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songofapollon · 1 month ago

Text

Homeric Hymn III. TO APOLLO

Translated by H. G. Evelyn-White

TO DELIAN APOLLO

[1] I will remember and not be unmindful of Apollo who shoots afar. As he goes through the house of Zeus, the gods tremble before him and all spring up from their seats when he draws near, as he bends his bright bow. But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in thunder; and then she unstrings his bow, and closes his quiver, and takes his archery from his strong shoulders in her hands and hangs them on a golden peg against a pillar of his father's house. Then she leads him to a seat and makes him sit: and the Father gives him nectar in a golden cup welcoming his dear son, while the other gods make him sit down there, and queenly Leto rejoices because she bare a mighty son and an archer. Rejoice, blessed Leto, for you bare glorious children, the lord Apollo and Artemis who delights in arrows; her in Ortygia, and him in rocky Delos, as you rested against the great mass of the Cynthian hill hard by a palm-tree by the streams of Inopus.

[19] How, then, shall I sing of you who in all ways are a worthy theme of song? For everywhere, O Phoebus, the whole range of song is fallen to you, both over the mainland that rears heifers and over the isles. All mountain-peaks and high headlands of lofty hills and rivers flowing out to the deep and beaches sloping seawards and havens of the sea are your delight. Shall I sing how at the first Leto bare you to be the joy of men, as she rested against Mount Cynthus in that rocky isle, in sea-girt Delos -- while on either hand a dark wave rolled on landwards driven by shrill winds -- whence arising you rule over all mortal men?

[30] Among those who are in Crete, and in the township of Athens, and in the isle of Aegina and Euboea, famous for ships, in Aegae and Eiresiae and Peparethus near the sea, in Thracian Athos and Pelion's towering heights and Thracian Samos and the shady hills of Ida, in Scyros and Phocaea and the high hill of Autocane and fair-lying Imbros and smouldering Lemnos and rich Lesbos, home of Macar, the son of Aeolus, and Chios, brightest of all the isles that lie in the sea, and craggy Mimas and the heights of Corycus and gleaming Claros and the sheer hill of Aesagea and watered Samos and the steep heights of Mycale, in Miletus and Cos, the city of Meropian men, and steep Cnidos and windy Carpathos, in Naxos and Paros and rocky Rhenaea -- so far roamed Leto in travail with the god who shoots afar, to see if any land would be willing to make a dwelling for her son. But they greatly trembled and feared, and none, not even the richest of them, dared receive Phoebus, until queenly Leto set foot on Delos and uttered winged words and asked her:

[51] "Delos, if you would be willing to be the abode of my son "Phoebus Apollo and make him a rich temple --; for no other will touch you, as you will find: and I think you will never be rich in oxen and sheep, nor bear vintage nor yet produce plants abundantly. But if you have the temple of far-shooting Apollo, all men will bring you hecatombs and gather here, and incessant savour of rich sacrifice will always arise, and you will feed those who dwell in you from the hand of strangers; for truly your own soil is not rich."

[62] So spake Leto. And Delos rejoiced and answered and said: "Leto, most glorious daughter of great Coeus, joyfully would I receive your child the far-shooting lord; for it is all too true that I am ill-spoken of among men, whereas thus I should become very greatly honoured. But this saying I fear, and I will not hide it from you, Leto. They say that Apollo will be one that is very haughty and will greatly lord it among gods and men all over the fruitful earth. Therefore, I greatly fear in heart and spirit that as soon as he sets the light of the sun, he will scorn this island -- for truly I have but a hard, rocky soil -- and overturn me and thrust me down with his feet in the depths of the sea; then will the great ocean wash deep above my head for ever, and he will go to another land such as will please him, there to make his temple and wooded groves. So, many-footed creatures of the sea will make their lairs in me and black seals their dwellings undisturbed, because I lack people. Yet if you will but dare to sware a great oath, goddess, that here first he will build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, then let him afterwards make temples and wooded groves amongst all men; for surely he will be greatly renowned."

[83] So said Delos. And Leto sware the great oath of the gods: "Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above, and dropping water of Styx (this is the strongest and most awful oath for the blessed gods), surely Phoebus shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you he shall honour above all."

[89] Now when Leto had sworn and ended her oath, Delos was very glad at the birth of the far-shooting lord. But Leto was racked nine days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont. And there were with her all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rhea and Ichnaea and Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses save white-armed Hera, who sat in the halls of cloud-gathering Zeus. Only Eilithyia, goddess of sore travail, had not heard of Leto's trouble, for she sat on the top of Olympus beneath golden clouds by white-armed Hera's contriving, who kept her close through envy, because Leto with the lovely tresses was soon to bear a son faultless and strong.

[102] But the goddesses sent out Iris from the well-set isle to bring Eilithyia, promising her a great necklace strung with golden threads, nine cubits long. And they bade Iris call her aside from white-armed Hera, lest she might afterwards turn her from coming with her words. When swift Iris, fleet of foot as the wind, had heard all this, she set to run; and quickly finishing all the distance she came to the home of the gods, sheer Olympus, and forthwith called Eilithyia out from the hall to the door and spoke winged words to her, telling her all as the goddesses who dwell on Olympus had bidden her. So she moved the heart of Eilithyia in her dear breast; and they went their way, like shy wild-doves in their going.

[115] And as soon as Eilithyia the goddess of sore travail set foot on Delos, the pains of birth seized Leto, and she longed to bring forth; so she cast her arms about a palm tree and kneeled on the soft meadow while the earth laughed for joy beneath. Then the child leaped forth to the light, and all the goddesses washed you purely and cleanly with sweet water, and swathed you in a white garment of fine texture, new-woven, and fastened a golden band about you.

[123] Now Leto did not give Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, her breast; but Themis duly poured nectar and ambrosia with her divine hands: and Leto was glad because she had borne a strong son and an archer. But as soon as you had tasted that divine heavenly food, O Phoebus, you could no longer then be held by golden cords nor confined with bands, but all their ends were undone. Forthwith Phoebus Apollo spoke out among the deathless goddesses: "The lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me, and I will declare to men the unfailing will of Zeus."

[133] So said Phoebus, the long-haired god who shoots afar and began to walk upon the wide-pathed earth; and all goddesses were amazed at him. Then with gold all Delos was laden, beholding the child of Zeus and Leto, for joy because the god chose her above the islands and shore to make his dwelling in her: and she loved him yet more in her heart, and blossomed as does a mountain-top with woodland flowers.

[140] And you, O lord Apollo, god of the silver bow, shooting afar, now walked on craggy Cynthus, and now kept wandering about the island and the people in them. Many are your temples and wooded groves, and all peaks and towering bluffs of lofty mountains and rivers flowing to the sea are dear to you, Phoebus, yet in Delos do you most delight your heart; for there the long robed Ionians gather in your honour with their children and shy wives: mindful, they delight you with boxing and dancing and song, so often as they hold their gathering. A man would say that they were deathless and unageing if he should then come upon the Ionians so met together. For he would see the graces of them all, and would be pleased in heart gazing at the men and well-girded women with their swift ships and great wealth. And there is this great wonder besides -- and its renown shall never perish -- the girls of Delos, hand-maidens of the Far-shooter; for when they have praised Apollo first, and also Leto and Artemis who delights in arrows, they sing a strain-telling of men and women of past days, and charm the tribes of men. Also they can imitate the tongues of all men and their clattering speech: each would say that he himself were singing, so close to truth is their sweet song.

[165] And now may Apollo be favourable and Artemis; and farewell all you maidens. Remember me in after time whenever any one of men on earth, a stranger who has seen and suffered much, comes here and asks of you: "Whom think ye, girls, is the sweetest singer that comes here, and in whom do you most delight?" Then answer, each and all, with one voice: "He is a blind man, and dwells in rocky Chios: his lays are evermore supreme." As for me, I will carry your renown as far as I roam over the earth to the well-placed this thing is true. And I will never cease to praise far-shooting Apollo, god of the silver bow, whom rich-haired Leto bare.

TO PYTHIAN APOLLO

[179] O Lord, Lycia is yours and lovely Maeonia and Miletus, charming city by the sea, but over wave-girt Delos you greatly reign your own self.

