#god also slap up tamora pierce

[landwriter]

Ten Books To Know Me

Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

Tagged by @softest-punk, thank you for utterly derailing my afternoon into nostalgia <3 My problem is less not picking ancient books and more not picking exclusively Canadian and English children’s lit published between 1995 and 1999. (Still the first three picks all the same though because it is like, the opus within which my psyche is almost wholly contained.) This got long but I'm going to be very brave and not apologize about that at all. I love talking about books, and these are some of the books I love the most. In chronological order of arrival into my heart.

Some of the Kinder Planets - Tim Wynne-Jones This book has been a part of my life for so long I cannot remember when, exactly, I first read it - only that it was taken from my gran’s shelf; Tim had sent her a copy with a lovely inscription. It’s a short story collection which remains today (and forever) my favourite format. Ted Chiang’s Exhalation, Karin Tidbeck’s Jagannath, Karen Russell’s Orange World, Margaret Atwood’s Stone Mattress are all fabulous examples, stacked before me at my desk, but Some of the Kinder Planets itself lives (alongside my two most precious childhood stuffies) at my mum’s house, the safest place of all. The stories are kids being kids in the way you want to read as a kid yourself: clever and wondering and scared and brave. Special mention also to his Zoom trilogy, beautifully illustrated in black and white by Eric Beddows.

Skellig - David Almond Another book likely pilfered from my granny’s library. There’s a little magic in Some of the Kinder Planets, but here is ALL the magical realism, and it changed me. This book has a sickly bird-or-man-or-angel in a garage being nursed to health by a boy with an ill baby sister in hospital that he can’t help at all; the indelible image of surviving off bluebottles and then getting snuck Chinese takeaway and brown ale; nature and weird kids and William Blake poems. I will weep if I continue thinking about it.

[Not Any Book But Just A Lot Of Books] - Kit Pearson, Diana Wynne-Jones, Kenneth Oppel, Philip Pullman, Madeleine L’Engle, etc. Listen, I know this is an INSANE cop-out but if you know the authors you know more or less exactly what I mean. These are the books that made me more tender than I already was, made me believe in Good, and Kindness, and Love, in a totally immutable way I thankfully do not ever want to change, because I don’t think I could.

Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett My first introduction to Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, and footnotes. Also one of the first books I did not simply pick up because it was Lying Around. I bought it because my older cousin listed it as one of her favourite books on Facebook, and she was (and is) impossibly, horribly cool. I was maybe 13 or 14 and wanted to be cool too. I’ve since read a smattering of Gaiman but I’ve yet to read Terry Pratchett on his own. I’d like to! I know I’d love it.

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul - Douglas Adams Loaned to me by my best friend before we were best friends. It is, apparently, the second novel in the Dirk Gently series, and I remember nothing of it except a very good bit about a couch getting stuck in a stairwell; nonetheless it’s listed here because this is clearly actually a thinly disguised chronology of sentimentality, and also because Douglas Adams is a wonder and delight to read and I don’t need to fully remember the book to know that in my bones. I’m not sure if it’s fair but I’ll also blame Douglas Adams for my inability to be brief and to resist using semi-colons. Could’ve been someone else. But it was definitely someone English.

Sailing to Byzantium - W.B. Yeats This is not a book, but it was in my English Literature textbook in high school, so it counts. If it wasn’t, I would still count it. Why a sixteen year old girl connected with a poem that begins “That is no country for old men.” is irrelevant, as is every stanza but the third, which contains the fateful, ruinous lines: “Consume my heart away; sick with desire / And fastened to a dying animal / It knows not what it is;” I remember when I read it, and I remember the chill feeling of Yeats’ spectral hand reaching all the way from his grave in County Sligo, across the whole Atlantic and the enormous landmass called Canada, to reach into my chest and cruelly grab my own heart, and I remember thinking How, and Exactly. The first thing I read that named the strangeness I felt inside of me. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of all my teenage angst. Written on my bones to this day, if I’m being honest.

