Oooo Omg This Is So Interesting! Your Descriptions Are So Vivid And Beautiful. I Was Entranced The Whole
Oooo omg this is so interesting! Your descriptions are so vivid and beautiful. I was entranced the whole time. I could just picture the world in my head, and the ending had me so intrigued. Also, this is one of my favorite types of plots as a trans man.
Some fantasy thing I am fiddling with
She made the decision that from this day forward, she would no longer be Astrid, a peasant girl of unremarkable stock with no discernible direction. Now she’d go by Aegir, the name of her cousin who had passed from the sweating sickness many moons ago. Father’s work as a farrier kept him busy with the horses, mules, and donkeys of traders, merchants, and lower-tier nobles that kept their manors and homes close to Lykkested, the capital of Álfarune the northernmost province of the kingdom of Upplond, and the family’s name had spread far enough for those to know his high-quality work. Whilst Mother worked to help the village women watch the children and brew the mead and dark, stout ale that the village had become known for. All the while, Astrid desired to join King Ragnar’s court as a page and then a knight—a path forbidden to her.
Skinny but strong, a girl on the cusp of womanhood who lacked the curves that defined her gender at this age. Much for the better, in her opinion. Astrid wore a close-fitting under-tunic against her lean chest, with another tunic over it to hide even further. A sharp, chilly wind, smelled of brine and distant adventures, whipped off the Rømskog Sea that ruffled her reddish-brown hair—cropped short beneath the pointed ears of her people, and she even pierced the left tip with a sharp needle and kept an iron ring it, a boyish fashion and something her parents were against but did not stop their strong-willed girl.
That day, with her mind made up, Astrid—now Aegir—announced that she was her lost cousin, at least to those who did not personally know her or her family, who did not pass away but only took some time to heal from the sweating sickness. Arming herself with an iron short-sword shoved into a sheepskin sheath gave her the look of a young boy just before the age of training and education.
Despite the chill of fall on the back of the strong wind, the warming sun still proclaimed itself as summer, even if late in the season. Astrid sat on the low stone wall that surrounded her father’s tiny parcel of land, his hammer still going, even this late in the day. The land of the Álfarune was as breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly dangerous as its people, that she felt herself proud to come from. From the sapphire-colored, icy waters to the jagged granite peaks, worn smooth by countless ages of wind and snow, that pierced the sky and were called the Backbone of the World. To the deep woods, filled with both the mundane and the magical. Their ancient trees, gnarled from the ages, twisted like arthritic fingers; their shadows cast long on those who sought to be under the shelter of their leaves. Just past the outskirts of the hamlet were fields full of ripening barley, millet, and other hardy crops that could survive and grow in the brief summers, a familiar sight that acted as a balm to soothe the anxiety in her stomach. And even now, it helped bolster her decision to leave the hamlet for Blomma Castle, and under the darkness of nighttime.
After the successful escape from her parents’ hut as they slept, Astrid took a deep breath of the sweet summer night air—honeysuckle, juniper berries, and the ever-present damp earth—a deep, cleaning breath, the first of many as she pursued her dreams, which did not include an arraigned marriage to Jozef. Her slightly-upturned nose crinkled in disgust at the mere thought of it. With no time to waste, she took off toward the western road; the ocean was a shimmering silver under the full moon. Leaving the village required careful steps; a bit of luck, and no patrolling guards or their echoing steps behind her, as she escaped from the outskirts.
The worn leather of her fur-fringed satchel creaked as Astrid adjusted the strap, its weight a familiar ache across her chest. A night-hawk cried overhead; its sharp call sliced through the subdued hum of the wind that rustled through tall sea-grasses. A shiver, born of the chilly wind and of apprehension, traced its path down her spine; she was young, undeniably so, and despite looking like a boy, was very much a tempting target in these lands, however safe they might be.
High in the inky sky, the moon, a pearl about to dip below the horizon, cast long shadows like darkened fingers. Between the trees, a faint, flickering light shone through—a tiny, defiant flame against the vast, dark forest. The crisp night air allowed the aroma of wood-smoke to linger, which mingled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting meat; her stomach growled, a low rumble against the evening. Who, she wondered, was cooking at this late hour?
****
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Reposting with just the art cause I'm really happy with how she turned out :D
Love the idea of having a diary for a character, and this is so beautifully written!