[182] Leto's all-glorious son goes to rocky Pytho, playing upon his hollow lyre, clad in divine, perfumed garments; and at the touch of the golden key his lyre sings sweet. Thence, swift as thought, he speeds from earth to Olympus, to the house of Zeus, to join the gathering of the other gods: then straightway the undying gods think only of the lyre and song, and all the Muses together, voice sweetly answering voice, hymn the unending gifts the gods enjoy and the sufferings of men, all that they endure at the hands of the deathless gods, and how they live witless and helpless and cannot find healing for death or defence against old age. Meanwhile the rich-tressed Graces and cheerful Seasons dance with Harmonia and Hebe and Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, holding each other by the wrist. And among them sings one, not mean nor puny, but tall to look upon and enviable in mien, Artemis who delights in arrows, sister of Apollo. Among them sport Ares and the keen-eyed Slayer of Argus, while Apollo plays his lyre stepping high and featly and a radiance shines around him, the gleaming of his feet and close-woven vest. And they, even gold-tressed Leto and wise Zeus, rejoice in their great hearts as they watch their dear son playing among the undying gods.

[207] How then shall I sing of you -- though in all ways you are a worthy theme for song? Shall I sing of you as wooer and in the fields of love, how you went wooing the daughter of Azan along with god-like Ischys the son of well-horsed Elatius, or with Phorbas sprung from Triops, or with Ereutheus, or with Leucippus and the wife of Leucippus ((lacuna)) . . . you on foot, he with his chariot, yet he fell not short of Triops. Or shall I sing how at the first you went about the earth seeking a place of oracle for men, O far-shooting Apollo? To Pieria first you went down from Olympus and passed by sandy Lectus and Enienae and through the land of the Perrhaebi. Soon you came to Iolcus and set foot on Cenaeum in Euboea, famed for ships: you stood in the Lelantine plain, but it pleased not your heart to make a temple there and wooded groves. From there you crossed the Euripus, far-shooting Apollo, and went up the green, holy hills, going on to Mycalessus and grassy-bedded Teumessus, and so came to the wood-clad abode of Thebe; for as yet no man lived in holy Thebe, nor were there tracks or ways about Thebe's wheat-bearing plain as yet.

[229] And further still you went, O far-shooting Apollo, and came to Onchestus, Poseidon's bright grove: there the new-broken cold distressed with drawing the trim chariot gets spirit again, and the skilled driver springs from his car and goes on his way. Then the horses for a while rattle the empty car, being rid of guidance; and if they break the chariot in the woody grove, men look after the horses, but tilt the chariot and leave it there; for this was the rite from the very first. And the drivers pray to the lord of the shrine; but the chariot falls to the lot of the god.

[239] Further yet you went, O far-shooting Apollo, and reached next Cephissus' sweet stream which pours forth its sweet- flowing water from Lilaea, and crossing over it, O worker from afar, you passed many-towered Ocalea and reached grassy Haliartus.

[244] Then you went towards Telphusa: and there the pleasant place seemed fit for making a temple and wooded grove. You came very near and spoke to her: "Telphusa, here I am minded to make a glorious temple, an oracle for men, and hither they will always bring perfect hecatombs, both those who live in rich Peloponnesus and those of Europe and all the wave-washed isles, coming to seek oracles. And I will deliver to them all counsel that cannot fail, giving answer in my rich temple."

[254] So said Phoebus Apollo, and laid out all the foundations throughout, wide and very long. But when Telphusa saw this, she was angry in heart and spoke, saying: "Lord Phoebus, worker from afar, I will speak a word of counsel to your heart, since you are minded to make here a glorious temple to be an oracle for men who will always bring hither perfect hecatombs for you; yet I will speak out, and do you lay up my words in your heart. The trampling of swift horses and the sound of mules watering at my sacred springs will always irk you, and men will like better to gaze at the well-made chariots and stamping, swift-footed horses than at your great temple and the many treasures that are within. But if you will be moved by me -- for you, lord, are stronger and mightier than I, and your strength is very great -- build at Crisa below the glades of Parnassus: there no bright chariot will clash, and there will be no noise of swift-footed horses near your well-built altar. But so the glorious tribes of men will bring gifts to you as Iepaeon (`Hail-Healer'), and you will receive with delight rich sacrifices from the people dwelling round about." So said Telphusa, that she alone, and not the Far-Shooter, should have renown there; and she persuaded the Far-Shooter.

[277] Further yet you went, far-shooting Apollo, until you came to the town of the presumptuous Phlegyae who dwell on this earth in a lovely glade near the Cephisian lake, caring not for Zeus. And thence you went speeding swiftly to the mountain ridge, and came to Crisa beneath snowy Parnassus, a foothill turned towards the west: a cliff hangs over if from above, and a hollow, rugged glade runs under. There the lord Phoebus Apollo resolved to make his lovely temple, and thus he said: "In this place I am minded to build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, and here they will always bring perfect hecatombs, both they who dwell in rich Peloponnesus and the men of Europe and from all the wave-washed isles, coming to question me. And I will deliver to them all counsel that cannot fail, answering them in my rich temple."

[294] When he had said this, Phoebus Apollo laid out all the foundations throughout, wide and very long; and upon these the sons of Erginus, Trophonius and Agamedes, dear to the deathless gods, laid a footing of stone. And the countless tribes of men built the whole temple of wrought stones, to be sung of for ever.

[300] But near by was a sweet flowing spring, and there with his strong bow the lord, the son of Zeus, killed the bloated, great she-dragon, a fierce monster wont to do great mischief to men upon earth, to men themselves and to their thin- shanked sheep; for she was a very bloody plague. She it was who once received from gold-throned Hera and brought up fell, cruel Typhaon to be a plague to men. Once on a time Hera bare him because she was angry with father Zeus, when the Son of Cronos bare all-glorious Athena in his head. Thereupon queenly Hera was angry and spoke thus among the assembled gods:

[311] "Hear from me, all gods and goddesses, how cloud-gathering Zeus begins to dishonour me wantonly, when he has made me his true-hearted wife. See now, apart from me he has given birth to bright-eyed Athena who is foremost among all the blessed gods. But my son Hephaestus whom I bare was weakly among all the blessed gods and shrivelled of foot, a shame and disgrace to me in heaven, whom I myself took in my hands and cast out so that he fell in the great sea. But silver-shod Thetis the daughter of Nereus took and cared for him with her sisters: would that she had done other service to the blessed gods! O wicked one and crafty! What else will you now devise? How dared you by yourself give birth to bright-eyed Athena? Would not I have borne you a child -- I, who was at least called your wife among the undying gods who hold wide heaven. Beware now lest I devise some evil thing for you hereafter: yes, now I will contrive that a son be born me to be foremost among the undying gods -- and that without casting shame on the holy bond of wedlock between you and me. And I will not come to your bed, but will consort with the blessed gods far off from you."

[331] When she had so spoken, she went apart from the gods, being very angry. Then straightway large-eyed queenly Hera prayed, striking the ground flatwise with her hand, and speaking thus: "Hear now, I pray, Earth and wide Heaven above, and you Titan gods who dwell beneath the earth about great Tartarus, and from whom are sprung both gods and men! Harken you now to me, one and all, and grant that I may bear a child apart from Zeus, no wit lesser than him in strength -- nay, let him be as much stronger than Zeus as all-seeing Zeus than Cronos."

[340] Thus she cried and lashed the earth with her strong hand. Then the life-giving earth was moved: and when Hera saw it she was glad in heart, for she thought her prayer would be fulfilled. And thereafter she never came to the bed of wise Zeus for a full year, not to sit in her carved chair as aforetime to plan wise counsel for him, but stayed in her temples where many pray, and delighted in her offerings, large-eyed queenly Hera. But when the months and days were fulfilled and the seasons duly came on as the earth moved round, she bare one neither like the gods nor mortal men, fell, cruel Typhaon, to be a plague to men. Straightway large-eyed queenly Hera took him and bringing one evil thing to another such, gave him to the dragoness; and she received him. And this Typhaon used to work great mischief among the famous tribes of men. Whosoever met the dragoness, the day of doom would sweep him away, until the lord Apollo, who deals death from afar, shot a strong arrow at her. Then she, rent with bitter pangs, lay drawing great gasps for breath and rolling about that place. An awful noise swelled up unspeakable as she writhed continually this way and that amid the wood: and so she left her life, breathing it forth in blood.

[362] Then Phoebus Apollo boasted over her: "Now rot here upon the soil that feeds man! You at least shall live no more to be a fell bane to men who eat the fruit of the all-nourishing earth, and who will bring hither perfect hecatombs. Against cruel death neither Typhoeus shall avail you nor ill-famed Chimera, but here shall the Earth and shining Hyperion make you rot."