Hamlet - Shakespeare We got off on the wrong foot, after I was personally victimized by the line ‘Brevity is the soul of wit’, but I do love Shakespeare. I credit this to having an excellent teacher for it, and reading it aloud in a cohort of tryhards and musicians and theatre kids. A case of familiarity breeds...appreciation, actually. We did a lot of Shakespeare, but we were asked to learn 20 lines of Hamlet specifically, and rewrite them, marked down for every error. Forty lines for bonus marks. There was much grousing and it seemed like a cruel, outdated task of rote memorization, but writing this a decade later, I am belatedly realizing this was a sneaky way to get a bunch of kids to recite a soliloquy so much that they couldn’t help but find the life in it, the rhythm and meter to make it stick in our minds. And now look! I love it! I am writing fanfic in iambic pentameter! Wherefore art my fucking restraint!! I learned my lines so hideously well that when I pulled up the scene just now (2.2, from “Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal peak”), I a) noticed and b) was offended by, minute differences from the version I memorized, which I then searched out and knew the moment I found. Incredible?!  

Still Life With Woodpecker - Tom Robbins The most recent time I’ve read a work of fiction and been rearranged by it, at the tender age of 21. here I am, I wrote, in my journal, after a very good sob, happier and more rudderless than ever. This man writes with totally unfettered joy and unhinged sincerity, two things I am hopelessly into, but also with a deep distaste for institutions and conformity that I desperately needed back then: lost, returned from a year of magical realism and the sort of adulthood growth spurt that makes you feel dizzy, home and yet horribly missing the home I’d made for myself elsewhere, all my nearly-fulfilled ambitions towards security and prestigious government postings feeling sort of hollow and reeking in my hands. It comforted me that I wasn't wrong as much as it spilled my own guts into my hands, and while I went on for another year seeing things through, it planted a seed that quickly grew proper roots and pushed me right off the ledge of respectability. And it’s a love story, of course.

It’s his prose that sits glowing on the horizon to me when I try to write richly: a distant shore of orgiastic language (from which you can surely hear the wind-carried cries of people fucking day and night), towards which I, still shy and prudish, ever point my prow.

How to Be Happy - Eleanor Davis A comic collection. Sharp and wonderful and alive. Another Best Friend gift (bless those around us with impeccable taste), of which every single panel is MARVELOUS. I meant to share one of my favourites here but apparently it has! Gotten up and left!! I will buy another copy in hopes of coaxing it back out of wherever it’s hiding.

Down to Earth - Monty Don This did not rearrange anything. But it does give me a good hug about it, so to speak. A month-by-month gardening guide which is chock-full of brilliant, sensible advice, and also so cheerfully comforting in a highly specific English way that I actually feel like I’m drinking a cuppa whenever I read a page or two of it. It makes me think of my grandmother. And so we’ve come full circle, eh?

I hope some of you are now nodding thoughtfully and thinking, well, Chrissakes, that explains it. Very sorry, hope this helps, etc. Passing on the tag to @fancy-rock-dove, @chubsthehamster, @broomsticks, @wordsinhaled, @btwimkindagay, @hardly-an-escape, @xx-vergil-xx, @that-banhus, and anyone else who wants to expose themselves on main and chat about their fave books

[ineffectualdemon]

Princess who likes doing embroidery

She likes it too much

She stayed up all night finishing the embroidery of her gown and then spent the entire ball talking about the techniques she used and how long it took her

She slapped the visiting Prince's hand when he touched her shoulder because "that took me hours and I don't know where your hands have been!"

One of her maids introduced her to weaving and now she's skipping her lessons on statecraft to dye her own wool

She asked for a flock of sheep of her own for her birthday

Her quarters look like a textile goods shop

She hired a new maid to teach her lacemaking

She is the happiest she's ever been and her parents just want to her pay attention in her diplomacy lessons

(she is but she's always doing some kind of fibre craft at the same time and it annoys her tutor)

ETA: Everyone tagging this Sandry from the Circle of Magic books by Tamora Pierce thank you, I am now aware that the books exist, I was unaware of them before. Now; please for the love of god stop fucking tagging it

Also we can do with more fiber arts princesses. I just want more respect for fiber arts in general

[mss3ng]

I was tagged by @aurltas to share ten things about myself! Thanks for the tag and also sorry for taking like a day or two to actually write this stuff down XD

1.       I enjoy doing fiber arts and related crafts. I learned spinning and needle felting at a music camp a while back and I’ve always adored Tamora Pierce’s circle of magic books. I’m progressively getting better at spinning but once I have yarn I have literally nothing to do with it because I don’t enjoy knitting or crocheting. I would love to get into embroidery as well I have so many hobbies. Also, I’m not sure it counts as fiber arts but I’ve been getting into Chinese decorative knot tying and that’s also fun but makes my hands hurt.

