could fully react, he was already at face level with the giantess (although the term mouth level would be more accurate), and could hear his own heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears.

The giant girl stared at him for an unnerving moment, those amber eyes seeming to look right into the depths of his comparatively tiny soul. They were unreadable and terrible, and yet, beautiful. Tristan could see himself reflected in them, and he saw his own face, scared and unsure of what would happen next. And then the boy saw something in the giant's gaze, something he would look back and still marvel at, a thing which hadn't been seen in the eyes of a giantess for a hundred years.

In that moment, Tristan saw kindness.

“Oh, thou art a poor thing,” the giant girl murmured. “Let my hand rest upon thee, and find rest and healing.”

Softly, the giantess lifted her right hand, and placed her middle and index fingers on his torso, covering his chest and left. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and winced slightly, waiting for the inevitable crushing sensation...

But it never came. Instead, Tristan felt a soft, warm feeling coursing through his whole body, slowing his heart and easing the tension in his weary limbs. He still felt fear, but it seemed muted, somehow, as a sound becomes muffled underneath the water.

He blinked a few times, and realized with a start his arm didn't hurt any more. He tentatively rolled his shoulder, and grinned in spite of himself when he felt no pain nor even soreness.

Tristan knew little of magic, but even he, a farm boy from a run-down little village, could recognize healing magic.

“T-Thank you,” he stammered up at the giant girl. She chuckled softly, and shook her head.

“There is nothing to thank, little traveler. To heal one such as thyself was of no avail. I would be honored if thou wouldst grant me the chance to be of much more use than a mere healing spell.”

Tristan frowned. “S-So..... you want to.... accompany me? For some reason? I thought all the giants hated humanity. What makes you any different? How do I know you're not just biding your time until you grab me and.... and....” He felt sick all of a sudden as he thought of some of the stories he'd heard back home. He decided to change topics.

“I've heard that your people still have cities, armies, lives outside of fighting to survive. Why would you leave all of that to come accompany.... me? A mere human?”

“Thou art no mere human, little traveler,” she said simply. “None of thy kind is meager or lesser in any way. My people have failed to recognize this, and have become too steeped in their hatred towards humanity. The violence my sisters have embraced must be put to an end, and thus I abandoned my people, wandering these lands in search of those who need aid. I will admit, none have accepted my help yet” – a pink tinge came over her face and her steady voice faltered for a moment – “but I believe I will one day encounter one who seeks to heal instead of harm, to understand instead of to hate, and to live instead of merely surviving.” Here the giant girl's eyes shone as she looked down at him. “I believe thee to be the very human I have been seeking. What other human would dare cross the Misted Vales alone, with little more than a sack of provisions and a weapon? Is the quest thou hast embarked upon not one of honor, of valor, of restoration?”

Tristan blinked. The giantess' archaic manner of speech was difficult to understand, but she sounded as though she'd read him quite thoroughly. There was an awkward silence as Tristan tried to figure out what to say next.

Just as he opened his mouth, the giant girl spoke again, a slight pleading edge in her voice.

“I can offer thee wisdom, guidance, protection, whatever you wish. Whatever thee may require, thou need only ask and I shall oblige. I understand that one of my size may appear frightening to one such as thyself, and I can only respond by saying that I shall never leave thy side. No matter what may come between us, I implore thee, little one, let me serve as thy companion, as thy.... as thy maiden.”

Tristan felt the air disappear from his lungs.

Among his people, there was a tradition that no hero should walk alone. Therefore, every knight, upon receiving a quest was assigned a maiden; a woman, usually skilled in magic, who acted as his counterpart, guiding him, protecting him, and comforting him. The role of maiden was an honored role, and the knight was to treat his maiden with respect and honor her for her sacrifice. Maidens were just as venerated as their male counterparts, and many a maiden and knight married after questing together. But the role of maiden was a serious one. It required total devotion on both parts, on pain of death. For a maiden to accept a knight, and vice versa, was a fundamental binding of two souls' fates.

The tradition of knights and maidens had fallen out of practice in recent times, as there simply weren't enough people left to serve such a serious role in this age. That a giantess knew what a maiden was, and that she was offering to serve as his maiden... it was unheard of, to say the least.

“You....” Tristan tried to collect his thoughts. He'd heard the old stories about maidens and knights, and he used to wonder to himself if he'd ever be worthy enough to have a maiden pledge herself to him. He remembered the sadness that had come with realizing that the age of chivalry, of companionship, had ended long before he was even born. It was one of the reasons he'd taken on this quest alone – to try to restore his home, and become someone a maiden would be honored to pledge herself to.