[370] Thus said Phoebus, exulting over her: and darkness covered her eyes. And the holy strength of Helios made her rot away there; wherefore the place is now called Pytho, and men call the lord Apollo by another name, Pythian; because on that spot the power of piercing Helios made the monster rot away.

[375] Then Phoebus Apollo saw that the sweet-flowing spring had beguiled him, and he started out in anger against Telphusa; and soon coming to her, he stood close by and spoke to her: "Telphusa, you were not, after all, to keep to yourself this lovely place by deceiving my mind, and pour forth your clear flowing water: here my renown shall also be and not yours alone?"

[382] Thus spoke the lord, far-working Apollo, and pushed over upon her a crag with a shower of rocks, hiding her streams: and he made himself an altar in a wooded grove very near the clear-flowing stream. In that place all men pray to the great one by the name Telphusian, because he humbled the stream of holy Telphusa.

[388] Then Phoebus Apollo pondered in his heart what men he should bring in to be his ministers in sacrifice and to serve him in rocky Pytho. And while he considered this, he became aware of a swift ship upon the wine-like sea in which were many men and goodly, Cretans from Cnossos,10 the city of Minos, they who do sacrifice to the prince and announce his decrees, whatsoever Phoebus Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, speaks in answer from his laurel tree below the dells of Parnassus. These men were sailing in their black ship for traffic and for profit to sandy Pylos and to the men of Pylos. But Phoebus Apollo met them: in the open sea he sprang upon their swift ship, like a dolphin in shape, and lay there, a great and awesome monster, and none of them gave heed so as to understand11; but they sought to cast the dolphin overboard. But he kept shaking the black ship every way and make the timbers quiver. So they sat silent in their craft for fear, and did not loose the sheets throughout the black, hollow ship, nor lowered the sail of their dark-prowed vessel, but as they had set it first of all with oxhide ropes, so they kept sailing on; for a rushing south wind hurried on the swift ship from behind. First they passed by Malea, and then along the Laconian coast they came to Taenarum, sea-garlanded town and country of Helios who gladdens men, where the thick- fleeced sheep of the lord Helios feed continually and occupy a glad-some country. There they wished to put their ship to shore, and land and comprehend the great marvel and see with their eyes whether the monster would remain upon the deck of the hollow ship, or spring back into the briny deep where fishes shoal. But the well-built ship would not obey the helm, but went on its way all along Peloponnesus: and the lord, far-working Apollo, guided it easily with the breath of the breeze. So the ship ran on its course and came to Arena and lovely Argyphea and Thryon, the ford of Alpheus, and well-placed Aepy and sandy Pylos and the men of Pylos; past Cruni it went and Chalcis and past Dyme and fair Elis, where the Epei rule. And at the time when she was making for Pherae, exulting in the breeze from Zeus, there appeared to them below the clouds the steep mountain of Ithaca, and Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus. But when they were passed by all the coast of Peloponnesus, then, towards Crisa, that vast gulf began to heave in sight which through all its length cuts off the rich isle of Pelops. There came on them a strong, clear west-wind by ordinance of Zeus and blew from heaven vehemently, that with all speed the ship might finish coursing over the briny water of the sea. So they began again to voyage back towards the dawn and the sun: and the lord Apollo, son of Zeus, led them on until they reached far-seen Crisa, land of vines, and into haven: there the sea-coursing ship grounded on the sands.

[440] Then, like a star at noonday, the lord, far-working Apollo, leaped from the ship: flashes of fire flew from him thick and their brightness reached to heaven. He entered into his shrine between priceless tripods, and there made a flame to flare up bright, showing forth the splendour of his shafts, so that their radiance filled all Crisa, and the wives and well-girded daughters of the Crisaeans raised a cry at that outburst of Phoebus; for he cast great fear upon them all. From his shrine he sprang forth again, swift as a thought, to speed again to the ship, bearing the form of a man, brisk and sturdy, in the prime of his youth, while his broad shoulders were covered with his hair: and he spoke to the Cretans, uttering winged words:

[452] "Strangers, who are you? Whence come you sailing along the paths of the sea? Are you for traffic, or do you wander at random over the sea as pirates do who put their own lives to hazard and bring mischief to men of foreign parts as they roam? Why rest you so and are afraid, and do not go ashore nor stow the gear of your black ship? For that is the custom of men who live by bread, whenever they come to land in their dark ships from the main, spent with toil; at once desire for sweet food catches them about the heart."

[462] So speaking, he put courage in their hearts, and the master of the Cretans answered him and said: "Stranger -- though you are nothing like mortal men in shape or stature, but are as the deathless gods -- hail and all happiness to you, and may the gods give you good. Now tell me truly that I may surely know it: what country is this, and what land, and what men live herein? As for us, with thoughts set otherwards, we were sailing over the great sea to Pylos from Crete (for from there we declare that we are sprung), but now are come on shipboard to this place by no means willingly -- another way and other paths -- and gladly would we return. But one of the deathless gods brought us here against our will."

[474] Then far-working Apollo answered then and said: "Strangers who once dwelt about wooded Cnossos but now shall return no more each to his loved city and fair house and dear wife; here shall you keep my rich temple that is honoured by many men. I am the son of Zeus; Apollo is my name: but you I brought here over the wide gulf of the sea, meaning you no hurt; nay, here you shall keep my rich temple that is greatly honoured among men, and you shall know the plans of the deathless gods, and by their will you shall be honoured continually for all time. And now come, make haste and do as I say. First loose the sheets and lower the sail, and then draw the swift ship up upon the land. Take out your goods and the gear of the straight ship, and make an altar upon the beach of the sea: light fire upon it and make an offering of white meal. Next, stand side by side around the altar and pray: and in as much as at the first on the hazy sea I sprang upon the swift ship in the form of a dolphin, pray to me as Apollo Delphinius; also the altar itself shall be called Delphinius and overlooking12 for ever. Afterwards, sup beside your dark ship and pour an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. But when you have put away craving for sweet food, come with me singing the hymn Ie Paean (Hail, Healer!), until you come to the place where you shall keep my rich temple."

[502] So said Apollo. And they readily harkened to him and obeyed him. First they unfastened the sheets and let down the sail and lowered the mast by the forestays upon the mast-rest. Then, landing upon the beach of the sea, they hauled up the ship from the water to dry land and fixed long stays under it. Also they made an altar upon the beach of the sea, and when they had lit a fire, made an offering of white meal, and prayed standing around the altar as Apollo had bidden them. Then they took their meal by the swift, black ship, and poured an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. And when they had put away craving for drink and food, they started out with the lord Apollo, the son of Zeus, to lead them, holding a lyre in his hands, and playing sweetly as he stepped high and featly. So the Cretans followed him to Pytho, marching in time as they chanted the Ie Paean after the manner of the Cretan paean-singers and of those in whose hearts the heavenly Muse has put sweet-voiced song. With tireless feet they approached the ridge and straightway came to Parnassus and the lovely place where they were to dwell honoured by many men. There Apollo brought them and showed them his most holy sanctuary and rich temple.

[524] But their spirit was stirred in their dear breasts, and the master of the Cretans asked him, saying: "Lord, since you have brought us here far from our dear ones and our fatherland, -- for so it seemed good to your heart, -- tell us now how we shall live. That we would know of you. This land is not to be desired either for vineyards or for pastures so that we can live well thereon and also minister to men."

[531] Then Apollo, the son of Zeus, smiled upon them and said: "Foolish mortals and poor drudges are you, that you seek cares and hard toils and straits! Easily will I tell you a word and set it in your hearts. Though each one of you with knife in hand should slaughter sheep continually, yet would you always have abundant store, even all that the glorious tribes of men bring here for me. But guard you my temple and receive the tribes of men that gather to this place, and especially show mortal men my will, and do you keep righteousness in your heart. But if any shall be disobedient and pay no heed to my warning, of if there shall be any idle word or deed and outrage as is common among mortal men, then other men shall be your masters and with a strong hand shall make you subject for ever. All has been told you: do you keep it in your heart."

[545] And so, farewell, son of Zeus and Leto; but I will remember you and another hymn also.

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cuppajj · 7 months ago

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Neo Beast Head cannons?

