asktheboywholived:

gin-draws:

in some universe Harry’s third year ends with his recently-outed-as-a-werewolf former professor, and his recently-acquitted-escaped-convict godfather queer uncles having some words with the Dursleys

(( OOC: Okay, you can’t reblog this without the tags. 😉 )) 

momolady:

A commission for @zmun featuring a new take on one of my demons! I hope you all enjoy.

  You’ve been given a task of going through the wine cellar of some old relative. They no longer live at the house and are trying to get rid of everything there. You’re not sure how you’re related to this person, as far as you know you’ve never heard of some rich eccentric relative. The job is paying you well though, and you’re able to use your skills to date and price the wines there for the auction.

   The wine cellar is massive. In your days working with wine dining and drinks, you’ve never seen such a sight. It reminds you of that old story, The Cask of Amontillado. Somewhere, deep within these walls, some asshole is boarded up in the walls. Suddenly, we were very grateful that you weren’t the owner of this house, because you would, in fact, have a lot of assholes in your walls.

   You set to work, going about the tomb-like reserve of wine labeling it and setting aside bottles to look over and sample later. You’re stunned by the collection, seeing wines only rich pedantics would guffaw about in the restaurants you worked at. You can’t even tell how many times you and your bosses had slipped annoying patrons Arbor Mist under the guise of finery.

   But these bottles were the real deal, and you felt like you were holding a treasure trove in the palm of your hands. You set a few bottles aside for yourself, the relative said you could, he told you he had no qualms with you taking first pick before he auctioned off the rest.

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momolady:

I wrote the original draft of my Rakshsa King without many plans of ever continuing him. But now, Amit and Mythri are two of my biggest and most well loved characters. I wanted to go back and update the original for a long time, now I have.

You’ve been in King Amit’s court since you were young, you had lost your family to Gnoll slavers
You’ve been in King Amit’s court since you were young, you had lost your family to Gnoll slavers. Your father risked his life to get you to the safety of the Rakshasa Royal city. You were taken in by Rakshasa royal guard and placed to work in the palace. So you grew up knowing the ins and outs of his palace intimately. You knew every hidden passageway and secret tunnel, including the ones that ran behind the bathhouse that only his secret corps were supposed to know.

When you grew older, you got a job on Amit’s staff, running various odd jobs around the palace. Soon you caught the attention of some of the Amit’s council and became a page on their personal staff. You had seen King Amit many times before, but this was your first time being so close to him. You had always admired him, not just for being a good ruler, but for his beauty.

Amit was bigger than you imagined, his shoulders broad, arms thick, his thick hands looked as big as the shields of the royal knights. His fur pure white with thick white stripes cutting across it. His eyes gleamed when he was deep in thought, sharp as the sword that hung at his hip. No wonder stories about him were often so terrifying, you knew you wouldn’t want to come upon him when he was angry.

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vocifersaurus:

thebibliosphere:

morgynleri:

deadcatwithaflamethrower:

Creative Writing Professor at a former college: Welcome to creative writing! By the way,
you will not write fantasy, ghost stories, pranormal, or science fiction
in this class, as this is a creative writing course.”

What the ever loving fuck is with “creative” writing professors who think that speculative fiction of any stripe ISN’T CREATIVE?

I still remember my own creative writing teacher telling me this because he saw the Terry Pratchett book on my desk and got this smug smirk on his face like “aha, gotcha”. He had the nerve to pick it up and call it “popularist fiction”, like somehow being popular and easily accessible made it less inherent in intellectual value.

I had it in my back pack because I did my final thesis on the evolution of mythology and folk tails into fantasy and sci-fi and the societal importance of telling stories (before anyone asks, no I don’t have it, I lost it when I moved continents), and I used Terry Pratchett because there wasn’t a single humanitarian issue the man did not touch on.

Which I told him. And then he kind of floundered and went “ah, well but, it’s…well I mean it’s not exactly high brow”, like neither the fuck was Shakespeare or Dickens you self-important turnip. Dickens was literally selling his stories by the chapter. He was the popular author of his time. Shakespeare was too, he fucking made up words and phrases all the time because the language he needed to express himself didn’t exist in the way he needed it too.

Intellectual elitism is nothing more than a hold over from class warfare and the belief that only certain people should get to be truly educated. And it needs to be smashed.

neither the fuck was Shakespeare or Dickens you self-important turnip