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when i was a teenager it felt very revolutionary to be cruel to myself. like some kind of slow passive protest against how much everything hurt. i starved myself of sleep and food and tenderness because it felt right. it felt sharp and angry and radical and i wanted to be those things. adulthood is the realisation that the world is already working to cut into you well before you learn how to do it yourself. caring for yourself and others is the real protest

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I think my favorite thing about 3zun is that all three of them are actively trying to make 3zun work, but because they all have completely different worldviews and circumstances, the harder they try the more they push each other away. It's a microcosm of some of the themes of the novel and I love it

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You know what would make a GREAT plot twist? Fidelity.

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Mongolian armour - Huyag.

Most armour was made of hardened leather and iron, laced together onto a fabric backing, sometimes silk.

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“Each Starday I pay visit to the ill at the temple hospital,” Xenk said. “The clerics of Eldath allow me to provide succor where I can.” 

Edgin squinted. “Okay. But what do you do for fun?” 

“Fun?” Xenk echoed. It seemed that he had never conceived of this word before, relating to himself. After a worrisomely long pause, he confessed. “I have been known to read for pleasure.” 

“That’s … something I guess,” Edgin sighed. “Let me guess - courtly poetry? Epics of ancient battles?” 

“This, I recently finished.” Xenk reached into his pack and retrieved a well-thumbed book bound in cheap parchment. Emblazoned over a painting of a half-elf bard, shirt torn to his navel, being bent over by a knight in full armor - The Paladin’s Wicked Oath. 

Edgin raised his eyebrows. “Well … I didn’t expect that.” 

“Despite the title, Ser Gervassius’s intentions are not wicked at all,” Xenk said reassuringly. “Though perilous forces throw them together, Robinet and  Gervassius share a deep and earnest bond. The author - Goodwife Isobelle - does not correctly represent a paladin’s oath, but she has such understanding of men’s souls.” With a lingering sigh, Xenk placed the book in Edgin’s palm and clasped both hands around it. “It is nothing short of stirring. I implore you to read it.” 

“Really, it’s okay,” Edgin mumbled. “I don’t need …” 

“What’re you two still doing out here?” Holga walked up. “Oh hey. It’s Edgin’s book.” 

“It is my book,” Xenk answered, confused as Edgin looked at Holga with a frantic expression, shaking his head.

“Edgin’s book,” Holga emphasized. “The one he wrote. Under that stupid penname.” She took the book from Edgin’s slack hand. “Goodwife Isobelle,” she snorted. “Edgin’s never been a good wife a day in his life.” 

“Well!” Edgin clapped his hands, determinedly not looking at Xenk as his ears burned. “Holga is right. What are we still doing out here? Time to get a move on … !” 

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…

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Always thinking about the spell Link has on the Zora Royal Family

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underrated fantasy thing is when authors want to avoid giving an actual earth year their story takes place so the characters say shit like "back in the Year Of The Skateboarding Dragon" and all the other characters are like ah yes how could we forget the crops were so plentiful the year that dragon did those sweet sweet kickflips

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Joseph's brothers would have sold him to One Direction

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just learned that magnolias are so old that they’re pollinated by beetles because they existed before bees

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Literally how I feel about my special interests and such…hes so good im gonna throw up

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This is it, the best news story (from BBC news):

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Sometimes the rats in my brain come together and start yelling “YEARNING” and in trying to appease them I ask “FOR WHAT” but they are too small so all they can say is “YEARNING” which is a very big word for such a tiny creature, even collectively