WOOWOO

✨Saint Vanilla Cookie

He’s the only one who goes wherever he wants. The other beasts are pretty stationary for the time being, but Saint’s on a mission and he will show up literally anywhere

Still loves animals and thinks they’re incapable of sinning, so they don’t get the purifying touch. It’s why raisin’s crows are still alive

Speaking of raisin, he does miss her but he thinks she’s in a better place. Calls her his martyr and talks about her like she’s still alive

He has tea every morning

It’s unknown where he sleeps when he’s traveling the world

He keeps Crepe’s headset extra clean for the day they meet each other again

❤️‍🔥Dragonberry Cookie

She is still the same old Hollyberry who loves drinking berry juice like there’s no tomorrow. She even brings pints to Neo beast meetings

Even though her pride has given her a massive superiority complex, she still views her family and even Pitaya rather fondly, though it doesn’t prevent the latter from being spared any sort of pain. She sees everything as playful until it’s not

Does frankly miss Tarte Tatin and Royal Margarine even though one or both of them has Snapdragon, who she’s trying to get her hands on

Snores

❄️Frigid Cacao Cookie

Rarely speaks but when he does it’s usually to give orders, and half of that time he asks for food

His incense always remains lit

Alongside the cookies left, sometimes the licorice sea monsters that now roam his halls act as his servants. He can also use the licorice ooze to do wacky things like teleport from one place to another

Sometimes he appears in the fog of the snow like an apparition, something you can barely see but know he’s there. It’s one of the rare sightings of him outside

Another thing he does when outside is stare at a frozen Cacaoian. Sometimes he touches the icy surface, maybe kneels. Who knows what he’s thinking?

☀️Celestial Cheese Cookie

A lot of her mannerisms are akin to white diamond from steven universe, she was actually one of the main references I used for her design

She can summon as many golden arms as she wants and they operate on hydra properties. Cutting one will grow two

Despite this, she doesn’t have the legit Midas touch where everything she touches turns to gold, she can be selective. Which is good when she wants to pet jackals

Her growing kingdom is full of converted desert inhabitants and travelers, maybe a handful of townships, and it’s remarkable how she’s been able to grow a lot from nothing. She does get a bit of an inferiority complex when comparing herself to the likes of Dragonberry, but it motivates her to conquer more

🥀Midnight Lily Cookie

She picked up playing the harp after she became queen, and she plays often. The silver fae like to gather around to listen to their queen perform, and her harp can be heard across the kingdom

She’s grown more accustomed to speaking like the silver fae as well at times, her voice songlike despite how neutral it sounds. She’ll sing as she plays the harp as well

Despite being a beast, she’s the least accepting of that name for lack of a better word. She doesn’t see herself as being corrupt, only staying true to her decisions and her sovereignty, what she believes is right for herself and everyone. It just so happens that it enables the bad to do worse, but it’s not her problem anyway.

Her kingdom is still strict to outsiders, probably on the same level as cacao. You might need an invitation inside or risk the silver fae being free to do whatever they wish with you

As I mentioned previously they operate similar to the fae (unseelie in aesthetic) so you don’t want to bother chaotic neutral creatures

The only one allowed without invitation is Saint Vanilla, who has a habit of showing up in her garden to lay among the flowers. Lily can only imagine what he thinks of when he sees her

#beast ancients au #beast ancients au ask #saint vanilla cookie #dragonberry cookie #frigid cacao cookie #celestial cheese cookie #midnight lily cookie

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padfootagain · 2 months ago

Text

Love in Verses (XXVII)

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This one is one of my favourites… I’m very proud of Andy in this one :)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 5601

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Singer’s House

When they said Carrickfergus I could hear the frosty echo of saltminers' picks. I imagined it, chambered and glinting, a township built of light.

What do we say any more to conjure the salt of our earth? So much comes and is gone that should be crystal and kept

and amicable weathers that bring up the grain of things, their tang of season and store, are all the packing we'll get.

So I say to myself Gweebarra and its music hits off the place like water hitting off granite. I see the glittering sound

framed in your window, knives and forks set on oilcloth, and the seals' heads, suddenly outlined, scanning everything.

People here used to believe that drowned souls lived in the seals. At spring tides they might change shape. They loved music and swam in for a singer

who might stand at the end of summer in the mouth of a whitewashed turf-shed, his shoulder to the jamb, his song a rowboat far out in evening.

When I came here first you were always singing, a hint of the clip of the pick in your winnowing climb and attack. Raise it again, man. We still believe what we hear.

Seamus Heaney, Field Work

Andrew was kissing you.

Fingers in your hair, he cupped your face in a tender yet firm hold. His lips were divine against yours, your head spinning with the feeling of his beard against your soft skin, feeling intoxicated by his scent…

Christ, he was so good at this…

His lips fell away from yours to trail along your jawline, down the curve of your neck, and you shamelessly moaned when he nipped at the soft skin there, leaving it reddened with his kisses. You unbuttoned his brown shirt, your favourite, the one that made him look so… divine…

“I want you so bad, Y/N.”

His voice was rough, so deep it made your entire being tremble.

“The things I want to do to you…”

You moaned at his words, kissing him again, pushing back his open shirt until you could peel it off him, run your fingers along his pale skin.

You fell onto your bed then, now both of you mostly naked. It was a blur, how the world kept on spinning, how time kept on ticking, how the last pieces of garments disappeared from your bodies. You didn’t care. All you cared about was the size of Andrew’s hands as they splayed over your breasts, across your ribcage, over your thighs, how he dug his fingers into your hips, the roughness of his calloused skin making you shiver. It felt like he was touching all your body at once.

His lips were trailing along your thighs now, and you moaned as he left a few marks here and there, as he rubbed his beard across your skin to make you squirm, which worked so easily every time.

“Y/N.”

The way he whispered your name before kissing your inner thigh again…

“Y/N…”

His voice a little louder as his breath fanned over the most intimate part of you.

“Y/N!”

You opened your eyes with a jolt, looking around, completely lost, not recognising where you were…

A car. You were inside a car. Trees and the countryside through the window…

“Y/N? You’re alright?”

You followed his familiar voice to look into the driver’s seat, next to you. Andrew was sitting there, his frame ridiculously big in the secluded space of the car. He was driving.

“You’re alright?” he asked again. “You were… kind of moaning in your sleep… I wasn’t sure whether you had a nightmare or something…”

Your eyes grew round, you averted your gaze back on the moving landscape on the other side of the window.

You had fallen asleep… you had fallen asleep while Andrew was driving you both to Bray, holy shit…

You had a wet dream about Andrew… when he was sitting next to you…

HOLY SHIT!

“Erm… can’t remember it but… I think it was a nightmare, yeah,” you nodded, trying to breathe despite the embarrassment that made your throat tighten.

“I didn’t mean to wake you at first, but I was a little worried… we’ll soon be there, anyway.”

“No, no, you were right to wake me. Thank you.”

You tried to find back your composure while Andrew hummed along to Bruce Springsteen.

Indeed, you had almost reached Bray, would soon be in Andrew’s hometown. You watched the sea stretching before you, the water darker than usual under the grey of the sky.

The town was ready to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day, the streets decorated and full of colours. Andrew would miss the parade to rehearse for his gig, but you would enjoy the festivities on your own for a couple of hours before joining him again before the show. You had offered to stay with him while he rehearsed, but Andrew had asked you not to. He didn’t want you to ‘hear him fail’ as he put it. You didn’t want to make him nervous or uncomfortable, so you didn’t insist.

You were to meet up with his friends still. You were relieved when Andrew told you he wouldn’t invite Sam today. You had asked him, knowing it would be a great opportunity for him to spend time with her, but he didn’t want to invite her. You weren’t sure why.

For now, it didn’t matter. You were getting nervous as Andrew drove through the streets of Bray, and your embarrassment over your dream wasn’t helping.

You hoped his friends would like you. You had heard a lot about Alex, just like you had mentioned Siobhán often. You knew the rest of the group had been formed during their college days, that some of his childhood friends would come to the gig too. You felt a little lonely, but you hoped you would hide it well. You knew no one, except for Andrew. You hoped no one would notice how nervous you…

“Y/N… relax, it’s alright.”

You looked up at him.

“What?”

“You’re nervous. But there’s no reason for you to feel that way. It’s gonna be alright. It’s just a few friends… and besides, you’re not the one who’s going to sing tonight!”

He winked at you, shot you a charming smile, and it made your heart skip a few beats.

You scoffed.

“I’m not nervous.”

“No?”

“Not at all!”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“You’re tough enough as you are, no need to pretend to be invulnerable.”

There was something so tender in his voice, so earnest, as he spoke those words, you felt your chest and throat tighten.

“Maybe I’m a little nervous…” you mumbled under your breath, making him laugh.

“You’re adorable,” he let out the words like a confession, making your body grow warm.

“It’s a lot of new people to meet,” you argued, and he nodded.

“You can leave whenever you want. Don’t feel pressured to stay.”

