howlingguardian:

Talk fantasy prosthetics to me.

An elf maiden dances on feet of living wood sung into shape, planted in soil and watered when she takes them off. Every year she plants the old ones and sings a new pair. (Incidentally, the pair of peach saplings from three years ago have produced an excellent crop- She makes preserves from them, and despite the inevitable jokes about “toe-jam”, they are appreciated.)

A dwarf king has a metal fist, all tiny gears and fine wires, kept wound by a mischievous mine-spirit bound to the spring as punishment- the more it struggles, the tighter the spring. 

An orc chieftaness is regularly asked for the story of how she earned the name Wyrmthrottler- she boasts of how she strangled the dragon that ate her arm, and had her shaman make a new arm from its bones, with its fangs as the fingers.

A necromancer simply re-attached his old leg bones- Sacrificing a few mice each day keeps it going.

A pirate captain lost her arm to a shark attack: a passing selkie saved her, and gave her tattoos of kraken blood. Now she has an arm made of salt-water, that grows and wanes with the tides, and swings a cutlass as well as the original. (She doesn’t sail as far these days though: she doesn’t want her wife to worry.)

A wandering swordsman was broken at the waist- his ancestral armour allows him to walk again, as long as he keeps it polished, and burns incense to the ancestors regularly.

A high priestess has an eye made from a crystal ball- to predict the future, all she has to do is wink.

A bard was struck deaf by illness- he struck a deal with the god of music. Now he wears hearing-trumpets made from his old pipes, and dedicates his every song to the god of music- the better he plays, the better his hearing. (It is said his music could make statues weep, and he can hear a mouse fart at 60 paces.)

A princess has the arm of a golem, enchanted clay with mystic words carved in- her music tutor despairs of how her harp playing has become even worse, but her calligraphy tutor is ecstatic over her handwriting.

A goblin pickpocket has an arm made of whatever he steals- no-one feels his fingers, and even if they did, they couldn’t find their possessions amongst all the rest.  

A witch has eyes made from shadow and starlight, given to her in a game with a demon. Nobody dares to ask what she wagered- they aren’t even sure she won.

A warg was born deaf and blind- his people learned of his power when the nearest birds started staring at them, and dogs pricked up their ears as he walked past.

bookstorepropaganda:

I really hate when a POC tries to talk about the lack of diversity in books, specifically YA, and someone is like “NO! Here’s a list of 10 black protags! And 5 Native! And 2 Latino! So much diversity if you look!”

No. Don’t give me crumbs and expect me to be happy. Don’t give me the same rehashed story of the Black kid overcoming the projects or the Native kid escaping the rez and their alcoholic parents or the Latino kid getting out of the barrio. That’s not what I want and that’s not what we deserve.

I want books with Native kids defeating aliens. I want books with Black kids overthrowing the government. Give me a book where the protag is a Latino asexual girl who has a wild adventure with her two new unlikely friends.

But don’t give me fucking crumbs and expect me to be satisfied. Everyone wants to eat a full meal at the goddamn table, you feel?

kuklarusskaya:

you know why it’s so critically important to celebrate women over the age of 40? 

because young women and girls need role models. need someone to aspire to become as they age. 

as it is, society basically tells girls and young women: aspire to be 18-22. do not aspire or imagine past that, for you are useless without youth and beauty. do not aspire to be wise, or strong, beautiful without youth, or valuable with lines and wrinkles. and THAT is scary. we put a cap on aspirations for girls, because we want them to think the ideal comes and goes by 20–when really, we’re at our best for many, many years beyond.