2.       I’ve never thought of myself as a super athletic jock person but I’ve usually enjoyed sports I’ve tried my hand at. I did basketball for a bit and then danced for 8 years (I did one year of competitions and realized that was not for me, god I was so lonely and played so much Pokémon in hotel rooms in the middle of nowhere). Later on I also dabbled in kendo and other forms of sword fighting (but not fencing. Longswords are much more fun).

3.       The Gris OST has gotten me through intense studying ever since I discovered it and it’s never failed to keep me focused on whatever I’m working on, I have no idea why but that soundtrack is beautiful and must be listened to in order. But also, if I’m not in the mood for it, I’ll also swap it out with the Sayonara Wild Hearts or the Persona 5 Royal OSTs for variation’s sake. If you see me smiling at music, it’s most likely video game soundtracks (this cover of the staff roll from Link’s Awakening) or the xiaohei OST (here)

4.       For a few years in college I played clarinet in a video game orchestra where we covered a bunch of my favorite tracks. The ensemble pieces were a blast to play (chamber music sucked though because I hate playing alone on my instrument) and my favorite would either be Simple and Clean because that counter melody slaps, or Ballad of the Goddess where the main violin solo was replaced with an erhu—okay that one was beautiful and I’m so pissed that the orchestra dissolved before we could perform it.

5.       One of my more embarrassing screw ups at work was full on yanking a connector off the logic board of a MacBook pro, right when my supervisor walked in with ice cream for me. Yes, I am a certified apple repair technician. Luckily I didn’t get in trouble because these things happen. And then a few days later I found out another technician accidentally yanked off a different part of the laptop that wasn’t supposed to come off. (I swear we’re good at our jobs now, that was our first semester on the job and told to try to do things by ourselves).

6.       Birds are my favorite animals, I find them extremely fascinating and love all their strange quirks and traits. I can’t name a favorite bird because I have multiple depending on the category (Although I do have a soft spot for the American Robin) but fun fact! There is a bird called the Ash-Breasted Tit Tyrant and I love that this name exists in the world.

7.       I’ve managed to keep a semi-consistent sleep schedule throughout college and have never pulled an all-nighter before (and hope I never will). The closest I’ve gotten was going to bed at 3am to finish a short story for a fantasy class and I was a complete wreck the next day. Unfortunately, my consistent sleep schedule and early waking hours make me the perfect candidate for opening shifts at whatever job I hold. In tech, it’s not as bad since a 7:30 start time is manageable but for coffee shop opens at 6:15 it sucks to wake up an hour beforehand.

8.       Even though I love and adore houseplants, I struggle with keeping new ones alive. In my apartment I have a dwarf umbrella plant, some sort of ivy, and a monstera. They’re all in varying phases of poor health but I’m trying. I also refuse to get succulents because I like leaf leaves. The longest plants I’ve had are two spider plants propagated from my 10th grade English teacher’s plant and those things are hard to kill. I also have a money tree that is getting waaaaaaay too big to keep lugging around from home to campus and back again.

9.       I’ve only written and uploaded one (1) fanfic in my life! While I enjoy reading fanfics, I’ve never been interested in writing them, mostly because I don’t have as much fun working with pre-existing characters over original ones. I like playing in my own sandbox! But something I’ll do from time to time is sticking my own original characters from their original worlds into a crossover with media I like and watching the interactions explode.