“We’ve come with your car.”

“I’ll pay for the cab.”

“That will cost you an arm and a leg…”

“Anything for you.”

The words were humorous, but his tone was too tender for you to laugh.

You remained silent while Andrew was waiting at a red light, asked the question that had been on your tongue for days once the car started moving again.

“Andy… why didn’t you invite Sam?”

You saw that his hold on the wheel tightened, regretted asking that stupid question. But he answered anyway.

“I didn’t want her to come.”

His answer was genuine, it took you aback.

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“She doesn’t care about music. She came only once to one of my gigs, when we started dating, and I thought I wanted to make a living out of it. She was bored out of her mind. She never came again.”

You frowned hard.

“What about your poetry? Your readings?”

“She doesn’t like poetry. She never came.”

“But… but it’s you.”

You saw the way he struggled to swallow, the heavy bopping of his Adam’s Apple.

“I was never reason enough, Y/N.”

You frowned hard at that.

“What do you mean? You were her partner. She should have…”

But then you thought of Frank, and when was the last time he had shown interest in the things you loved most?

Andrew shrugged, his eyes fixed on the road.

“I don’t want her here today. I’m going to sing, and have a good time with my friends. I don’t want to think about her, I want… I want to move on, today.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Do you think you can do that? Move on?”

Andrew gave you a sad smile.

“I think I can. I think it hurts, but I can.”

You saw him blushing this time, before he would speak again.

“Actually, I… I think I’m falling for someone else.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow. Your heart was racing, at first with excitement, and then with disappointment.

Of course, he couldn’t be talking about you… that was why he was confiding with a friend. It wasn’t you. And you didn’t care! You didn’t care at all, because you wanted Frank, you wanted the life you had with him, you wanted your life back. Andrew could fall in love with whoever he wanted and you didn’t care. You didn’t care if it wasn’t you, you didn’t care, your heart was already taken, you didn’t…

“I… I think it’s been going on for a while,” Andrew went on, clearly nervous now. “But I realised recently and… I don’t know… I want to wait, until I’m over Sam. But I don’t think I’m going to actively try to get her back anymore.”

“Oh… okay…”

“It’s alright, I’ll still help you, if you want. I’m not even sure what I’ll do…”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Y/N, could we… could we not talk about them today?”

You bit your lip, nodded in agreement.

“Yeah… sure… sorry for bringing her up.”

“It’s alright, I just… I don’t want to think about them today.”

You gave him a smile while he was pulling up in front of a small house in the suburbs.

“This is our stop. My friend Katie is hosting.”

You were nervous again as you walked towards the house. There were seven people inside waiting for Andrew and you, people you didn’t know, people Andrew loved deeply, people…

“HOZIER! YOU FUCKER!”

You looked up as a blond woman opened the door and rushed into Andrew’s arms for a hug.

“Hi! Katie!” he chuckled.

“You’re late! As per usual…”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“There was traffic!”

“Traffic, my arse!”

She turned to you with a bright smile.

“Oh, you must be Y/N!”

“Yes, I am. That’s very nice to meet you.”

“Come on in! There are beers in the fridge!”

You grinned at her, followed Andrew inside. You were introduced to everyone, greeted with welcoming smiles. Alex gave you a hug, which you reciprocated with a chuckle.

“I feel like I know you already, given the amount of time Andy spends rambling about how wonderful you are.”

“Alex…” Andrew hissed, nudging him in the ribs, but you laughed.

“He rambles about you a lot too,” you answered, and Alex heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I know, but I’ve already told him, he needs to move on. He’s just a friend.”

“You’re breaking my heart, mate…” Andrew dramatically put his hand on his chest for good measure, making all of you laugh.

“Y/N, are you staying for the rehearsal?” asked Katie.

“Erm… no, I think I’ll head out and enjoy the city.”

“Oh! We’ll come with you! Let’s split. Musicians here, and the rest of us out there enjoying the festivities and getting pre-drunk.”

You laughed at that, but nodded at the invitation. You stayed in the house for a little while, people merely chatting. And then the four musicians had to get to work, and you left with the rest of the group.

You had barely walked out of the house that Katie was beaming at you.

“It’s great that you could come Y/N! It’s nice to know that Andy is moving on, that he’s got someone he can trust up there, in Dublin.”

You smiled.

“Yeah, we’re good friends now.”

She tilted her head.

“Just that?”

You blinked, surprised.

“Erm… yeah… we’re friends.”

“Oh, I thought you were together.”

“No! No, we’re not.”

“Oh, sorry then! It’s just… Andy was so excited about you coming, and he’s been rambling non-stop about you and… Just… in there, he seemed so happy with you. I thought you were more than friends. But sorry if I got it wrong.”

You gave her a reassuring smile, tried to hide how your heart was pounding.

And yet he was falling for someone else… right?

You watched the parade with Katie, Maggie, Seamus and Sheila. Or rather, you used the parade as décor while you caught up on a lot of gossip from their friend group.

Sheila was married to Rory, the drummer. Katie was a childhood friend of Andrew’s. They had shared one kiss when they were teenagers and promised each other never to do something as disgusting ever again. Then there was Alex and Sebastian, who had met Andrew while in college, both of them musicians. Seamus and his wife Maggie had been Andrew’s friends for almost two decades. There were talks of a baby, Andrew would be the godfather, without a doubt.

You found the group welcoming, and a lot of fun to be around. They all seemed nice, all were kind to you. It was a little strange how they seemed so eager to know more about you, to easily speak of Andrew and you as if there was more than friendship between the two of you. You brushed that detail away. Your head must have been playing tricks on you, it was nothing serious. You had made it clear that Andrew and you were just friends, and you had no doubt that he had never lied about that to his friends either.

You were on your way back to Katie’s house, choosing to walk there instead of taking the bus. It was easier, it let you enjoy the celebration throughout the city a little longer. Besides, the weather was quite nice today. Better enjoy it while it lasted.

“So… you’ve met Samantha, huh?” Katie asked, and it was obvious that she didn’t like Andrew’s ex very much.

“Yeah, I have.”

“How did you find her?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know… she’s not… bad or anything. Like, she’s pretty nice. But… I don’t know. Andrew told me she never came to his gigs or that she didn’t read his poetry. That doesn’t sit quite right with me.”

“We couldn’t agree more,” Sheila nodded. “There was nothing wrong with her but… she wasn’t right for Andy. And the way she kept on pushing him away…”

“He hasn’t told me much about that,” you confessed.

“He asked her several times to move in with him, she always refused, said that they were too young, that she needed to find herself first… It was bullshit. She was just… keeping him around but didn’t want for things to get too serious.”

You nodded. Thought about Frank, of the way he kept on delaying everything too. They had done the same, you could see it now.

Didn’t you deserve better than that, too? Couldn’t you have better?

“I’m really glad you’re coming tonight,” Katie gave you a warm smile. “We all are.”

“I’m glad to be here. I’m glad he asked me to come.”

“Hozier’s voice is… unmatched, really,” Katie nodded. “And he’s so good on stage. He would have been a brilliant musician, if he didn’t like poetry so fucking much, and if… if things had been easier at the time.”

“Hmm… He told me about his family.”

“Yeah, it was rough. Again. But they came through. I know that Sam used to think he had wasted his chance, his life, because he didn’t take a record deal at the time. But it was bullshit through and through.”

“The pop thing?” you asked, and Katie nodded.

“The songs were just… pop hits, really. Or written to be pop hits. And Andy didn’t want that. He deserved better than that. He was right to say no. And then he chose not to pursue music further, and I think he was right. At the time, it was what he needed. I will never forgive Sam for making him feel like he wasted his chance.”

“He loves it though… Trinity, I mean,” you told her. “It’s obvious. He’s an amazing teacher. And a brilliant academic.”

“I heard he’s popular there,” Sheila nodded.

You laughed.

“All the students love him. His lessons are always full. I get why, he’s good at it.”

“And he’s hot,” Katie added, making all of you laugh. “If I didn’t prefer women, and had never seen him so trollied he puked on my shoes… I might even agree.”

“He threw up on you?” you asked while laughing.

“Ooooh! I need to tell you all about that!”

The weather was good enough for a barbecue, something simple and full of laughter. The gig was to begin at 9:30, and the pub was nearby. You decided to eat and celebrate Andrew’s birthday before the show. You were learning so many stories about Andrew, most of them being embarrassingly funny. He was blushing, but seemed content with the teasing camaraderie that had settled in Katie’s garden. Indeed, you had rarely seen him smiling so much.

