Occupation: Part-time writer/artist, part-time student, full-time dork.
To continue with my post earlier, if you’re going to write a female character its really easy to just not make them a misogynist. Does your female character have short hair and hang out with the boys and love fighting and hate dresses? Good for them! That’s great! But you have a decision to make: is this a personal preference of the character or am I making them misogynistic?
Easy example. Your female character has to wear a dress for an event.
Misogynistic: Ugh! I don’t want to wear a dress they’re so uncomfortable! Other women love dresses but not me! They all just waste time and whine and gossip and I need to do things!
Not misogynistic: Ugh! I don’t want to wear a dress they’re so uncomfortable! Other women love dresses but not me! I much prefer the freedom of wearing pants.
Seriously all you need to do is not add that line about how hating stereotypical-female-thing makes your character better than other women or how liking it makes other women Bad in some way. It’s that simple, just don’t put women or feminine things down to lift your Badass Female Character up
First of all, thanks a lot—that’s very kind of you to say, and I’m very flattered! Unfortunately, though, I don’t take requests. My already overabundant WIPs are holding me at gunpoint telling me to say no, I haven’t really been in a fanfiction mood lately, and something tells me if I open requests I’ll never see the end of it. Sorry! Thanks for asking, though!
Just this one more Daisukame, I promise, okay? When Julie gave us that delicious “dreaming of kissing each other while sharing a room” bit I just knew I had to do something with all that UST. Since, you know, canon won’t. Enjoy!
It’s a strange new feeling, sharing a room with someone.
Daisuke has never had to do that before, not even when growing up with his brothers. One of the upsides of being a Taiyo is that all the homes are large enough to have plenty of rooms for everyone; he doesn’t think he has slept in the same bedroom with anyone since he stopped sharing one with his parents as an infant.
And now, here he is. Staying in the same room as someone who isn’t family at all—and for that bit Daisuke is grateful.
“I’ll just take up this little corner here,” Okame remarks, huddling up as far from the door as possible. “Don’t let me disturb you. If I snore, just kick me or something.”
Daisuke smiles despite the prick of sadness in his chest. Does he always have to say such things? It is growing frustrating, watching one he cares about belittle himself like that.
“I will,” he says with a smile, “but only if you promise to do the same, should you catch me talking in my sleep.”
Okame snorts. “You talk in your sleep? How dishonorable, Taiyo-san. What would people say if they knew?”
“They would call me human, I hope,” Daisuke answers. “Though I have to admit I’m not certain I do. It’s not like I can hear myself while sleeping.”
“You don’t,” Okame answers. “At least, not that I’ve ever heard it. The only one who does that is Yumeko-chan.”
“And I,” Daisuke retorts, “have never been disturbed by your snoring.”
“It’s less bad when I’m sober.” Yawning, Okame curls up in his futon, facing the wall. “Just a fair warning.”
Daisuke remains standing, holding his own futon, wondering where to lie down. The generous spaciousness of the room is both a blessing and a curse. Would it be wrong for him to sleep close to Okame when the ronin has given him all this room? Is him squeezing himself into the smallest corner an attempt at courtesy or a request to be left alone?
“Are you comfortable in that corner?” Daisuke asks quietly. Okame turns around.
“I’m not used to these big rooms,” he says with a lopsided grin. “I’d rather sleep in a closet than this thing. At least in a smaller space, nothing can creep up on you.”
“Nothing will.”
Following a sudden impulse, Daisuke crosses the room, placing his futon down as close to Okame’s as manners allow. “If anything enters this room unbidden,” he says, “I will lie between you and the door, and anything that tries to hurt you will have to go through me first.” He smiles. “Rest assured.”
Okame looks like he wants to make a witty remark, then he cracks a defeated smile. “That’s actually reassuring,” he admits. “Well played, Taiyo-san. I can’t even say anything to that.”
Daisuke smiles, and Okame sighs. “Even if I don’t get why you’re saying all that, peacock,” he mutters. “That’s a pretty big favor you’re doing me. How can a ronin dog even repay that?”
You’re wrong, Daisuke thinks. It is not you I am doing a favor. I have made this offer for entirely selfish reasons.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Okame-san,” he says out loud, frowning. “You are my friend. Do not insult me with this talk of repayment.”
“All right, all right.” Okame crawls back into his futon, facing the wall once more. “Just try not to breathe in my direction too much. I probably smell of sake.”
Daisuke lies down. The ronin is less than an arm’s reach away, his reddish brown hair, undone for the night, spilling out of the futon and onto the floor. He does smell of sake. Daisuke finds he doesn’t mind.
He wouldn’t even mind, he thinks, if the two of them were lying closer, much closer—if Okame was facing his way, if they were right beside each other, close enough to intertwine their legs and get tangled in each other’s arms. He wouldn’t mind if they fell asleep in an embrace, their breathing and heartbeats synchronizing, taking refuge in each other’s warmth against the chilly air of Hakumei Castle.
But here they are, sleeping in the same room, alone, unobserved, and they must lie separately, just out of each other’s reach.
For how long, Daisuke wonders?
How much longer until you understand, Okame-san?
Do you not love me, or will you not?
He extends his hand. His fingers hover a breath from the sleeping ronin’s back, hesitating to touch his shoulder blade or run through his hair.
Finally Daisuke pulls back. No point in ruining this, he thinks, even as regret pulses through his fingertips.
He closes his eyes.
“You do smell of sake, Okame-san,” he whispers, knowing the ronin can’t hear him. “But I am glad you’re here.”
Dwarf | 169 | Male
Appearance: Short, broad and sturdy; reddish-brown hair and beard beginning to gray; dark eyes; wears expensive clothes, including a waistcoat with diamond-studded buttons
Family: At least one great-aunt; plenty of other relatives he has little to do with
“Touch any of these maps, pointy-ears, and I’ll have you redraw them yourself.”
An aging dwarf, youngest in a long line of mapmakers and currently the best in the Oldlands. Living isolated in a tower in the Snowy Mountains, he keeps interaction with people to a minimum and lives solely for his work. But when the party shows up on his doorstep in search of news about dragons, he finds himself pulled into a journey as well…
Spirit | As old as the world itself | Female
Appearance: Very old; gray hair, dark eyes, ethnically ambiguous. Usually seen wearing a cloak.
Family: Maethya (twin spirit)
“I know everyone I meet. That is what I am.”
The Spirit of Knowledge, the last of the ancient deities still remaining on earth. A traveler who teaches people wherever she goes, usually presenting as a kindhearted but cranky old lady. But how much she actually knows, how much power she has and what her goals are—those are questions no one but her can answer, not even the other spirits…
Fantasy novels have honestly ruined real-life romance for me TBH. Like, if we can’t start at odds and then slowly grow to care about each other while tasked to save the world and face mortal danger together and save each other’s lives repeatedly before we finally admit our undying love for each other then what is even the point?
![Evariel: [does the math in his head to remember how human aging works]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/abef14fc8946f0a9eb5bd6672156ee69/bcd8b01774e111f4-20/s1280x1920/a08613d69ceb2dc69bef18b78fde8b2c38af52dc.png)