10.       Speaking of original works, I’m a writing major (linguistics minor and I could probably cram in a Chinese minor if that was actually a thing at this college)! I write a lot! My main project is Chinese inspired fantasy with fiber arts, familial betrayal, and messing with the red string of fate trope in an unabashed aroace way. Another one that I’m in the character creation and world building process mode of is a viet-inspired fantasy project that’s got timeframe-based magic and a kingdom hearts style existential crisis. Also magic school because why not.

Wow I actually had a bunch to talk about. I’m only going to tag @liuet and there is 100% no pressure to actually do it XD. Anyone else that sees this is free to do it and tag me as well! 

[terriblelifechoices]

omg YES credence/percival "14. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”" for the fic meme?

Okay, so, I thought, since you are a fellow Tortall fan, that it might be fun to do a Tortall AU for FBAWTFT.  (If this doesn’t work for you, feel free to prompt something else?)

For those of you not familiar with the Tortall-verse, the things you need to know are that it’s vaguely medieval fantasy, in which noble (male) children are sent to the Palace at the age of ten for training to become knights of the realm.  They spend four years as a page, learning etiquette and mathematics and how to fight with a number of weapons, and then they spend four years squiring for a specific knight, who is supposed to give them real life hand’s on experience and not get them killed.

Some people have Gifts, which is a more regimented style of magic not entirely dissimilar to the HP-verse, minus the wands, and some people have Wild Magic, which tends to manifest as whatever the hell it wants.

I totally recommend checking out the source material.  The early books are a little problematic, because they were written in the 1980′s, but the later ones are freaking amazing.  The first series starts with Alanna, the First Adventure by Tamora Pierce.

Tortall AU

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” said Credence, still feeling a little numb with horror.  He’d challenged a Scanran warlord to a duel.  Him!  Credence Barebone!  

“I think this might be the dumbest thing you’re ever going to do in your entire life,” Alex told him, checking Credence’s armor.  Alex Collins was closer to his knighthood than Credence was, but he’d always been a mother hen.

“True,” Credence agreed.  “Because Warlord Grindelwald is going to kill me.”

“Grindelwald isn’t going to kill you,” Percival said firmly.  “You’re my squire, remember?  I trained you better than that.  It’s going to take more than some warmongering Scanran upstart to kill you.”

“Oh, gods,” said Credence, looking at his knight master with flat despair.  “You should have bedded me when I asked you to.  I’m going to die a virgin.”

Percival went red and spluttered, stomping away from Credence and Alex and muttering about how Credence was going to be the death of him.

Some days, it was really hard to believe that Percival was the Queen’s Champion – the best knight in all of Tortall.

“Still no luck?” Alex asked.

“No,” Credence said.  “He’s got too much bloody honor to bed me while I’m his squire.  It’d be an abuse of power.  How about you?”  Alex was sweet on one of Queen Seraphina’s handmaidens.  Credence was only a little bit jealous that Alex’s courtship of Dorothy seemed to be going better than his own.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me, once I have my shield,” Alex told him.

Fine.  Credence was more than a little jealous, now.

Dorothy appeared in the doorway, as if mentioning her was enough to summon her.  “Credence Barebone!” she said furiously.  “What did you do?”

Credence hunched his shoulders.  He had almost a foot in height on Dorothy, not to mention quite a lot of muscle mass and training.  She shouldn’t have been able to put the fear of the Goddess in him, but she really, really did.

“He challenged Warlord Grindelwald to a duel,” Percival said, when it became clear that neither Credence nor Alex was going to fess up and risk the wrath of Dorothy.

“You what?” demanded Dorothy.  She smacked him with her project bag.  Since Dorothy’s project bag usually contained at least two knitting projects, her sewing kit, and a half-completed bit of embroidery, getting smacked with it was like getting hit with a very squishy mace, or possibly a porcupine.  A bit soft, a little heavy and full of unexpected pointy bits.

“You didn’t hear the things he said,” Credence protested.  “He was being awful to the Queen.”

“You idiot,” Dorothy said, reaching up to grab one of Credence’s ears and twist hard, dragging him down to her eye level.  “You think the Queen hasn’t heard anything Warlord Grindelwald might have to say before?  She’s an unmarried monarch and a woman, you idiot.  She hears that sort of bile all the time, and you don’t see her picking fights now do you?”