It was finally time for the cake, and Alex carried it from the kitchen, candles glowing and ready to be extinguished with a wish. You were singing too loudly, not caring about neighbours complaining. The beer and the cheap wine that had been drunk throughout the evening were enough to make you tipsy and merry.

Andrew was grinning as he blew on the candles, and quickly scooped up a little bit of icing on his finger, mischief painted all over his features as he did so, making you all laugh.

God, he was so cute. Adorable. And so fucking hot…

You tried not to think about the dream you had earlier that day, about what it meant. You couldn’t want Andrew, of all people, it would make things so complicated in your life… and yet…

“Alright! Gifts!” exclaimed Maggie, and she immediately handed him a square box and put it in front of him on the table.

Andrew blushed, his smile growing more emotional.

“You didn’t have to…”

“It’s your birthday! Don’t start!” Seamus argued, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

You all brought out your gifts, and you felt so nervous when you put your own bundle in front of him. Meanwhile, he grinned.

“Thank you so much,” he mumbled, a smile shining through a thicker accent.

He opened the gifts one by one. Some were inner jokes between the group of friends, some were books, others music-related. He seemed happy with all of them. Katie made him wear a ridiculous colourful birthday hat, and he didn’t complain, merely giggled like a little boy. Then came your gifts, and you were so nervous and embarrassed at the thought that he might not like them, that it was silly…

He frowned a little as he noticed that there were several items in your bundle.

“You didn’t have to buy me anything…” he complained, but tore off the paper anyway.

First, there was a set of whiteboard markers, as he always lost his at work and constantly borrowed yours five minutes before his lectures. He laughed at that, rolled his eyes as you called him a thief, but couldn’t deny the truth.

He picked up the notebook you had chosen next, a leathered cover with a Seamus Heaney quote traced in golden letters.

Noli Timere

He looked up at you with surprise, but you merely smiled. He opened it to take a look at the pages, read the note you had written there.

For the poems I hope to hear one day.

He was blinking tears away as he put the notebook down, he didn’t say anything, and you could tell that it was because he wasn’t certain he could summon his voice. There were two books as well, one of your recommendations for him, and a special edition of a collection of Irish poetry. He let his fingers run across the beautiful covers, traced the letters before looking up at you. There were so many emotions in his smile.

“Thank you,” he let out in a breath.

“Happy birthday, Andy.”

You smiled at each other, and then Katie brought a knife for the cake. You saw how he carefully placed your gifts down, how his eyes lingered on them.

After the cake was eaten, it was already time to leave for the pub. You helped Andrew carry his presents to his car and were alone with him for a moment. Once all his gifts were safely placed in his trunk, you were about to walk back to the house, when Andrew called you back.

He stared at you for a moment, as if he were looking for the right words to say.

“I just… I just wanted to thank you. For your presents.”

You gave him a bright smile.

“It’s nothing, Andy.”

His expression softened, but there was something a little sad in his gaze as well, a longing he couldn’t refrain.

“It isn’t nothing. These… These were very special. Thank you.”

“I simply wanted to finally keep my markers.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t talking about the markers, although that was funny. I didn’t even know those notebooks existed…”

“Oh, I ordered it. Like… I chose the quote to add on the cover. I thought… I thought it was fitting. I hoped it would help you write.”

You saw his eyes glistening, noticed the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s really sweet. Thanks,” he spoke with such a soft, loving voice, you could feel your heart melt. “And the books… that’s really fucking perfect. Thank you.”

You grinned, feeling relieved that he liked your gifts. You weren’t expecting him to move closer though, it took you a couple of seconds to reciprocate his hug when he wrapped his arms around you.

You tried hard not to be overwhelmed by his scent, something woody and earthy that fitted him perfectly; by his warmth; by the feeling of his arms around you and his hands splayed over your shoulder blade and your back. They felt so big on your body, and you couldn’t help but feel safe under their touch…

“Thank you. For everything,” he whispered into your ear, his deep, low voice making your heart miss a few beats. “For coming today, for being here, for… everything.”

You tightened your hold on him.

“Thank you, Andy.”

You held onto each other for a long while, unaware of his friends seeing you and deciding not to interrupt whatever was going on. When he broke your embrace, Andrew leaned down to kiss your cheek, his touch feathery across your skin.

You hoped he didn’t notice how you couldn’t breathe…

The pub held a larger crowd than what you had expected. It had a decent acoustic, Katie told you, and some nice whiskey. You were high on laughter and the rest of the wine from dinner though; you decided not to drink alcohol for the rest of the night. You wanted to enjoy Andrew’s performance, and you needed your head to be clear for that. You had only a vague idea of what would be sung tonight. Some traditional songs at first, Sheila had mentioned The Humours of Whiskey and The Parting Glass. Then there would be covers of jazz, blues and rock songs.

You were so excited about this, you were buzzing with energy, your legs slightly shaking.

And then it was showtime.

They all walked on the small stage, the crowd gathered in the pub cheering loudly. Andrew was so tall on that tiny space, although Alex kind of balanced his friend’s impressive height with his own. Andrew greeted the crowd, and you were surprised to find that he didn’t seem so shy on stage, compared to how he usually was. He picked up a guitar, and the show began.

And God, what a show it was.

They were good. Like… actually good. And Andrew’s voice was so deep and powerful, he had something magnetic about him while he was on that stage. You understood now why everyone kept on saying that if he didn’t make it as a professional it was not by lack of talent, but by choice. He was truly impressive. You could only stare at him, the world forgotten except for him. His long hair flowing as he moved around the stage, the kicking of his feet with the rhythm of the song, the three undone buttons of his white shirt, the way he stared at you sometimes, glance darkened compared to its usual softness. And then he threw his head back as he played electric guitar, revealing the ivory column of his neck and damn…

… you had not been so turned on in years.

You were struggling to breathe as you watched him, as you sang along, as you danced with the crowd. When Andrew stared directly into your eyes as he sang in a growl, you were certain that your legs would give way from under you.

There was no denying possible left, there was no way you could try to fool yourself into thinking about Frank when Andrew was on stage singing like that and looking like that…

And then the tone shifted, the next song was quieter, a folk song for which he played acoustic guitar while he sang with so much emotion you started to actually cry…

Christ, you liked him. You liked him. Perhaps… perhaps even a little more than liked…

Andrew was beyond tipsy at that stage but he was allowed to drink without caution tonight, it was his birthday after all. And the gig was brilliant, he and his friends had been so good, the crowd was full of energy, he was high on adrenaline. And you… God, you were a ray of sunshine, now more than ever. Beautiful, radiant, and you fitted so well in his group of friends, and your gifts were so thoughtful, you were so funny like this, tipsy and about to fall into proper drunk, and you were just… you were…

“Andy, next time you and your friends have a gig, you need to tell me!” you ordered, looking serious despite how your words were a little slurred. “This was amazing! You were amazing!”

He blushed, but the liquor he had been drinking helped him accept the compliments.

“Thanks,” he gave you a smug smile and a wink, almost certain to have heard your breath stagger as he did.

“Alex told me he’ll have a gig in Dublin next month. We’re going!”

Andrew laughed, raised a surprised eyebrow.

“’We’?”

“Me, you… Katie and Rory are coming too…”

“I didn’t even know he had a gig yet… You signed me up?”

“You were already signed up, Alex said you always come. He looked so disappointed not to be able to come to your reading session for your poems.”

“Yeah, he’s all the way to Glasgow at the time. That’s alright, he’s seen plenty of those.”

You nodded brought your glass to your lips and only then noticed that it was empty.

“Oh! I need a refill! Want another beer?”

Andrew finished his glass in one large gulp, then nodded.

“Thanks.”

You giggled, leaned closer to confess something, and Andrew bent slightly as well, curious to know what you were up to.

“Can I make a confession?”

“’Course.”

“You were really hot out there.”

He raised an eyebrow, hiding badly the way his heart stumbled in his chest, the way he struggled to breathe…

He tried to control how his body reacted to this statement, he was in the middle of a busy pub after all, but it was difficult to do so…

“Really?” he asked, trying to sound smug and cool, when he was effectively struggling against his urge to simply smash his lips into yours and kiss you until none of you could breathe, and you could go to his car and be alone there…

You nodded.

“Not too bad, Andy. Not too bad.”

You gave him a flirtatious smile, before pulling away and heading straight to the bar.

Bloody hell…

He took a couple of deep breaths, tried to gather his wits.