5/2
The death of winter is the birth of spring. There’s a certain melody to spring that I can’t quite capture. Is it the hum of the insects leaving their hiding spots I’ve not yet found? The chirps and caws of the animals greeting the still frigid morning? Or could it be the wind that no longer bites at my skin with a deathly cold but instead carries new life: seeds. The scenery is foreign to me now. I had grown used to the blank, muted world, where only the orange from the flames in my hearth broke through the colorless world. Spring comes every year, and yet, I grow no less used to this continuing cycle of life. I am always surprised by the way life continues after tragic deaths.
This book had sat on my desk, untouched for months. It had gathered a thick layer of dust. I stared at it many nights, knowing I had much on my mind. Still I did not write. I have grown comfortable speaking in my own head. Holding the pen is uncomfortable, the ink drips in the pages as I hesitate with my words. I will write, and need to practice what I am not used to. Before I had learned this skill I was ashamed of my incompetence. And yet, having now learned, I find many excuses not to write. My friend would find this humorous. I know that very well. But I love to see his laugh.
For Storyteller Saturday, can you tell us something fun about your current WIP? :)
Thank you for the ask! 💚 /p
So, as the title suggests, in Every Hero needs a Villain, every hero in this has a villain counterpart that sort of serves as their opposite in some ways. I made it this way to help inspire more personality diversity in the cast. Heroes are inspired by the dreams and hopes of humanity, while villains are inspired by the nightmares and fears of humanity. My favorites so far are Mrs Robust, inspired by people's fears of two sided businessmen, Nurse Sanguine, inspired by fears of an overly chipper nurse, and Cuddlefort, inspired by hopes of having a good intimate relationship with a partner.
(Btw, if people want to send my worldbuilding questions for the hero and villain society I am working on for this, I will happily send some back in kind).
I might make a community for it where I share more bio stuff as I work on them, if people are interested.
The artist who made my profile picture! Definitely worth the commision.
Hey y’all! Due to some life circumstances, just taking this moment to remind y’all that I have commissions opened!
Additional Characters +$5
Background +$5 (Or more depending on complexity)
Shading/Lighting +$7
TOS:
I will draw:
Furries
Humans
Canon Characters
OC’s
Selfships
Ship art
Won’t Draw:
Pedophilia
Anything Political
Gore
Mecha
Art Examples:
Characters used in the second and third image belong to my friend @morgan-va
I love him already.
Hey there! 💌 Just swinging by to wish you a gentle, creative day. I hope these questions help you get back to it. :)
Here are your character-building questions, tailored to the emoji(s) you picked:
🗝️: How does your OC react when someone challenges their authority or beliefs in public?
🧠: What does your OC fear about themselves that they rarely, if ever, admit?
✨: What’s something your OC is surprisingly good at that has nothing to do with their main role in the story?
No pressure to answer quickly. Take your time and have fun with it.
Hello and thank you!
I'm gonna go with Henrik from Thief and Guard for these questions, since he's such an important character but has no pov.
🗝️Well you see he has a big glowing halberd. He will use it. He'll at least threaten to use it. ...okay most likely he'll fold his arms and look Big and Imposing until the other party is scared.
🧠He's honestly afraid he's never going to feel like he fits anywhere. He came from across the rift, got really good at fighting monsters, oh but he was too good and got reassigned so many times. Now he's aimless. He can't go home. If he did, he wouldn't fit there, either. He has no home where he is. He convinces himself that's what he wants.
✨knitting! Idk if that counts cause it does play a role in the story. He's a good cook when he has the time and ingredients
Thank you so much for the ask!
Reblog to make him lose another 200 billion, like to make him lose 1 billion
Me going to tell my fandom (my Tumblr followers) lore about my oc that will shatter their hearts (I will get 2 notes)
Yes, yes, I love this dynamic so much! I love both when it's incredibly sweet, and also when it causes a character's downfall.
My favorite relationship dynamic in fiction is a worshipper and their God. Not a literal God, but their God. The only thing in the whole world that matters to them. I will live for you, I would die for you, I would kill for you. My only moral compass is You. You can do no wrong in my eyes and I will never stray from your side. I was born to meet you and to love you. You are the only being I pray to. Your life isn’t just my passion, it’s my religion. You don’t think you’re anything special but you don’t see what I see. You don’t see that you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. You don’t understand how beautiful you are to me and I will devote my entire life to making you understand and accept it.
so this European clothing retailer decided to advertise their jean cuts on youtube and it's unintentionally the funniest shit I've seen today. why? well.
now important context here: in German, die (pronounced 'dee') is just a feminine article, it literally means "the".
but if an ad gets placed in the middle of an English video and doesn't use a single explicitly German word for most of the ad, even a native speaker is gonna think "they want me to die how?" it keeps getting funnier.
I mean, holy shit
i will use these as reaction images until i die
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