“Ow,” said Credence.  “Ow, ow, ow.  Let go, Dorothy!”  He gently pried her fingers off his ear.  “I know that.  I’ve sat in on too many meetings with Percival not to know that even our own nobles sometimes look at Queen Seraphina like she’s a piece of meat.  But Warlord Grindelwald was worse about it.  The things he said, about the Queen, about Percival – he went beyond acceptable rudeness.  Queen Seraphina can’t call him out for it, because he came here to propose marriage to her and that would cause a diplomatic incident.  Percival can’t either, for the same reason.  But me?  I’m nobody.  Just a squire.  I can call Warlord Grindelwald out, and no one will care because everyone will think I’m just a dumb kid.”

“Oh,” Dorothy said, her expression softening.  “What did he say?”

Credence set his jaw stubbornly.  “I’m not repeating it.  It was vulgar and rude.”  Just thinking about it made him tremble faintly with rage.  He wasn’t sure what he objected to more – Warlord Grindelwald’s casual assumption that Queen Seraphina was somehow beneath him, when she had royal blood and he had none, or the fact that Warlord Grindelwald assumed that Queen Seraphina and Percival were lovers.

They had been, once, when she was a princess and he was her father’s squire.  Everyone knew that.  But that was over a decade ago, and they were friends now.

“I don’t care if you keep bedding him, so long as you give me an heir,” Warlord Grindelwald had said.  “Frankly, I’d like a go at him myself.  He’s a comely looking creature, your Champion.”

That had been when Credence slapped him with his gloves.

“I hope you don’t expect me to fight your squire, Champion,” Warlord Grindelwald had said.

“It’s the honorable thing to do,” Percival had pointed out mildly.  “Credence is the one who challenged you, not me.”

Warlord Grindelwald had stared at him.  “I’m fairly certain you’re meant to be talking me out of this,” he’d said eventually.  “Or do you value the boy’s life so cheaply?”

Percival had smiled at him, all teeth.  “On the contrary, I value Credence’s life very dearly indeed.  I also have faith in his training.”

“Fine,” said the warlord.  “On your head be it, then.”

“If you get killed,” Dorothy said, “I will be very upset with you.”

“Not half as upset as I will be,” said Percival, stepping up to tie one of his handkerchiefs around Credence’s elbow.  “If Seraphina gave you a favor, things would get political again,” he said.  “You should have something, though,” he added, as though Percival’s favor was some sort of consolation prize.

“I’d rather have yours than hers,” Credence told him.

“Don’t get killed,” Percival told him.

“Is that your advice?” Credence inquired.  “Don’t get killed?”

“It’s good advice,” Percival said.  “Also, he’s partially blind in his right eye.  Use that to your advantage, if you can.”

Credence nodded and stepped into the training yard.  They had an audience.  Other Scanrans from Warlord Grindelwald’s retinue.  The wild mage Newt, who cared for the palace menagerie and spoke to animals as if they were people.  Percival’s friend Dame Win, and the newly minted Dame Tina, who had been Dame Win’s squire not long ago.  Dame Tina’s sister Queenie, from the kitchens, and her husband Jacob.

“Last chance to back out, boy,” the warlord taunted him.  

“I’m no coward,” Credence retorted.  “But feel free to back out, if you’d like.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Warlord Grindelwald mused.

“May I remind you, Grindelwald, that your duel will go until one of you yields,” Queen Seraphina interjected coldly.  

“Of course,” Grindelwald said, feigning gentility.  Lower, so only Credence could hear him, he said, “Death is a form of yielding, after all.”

“Begin!” Queen Seraphina commanded.

Grindelwald attacked first.  He was older and more muscular than Credence was, fighting with a heavy broadsword it would be suicide to try and block.  The Scanrans favored heavy weaponry, like spears and broadswords and maces.  Their fighting style was completely different from the Tortallan one, but Credence had spent the last year on the border fighting bandits with Percival.  He knew how to deal with Scanrans.