You were just letting loose because you were drunk, this was nothing. He couldn’t let a two-minutes long flirt get to his head…

As a cold shower, his phone buzzed in his pocket and when he looked at the screen, the pixelated name of Sam’s was shining brightly in the dim light of the pub.

He hesitated to pick up, searched for you again. There were lots of people at the bar ordering drinks, you were patiently waiting for your turn.

He heaved a sigh, picked up the call.

“Sam? Everything alright?”

“Hi, Andy! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” he nodded, looking down at the tip of his white converse shoes.

“How are you doing? Celebrating?”

“Hmm… yeah, I’m out with the band, we had a gig tonight in Bray.”

“Awesome! Sounds fun!”

“Yeah, ‘s fun.”

“So… you played tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah… we had a full house. It was grand. Really grand, like… yeah…”

Sam giggled on the phone.

“You’ll need some water in the morning, you seem to be heavily celebrating.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to have the whole gang together, you know?”

“Be careful when you head home, okay? You’re staying in Bray for the night, right?”

“’Course, at Katie’s.”

“Good. That’s good. Be careful. Have fun, but be careful.”

“Sure will.”

This was such a normal exchange, why was he surprised by it? They used to have these kind of phone calls, back in college… why did he feel like she was holding back?

“By the way, while I have you… I wanted to ask you, for the wedding…”

Ha, there it was. What he had been expecting.

“Frank and I need to talk to you about the songs you’re gonna play at the wedding. We’ve made a little list, we need to see with you if it’s all okay.”

Play? The wedding?

God, he had forgotten about that… early on, right after the announcement, she had asked him to sing. He had completely forgotten about that.

And it hit him in the face then, how ridiculous that was. She had broken up with him to marry another guy, she had never come to his gigs, and she wanted him to sing at her wedding now?

But what did Andrew want? None of that… he didn’t want any of that…

“Look, Sam, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“What? I’m sorry, the noises of the pub are very loud, I didn’t get that.”

Andrew didn’t want to raise his voice. He checked on you, but you were still waiting to reach the bar and order drinks. He made a bee line towards the exit.

The air was cold outside, the little alley at the back of the pub narrow and badly lit by a single, tired lamppost. A couple was kissing against the wall a few meters away. The alley stank, a mixture of cheap beer, urine and cigarettes, but Andrew didn’t pay much attention to it.

“I was saying… like… I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for me to sing at your wedding, Sam.”

“What? You said you’d do it!”

“Yeah… but… honestly, it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Why not? You said you would! I want you there!”

“Do you?”

“What?”

He didn’t want to get angry. This evening was perfect, this day was perfect…

He didn’t back down, though. He was too drunk to be polite or cautious, to mind whether his words could be hurtful or not. He clenched his jaw, spoke his mind.

“Sam, you never came to my gigs, to my poetry readings, to anything that had to deal with my artistic endeavours… and now that you need a musician you want me to sing? That doesn’t sound fair. If you weren’t interested in hearing me sing for the past seven years, then you won’t be interested in hearing me sing at your wedding either.”

“I… I’ve always thought you had talent. It’s not my fault you didn’t pursue music…”

“It’s not what I’m saying. I still sang at gigs regularly after taking this decision. You didn’t come. You never came.”

“If it bothered you, why didn’t you tell me?”

Andrew’s eyes drifted back to the black door he had just crossed, thought of you and his friends all gathered in the bar, a group that loved him and supported him throughout everything…

He deserved better than Sam. He deserved so much better than her. And he had better. He had his friends, his parents…

God, perhaps, one day, he would have you…

“I shouldn’t have had to tell my long-time partner that it hurt me that she didn’t care about the things I love. I shouldn’t have had to tell you to come, Sam. You should have wanted to come. You should have loved me better. Get someone else for your wedding, I’m not singing.”

Before she could reply, Andrew had hung up, turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be bothered by it again, and then he walked back into the pub.

You were standing where Andrew was a minute ago, two beers in your hands, looking around in search for him, a puzzled frown on your brow. You grinned when you spotted him.

“I thought you were gone,” you pouted, handing him his new drink.

“’Course not. Just went to the bathroom.”

You nodded.

“Rory and Alex are challenging us at darts. Come kick their arses with me!”

Andrew laughed at that.

“Oh, hell yeah! Come on! Let’s get these losers begging for mercy!”

You gave him a toothy, excited grin.

“I’m so happy you invited me, Andy!”

His heart melted, there was so much love for you there…

And he knew he shouldn’t have used that pet name, it wasn’t reasonable to yield into that kind of intimacy when you weren’t his. You weren’t his… even if he was already yours…

Still, it was his birthday, and you were so beautiful, so kind, and there was so much love for you there, in his heart, that he yielded and said it anyway.

“I’m glad you came, love. I’m really grateful you came.”

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #fanfiction #fanfic #au #series #writing

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kimmyungcanjunot · 7 months ago

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Wonderful gif makers of Tumblr:

May I please beg of you a gif set of Baek In Hyuk’s endless struggles throughout the season. Every second episode he was dealing with some nonsense thanks to being Sun Jae’s friend. They had him singing happy birthday to a baby. Man doesn’t just live on Struggle Street, he is the Mayor of Struggleville and TotalBro Township. They’re sister cities.

#baek in hyuk #the ultimate bro #The bro to end all bros #lovely runner #lee seung hyub #선재 업고 튀어

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lucentdreamzzz · 8 months ago

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a very appropriately unhinged review of will wood's music (except for icimi)

I rate every will wood song because wtf else do i do with my pathetic life

6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro/Con):

10/10-fuck yes we are BOPPING. we are CRIMINALS. we are STARTING OFF STRONG!

Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones):

4/10-okay we are kinda bing chilling. it’s okay :P kinda triggers me a lil cuz it reminds me of EDs???

Front Street:

10000/10-YESSSSSSSSSSSS YES YES GOING FERAL INJECT THIS INTO MY FUCKING VEINS!!!!!!

¡Aikido! (Neurotic/Erotic):

4.7/10-it slaps a liiiiittle but not that hard. like it kneads. it kneads not slaps.

White Knuckle Jerk (Where Do You Get Off?):

9/10-it both slaps and i can jumpscare ppl with the surgery line??? fuck yes sign me up!!!

Cover This Song (A Little Bit Mine):

2/10-ew too slow. yucky nasty bleh hiss ew hiss

Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D.:

8.5/10-i hold ur M O M in contempt

Red Moon:

10/10-CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED. ME WHEN I WALK THE EQUATOR CHASING THE LIGHT.

Lysergide Daydream:

5/10-mid!!!! muh-muh-muh-MID!!!

The First Step:

9.5/10-MUNCH. OMNOMNOM DINNER NOW. IM JUST A BOOZIN BASTARD,

Jimmy Mushrooms’ Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne, NJ:

1/10-this exists???

Chemical Overreaction/Compound Fracture:

10/10-when ur an unhinged girlie in the middle of a yeehaw desert

Everything is a Lot:

3.5/10-deep but the deepness doesnt stop it from being too slow for me

Destroy to Enjoy:

7.5/10-surprisingly good for laundromat ambience and chanting??? we r bodhisattva we r buddha dying waking up ig <3

Self-:

7/10-too good for a 6/10 but not good enough for a 8/10. still slaps tho

2012:

9.5/10-FUCK!!!! (inhales) (iwasanexistentialcriminalsoinnocentlycynicalignorantasfuckbutaproudindividual-)

My mom also likes it :D :D :D

Cotard’s Solution (Anatta, Dukkha, Anicca):

8.4/10-starts slow but then GOES UNIMAGINABLY HARD!!!! jumpscare ur friends with it!!!

Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer’s Prosopagnosia/Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus):

8/10-me when i try to replace myself.

The Song With Five Names a.k.a. Soapbox Tao a.k.a. Checkmate, Atheists! a.k.a. Neospace Government (A.K.A. You Can Never Know):

30/10-WOOO BABEY. OH MAN OH MAN THIS FUCKS SO HARD. IF IT WAS A PERSON I WOULD MAKE BABIES WITH IT-

THE SONAR WEEOW WEEOW WEEEOOOWWWW AT THE BEGINNING THE SUNSHINE IS A GASLIGHT PART EVERYTHING IS JUST HJADFKHNF

Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!:

8/10-if i ranked it any lower i would self-crucify <3

Dr. Sunshine Is Dead:

7.8/10-i love the funky little way he sings “i fumble for the switch”. you go buddy.