And now here he was, laying in the open palm of a girl like none he'd ever met before, claiming that there would be no greater honor than to serve as his maiden.

“I'm going to the Godbearing Mountain,” he said quietly. “At the edge of the world, to fetch water from the ancient spring and put an end to this blight once and for all. I don't know if it exists, nor if it can even be done. But I figured if you would.... if you would really sacrifice this much, you may as well know what you're getting into.”

The giantess was silent, as though in deep thought. Then she nodded, and asked, “What is thy name, brave little traveler?”

He told her.

She nodded again. “Hold on tight, Tristan.”

Slowly, gently, she lowered him to the ground, and tipped her hand just enough for him to slide off her palm and into the grey-colored grass.

The giantess was still for a second, watching him carefully, then she stood to her full height. Tristan had to crane her neck to even look up at her face, but he could see her amber-colored eyes, looking down at him with such warmth it made him feel strangely giddy.

“I, Lyra,” she said in a clear voice, setting her right hand over her heart, “do pledge myself to aid thee, Tristan, upon thy quest to reach the Godbearing Mountain in the far north, and find a cure to the blight that ravages our lands. I swear to offer guidance, strength, protection, and whatever else thou may require of me, till our quest is done.”

Tristan nodded, and hastily put his right hand over his own heart. “Um.... I, T-Tristan, pledge to complete this quest to the best of my abilities, and to respect and honor my companion, L-Lyra. I swear to act with courage and wisdom, and to persevere and trust in the advice of my companion.... m-my maiden.”

He took an unconscious step back as the giant girl knelt suddenly, then felt ashamed when he realized she was offering him her hand once more.

“Let us seal our bond, little traveler. Take mine hand, as is the custom of your people.”

Tristan forced himself to step forward, slowly raising his hand. He paused as he looked up at the giant girl looming over him. Did he really trust her? A giantess? The supposed enemy of his people, claiming that she wished to join his cause for healing and restoration, and serve as his most loyal companion the whole way?

I implore thee to trust me, she had said, with a look in her eyes that Tristan knew on some deep, instinctive level, meant that he had to do just that. He would do what no other human had dared to do in a hundred years, and learn to trust.

“Let's begin,” he said, placing his hand, so small in comparison, atop her index fingertip. The giant girl smiled, a soft, happy expression, almost cute for one so big. Tristan felt a rush of warmth in his heart, and somehow he understood that history was being made, here and now, at this very moment, between nothing but a farmer boy with foolish dreams and a girl who believed in them.

“May the sun, moon, and stars guide us,” Lyra said softly. “Let us begin.”

it's amazing to see people who see tolkien's representation of women as a positive. take a reblog and a like my friend

I just want to say to my fellow female Tolkien fans that we should not feel ashamed for loving these books that are admittedly male-centric.

It’s tempting to call Tolkien a sexist for including so few female characters in his legendarium, but we must remember that the women he did include are the epitome of girl power and some of the best role models we could ask for: strong and willful and noble and brave, without sacrificing their femininity to prove themselves.

It’s glorious to me how you can flip through the books and see page after page of men doing everything … and then suddenly:

There’s Varda creating the Stars, Sun, and Moon!!

There’s Yavanna saving her trees by inspiring the creation of the Ents!!

There’s Melian making an Elf king forget his own people and then shielding an entire kingdom!!

There’s Lúthien defeating Sauron himself AND Morgoth himself!!!

There’s Idril preventing the complete annihilation of her people by creating the secret path out of Gondolin!!

There’s Galadriel resisting the One Ring!!

There’s Éowyn killing the lord of the Nazgûl!!

There’s Ioreth saving the victims of the Black Breath through her knowledge that the king will be the healer!!

There’s Arwen bridging the gap between Elves and Men as Queen of Gondor!!

There’s 100-year-old Lobelia beating Ruffians with her umbrella and leaving money in her will to help homeless hobbits!!

There’s Rosie raising 13 kids while simultaneously serving the whole Shire as Mistress of Bag End!!

There’s Elanor guarding and preserving the Red Book so that we can read it now!!!

That’s why I just can’t hold too big of a grudge about this. Yes, Tolkien didn’t write female characters too often, and it would’ve been fantastic if there were more. But when he did write them, they were amazing.

And on top of that, his male characters display literally our dream level of healthy masculinity in a man. Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Faramir, etc. are our wish fulfillment. We have every right to enjoy that.

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Addiction: another another masterpost lol

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Let me know if any links don’t work.