“Broadswords are great in a melee,” Percival had told him.  “Especially if you don’t care about inflicting collateral damage.  But they’re shit in close quarters combat.  Their length and the fact that they’re unwieldy make them impractical weapons for a knight.”

“The bandits like them well enough,” Credence had pointed out.  A broadsword seemed like a decent weapon for a mounted knight.

“Of course they do, they’re idiots.  They think the size of the sword is what matters, not to mention the muscles it takes to swing the bloody things.  You have to out think the bastards.  Get in close, where their range limits their maneuverability.  Finish your opponent off quick, and get out of range if you have to.”

Credence sidestepped Grindelwald’s initial strike, moving in close.  He meant to draw first blood, just to humiliate Grindelwald, but he hadn’t counted on Grindelwald being so fast.  He dodged another blow, ducking beneath it the way the Shang Hippogriff had taught him to.  He wasn’t as good at tumbling as Theseus was, not in armor, and Grindelwald landed a blow that was going to bruise like hell on his shoulder.

Credence gritted his teeth.  He wasn’t going to let Grindelwald defeat him.  Grindelwald was fast, but he was pretty sure that he was faster.  He had the advantage of youth and flexibility on his side.

He ducked in close again, using his sword to parry the broadsword away and managing to knick Grindelwald with his knife.  Grindelwald hissed at him.

Credence laughed and did it again, alight with glee.  Grindelwald had made himself a warlord by conquering anyone in his path, but he was no match for a proper Tortallan knight.

If he hadn’t been so out of his head on adrenaline, Credence never would have thought that.  The gods punished hubris.

No one had mentioned that Grindelwald was Gifted.  He gestured at Credence, his hands glowing white, and Credence fell over screaming, every nerve in his body screaming with him like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Using your Gift during a fight is dishonorable,” Percival shouted angrily.

“Bah,” spat Grindelwald.  “You Tortallans are so hung up on your honor.  It makes you easy to kill.”

“You’ve got magic,” Credence said, rolling over onto his hands and knees.  “That’s nice.  I’ve got magic, too.”  Credence had wild magic, like Newt, although his didn’t manifest with animals or anything found in nature.  He was pretty much a one trick pony, although it was a damned impressive trick, if Credence said so himself.

He let the magic take him, his eyes leeching white while his body became insubstantial, like smoke.  He curled his fingers into claws and leapt towards Grindelwald, laughing when Grindelwald’s sword passed right through him.  Grindelwald couldn’t hurt him when he was like this, but Credence could hurt Grindelwald.  He batted the Scanran’s sword out of his hands and pounced on him, slamming him to the ground and curling his clawed hands around Grindelwald’s throat.

“Yield,” he hissed, claws drawing blood.  “Yield, damn you.”

There was nothing but hate on Grindelwald’s face.  “I yield,” he snarled.

He would be trouble.  Credence could see it in his eyes.  For a second, he was tempted to drag his claws against Grindelwald’s throat anyway and spare them all future sorrow, and then Percival’s hand closed around the bit of smoke currently functioning as Credence’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, lad.  You’ve won.  Let him up,” Percival said quietly.

Percival could touch him, when Credence was his shadow-self.  Credence didn’t know why he could, but Percival had always been able to.  Credence let himself go human again, his nerves still twinging in pain from whatever Grindelwald had done.

Transforming always made Credence feel wobbly and weak.  Jacob was already moving towards him, pulling a pastry out of his apron pocket.  “Good fight,” he told Credence.

“Yes,” Percival said.  “You did well.”  He cupped Credence’s cheek in one hand, and for a second Credence thought that Percival might kiss him.  Then Percival ruined the moment by ruffling his hair.  “It won’t be long before we’re calling you Sir Credence,” he murmured.

Credence grinned, because Percival could hardly complain about a power imbalance between them if Credence had his shield.  “I can’t wait,” he said.

One corner of Percival’s mouth quirked up, a there and gone wry smile that happened so fast Credence almost thought he’d imagined it.  “Me neither.”

The way Credence fights as the obscurus is inspired by Emily from Dishonored 2, with many thanks to @halcyoncoast for showing me the trailer and inspiring many new Credence headcanons.