The Symbolism In This One Had Me By A Death Grip. I Could Picture It So Clearly In My Head, And I Like

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?

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites @moremysteries

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post. Send me a message, or even just reply to any of my posts asking!

Reblog to make him lose another 200 billion, like to make him lose 1 billion

I really don't want to discuss this issue in greater detail, and plan to avoid doing so in the future, but I will say this:

You can be anti censorship without silencing the voices of victim's whose experiences do not conveniently back your viewpoint. We are not tools for your arguments, we are living people with lived experiences we should be allowed to express.

Also, just like you wouldn't assume someone talking about how the teachings of the Bible hurt them means they want the Bible to be censored, you shouldn't assume someone talking about how certain media hurt them or was used to groom them automatically means they want it to be censored. I was groomed by certain media, but I am anti censorship. I want to see more human potrayels of victims in media. I am still anti censorship. These things can co exist. I am not going to suddenly stop talking about it because some brain dead idiots on the internet can not fathom nuance. I promise you it is worthwhile sitting down with yourself and examining why you assume victims are always out to get you if they don't repackage their experiences in a way that kisses the ass of your world view. We are people, we are not here for your comfort or convenience. If you are not ready to hear about certain experiences, be mature and block instead of treating us as evil.

If you are using being "anti purity culture" as a weapon to silence victims, you are just as bad as the people who use purity culture to silence victims. Being "for victims" means respecting the experiences of victims viewed as "sexual weirdos" and victims viewed as "too prudish" equally. Pressuring victims to not bring their experience to the table because you constantly assume we want to censor you is a shit thing to do.

Ooo that sounds so cool! What cybernatic implants are you thinking?

I'm late, but happy worldbuilding wednesday! Any favorite animals who've created or modified for your story?

None so far, but I do plan on having some squirrels shown in a future chapter with cybernetic implants!

☆⭐︎ The official Who Goes There? chapter hub ⭐︎☆

This is where I will catalog every chapter and chunk of my book that I post here on Tumblr in case you want to read everything in order. For more information about this project, such as its premise, content warnings and where else to find it, click here.

DISCLAIMER: This list will be modified as I go, so if you don’t see any updates or links for a while, just know I’m trying to format the new stuff in a way that looks somewhat appealing.

☂︎ Chapter one umbrella: ☂︎

Chunk 1.

If you're a writer you're supposed to write a lot of bullshit. It's part of the gig. You have to write a lot of absolute garbage in order to get to the good bits. Every once in a while you'll be like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time writing bullshit," but that's dumb. That's exactly the same as an Olympic runner being like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time running all those practice laps"

bitchmysteries

replace one word of your url with bitch

I like the description! It gives a good mental image of what it sounds like.

Man, trying to write a lisp is hard. I don't want to do it phonetically, since it can come off as ablist or what-have-you. Trying to mimic an interdental lisp

In a husky, throaty voice and plosive language gave her speech an aspect that she popped bubbles with her words. “I’m Kaylie King,” the young woman replied. “I’ve been in contact with Mrs. Hawke. She said that she wanted to meet me in person. At ten-thirty on the sixteenth. Today is the sixteenth, sir.”

Reposting with just the art cause I'm really happy with how she turned out :D