-ish:

6/10-good close to the album but NOT FUNKY ENOUGH

Suburbia Overture/Greetings From Mary Bell Township!/(Vampire) Culture/Love Me, Normally:

9/10-ITS ONLY CULTUUUUUUREEEEEE!!!! AND IT SLAPS!!!! WILL WOOD COOKED FRFR

2econd 2ight 2eer (that was fun, goodbye.):

8.5/10-this actually introduced me to william woodsmith :explode: the nostalgia is def a factor

Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!):

100/10-hehe gender

I/Me/Myself:

7/10-g e n d e r

…well, better than the alternative:

3/10-very sweet but too slow for my megamind

Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples:

9/10-i did not know this existed??? still kind of a bop

BlackBoxWarrior-OKULTRA:

10000/10-THIS SLAPS HARDER THAN AN ASIAN PARENT WHEN YOU BRING HOME A B

Marsha, Thankk You For the Dialectics, But I Need You To Leave:

7.5/10-me at therapy

Love, Me Normally:

2/10-boring ew tomato tomato

Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world:

8.5/10-SHOW TUNE ABT DEATH AND ITS INEVITABILITY YESSSS

Venetian Blind Man:

8/10-THIS IS SO UNDERRATED?????

Your Body, My Temple:

7.5/10-will wood had his whole willussy out. this song is so unapologetically horny

Yes, To Err Is Human, So Don't Be One:

9/10-silly vampire bop!!

#will wood #wee woo #william woodiam #will woodussy #will wood and the tapeworms #wwatt #wwatttw

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imaginesofeverykind · 9 months ago

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Witches Brew ~ Chapter 1

Warnings: HEAVY mentions of blood/gore, magic described as visceral, catholic-centric monotheism demonised, gore themes, Aegon being the epitome of ‘omg i’ll do whatever except tell mum’, Body horror, 18+ Minors DNI

Tags: DnD-Esque style AU, Targaryens aren't royalty but they are Noblefolk, some things are purposefully vague :S :S

Chapter Song: Go Tell Aunt Rhody (RE7 soundtrack) - Michael A. Levine, Jordan Reyne

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Word Count: 3.8k

Series Masterlist

Vicious rapping squanders the peace and quiet of a relatively silent part of the swamp. Moonlight splits off, cutting through the canopy of overgrowth that shields a peculiar abode entangled within the trunk of an elder tree. The crickets sing among the toads’ baritone croaks until they cease, abiding by the loud pounding on the wooden door that barely stays on its hinges, splintering from wood rot.

”Please!”

A guttural plea, desperation lingering atop the vowels. No one ever came to the decrepit hut unless they were on the brink, teetering the veil of life, quite literally on death's door. But death hardly answered, in its wake, oftentimes stood you; for those who braved the trek.

He had almost given up, muscles begging him for rest, for a modicum of reprieve from the toil it took just to arrive at the steps of a stranger's hut. The weight, the pain, it was enough to finally buckle his shaky grime covered knees, splinters embedded themselves into the palms of his hands the moment his hands hit the wood beneath him.

“I need —,” a whimper, is all that managed to escape his throat. His eyes flickered to the body beside him — not body, he wasn’t dead yet — to his brother laying beside him, laboured breaths that sucked through his barred teeth in discomfort.

Lips curled into a snarl, he brought his fist down on the decking one final time, “open the door you fucking wretch!”

He nearly cowered when the door yanked open, yellow light spilling out into the dark bog from the hearth that roared inside. No one stood in the frame of the door, no one beckoned him inside the derelict home and despite this, he rose to his feet, scraping his newly acquired trousers. There was little energy left in him, just enough to drag the mauled body of his brother - one that inched closer to the afterlife - over the threshold of the hut.

”Sit.”

He spun on his feet, nearly tripping over the pile of wood stacked beside the hearth when his eyes landed on you, who had appeared, simply materializing from nothing. It was only mere seconds until he was set on you again, a frantic torment that willed him near you, “Hag, you must help him!” Despite his weary disposition, he demanded help.

A nobleman. You think, taking his appearance in. Both men donned the same white hair, similarly crafted attire that screamed wealth and you are automatically aware of who was inside your abode. The township off the Kings Road comes to your mind, owned by a Lord as it had been for the past century.

”Well?! Must I get on my knees?” He was angry, that much was clear, but he was more afraid above all.

You waved dismissively, though not toward the stranger, the Lordling. The table of apothecary jars and dissected creatures vanish, though they never are truly gone, and you gesture for the man to place his injured companion. He’s confused at first, most people are when they come to you. Magic was no longer what it was, you could feel it wane the harder religion sought to destroy it. He most likely has never seen it this close.

But he silently obeys, with great effort hauling his brother up on the table and like you had before, appeared behind him as silently as the fog that began to seep through the crack beneath the door. He flinched away instantly, you fought back a sly smirk but your focus was on the man with long matted locks. The hair was a brilliant white, the same as his brothers, identical as the Lord of the closest settlement, but it was marred with the crimson syrup of blood.

You bring a finger to his mutilated face, your pointed nails more akin to talons than that of humans, they threaten to crack the white porcelain of his skin. Swiping a long line down, coating the pads of your fingertips in blood and bringing it to your mouth for a taste. Bitter. The able bodied man recoiled at the sight, but you pay him no mind as you examine the injured one.

His eye was gone. That was a shame. You were fond of eyes as payment.

”Can you heal him?” The man beside you asked, voice small, almost childlike and feeble. ”Name your price, make him whole again and I’ll — I’ll give you whatever you want. Fix him.” His anguish raked through your ears and rattled against your mind like razor sharp teeth, your neck instinctively lolling from left to right as if to ward off the discomfort that followed.

”They’ll know.” You answer cryptically, caressing the side of the younger man's face much like a mother would when tucking in a babe for the evening.

“Can. You. Fix. Him?” His patience was wearing thin.

You sigh, turning to face him properly for the first time since he arrived. Violet eyes. Magic touched his very heritage and yet his own kin sought to erase it, the irony was not lost on you. “He will be different.” You say as a warning, a politeness he certainly didn’t deserve yet you gave it anyway.

Anger overcame him, outstretching his hands and coiling his fingers around the scruff of your filthy dress to yank you toward him. You happen to catch the brief glint of silver, but you had caught it, the blade with your hand wrapping around it to stop it from piercing your chest. Not that it would have damaged your heart, you wonder if his intent was to scare or if he simply forgot which side the human heart resided.

The blade cut through your skin, rivers of red beginning to run down your wrist. The pain is welcome.

“Fix him. Or else I’ll drag you to Oldtown where you can burn in the circle you filthy animal.”

Animal. As if you were no longer good enough to be likened to a person, a human person capable of human things. ‘They fear what they cannot control,’ the voice is recalled into your mind, a vague memory of the past resurfacing as though it meant to reassure you.

Your lips twist into an awry smirk, and the second he blinks you have once again dissolved through his hands like an apparition. Reappearing by his brother's side, sliced hand outstretched to let your own blood drip tantalizingly slow over the unconscious man’s face.

In your other hand is a surprisingly ornate steel flask, an eyesore amongst the natural clutter. Whatever liquid you have delicately poured down the man’s throat is sanguine, syrupy thick like honey. You sense there is something not quite right mere seconds before the man begins to convulse violently, gasping for air that he cannot breathe.

”What have you done?!” Nostrils flared and ire rising, the able bodied one charged toward you like a boar gone rabid.

You grew tired of his impetulant outbursts, whispering a soft incantation with hurried hand flourishes and his movements ceded. Burnt into the wooden boards around his feet, still smoking with specks of orange embers were runes, etched into a circle. Something felt off, the air reeked of acrid mildew mixed with copper and you knew instantly what triggered the reaction.

Ignoring the binded man’s threats you let the magic sing to you, caress you, consume you while softly speaking in a forgotten and forbidden tongue.

The windows and door fly open, inviting in a malstrom of wind, tempestuous and bludgeoning, the centre it wishes to converge is at the body on the table still choking, still clawing at himself for air. His spirit dwindles at every garbled breath but you sense his will and you could feel his fight, he was a warrior through and through even in the face of imminent mortal peril. Not many of those who seek you, offer the same resoluteness.

The older brother is driven to shield his face from the vacuum of wind battering him against the unseen magical force which keeps him in place. Fear was evident in his eyes, perhaps even a touch of regret and guilt though you don’t linger too long as you shout a final mantra, holding both your forearms with formidable strength that is unbroken until the last word passes your lips, you break your grasp.

And then suddenly, the gale force of destruction dissipates.

Silence follows. And you are sat beside the young brother, placing a paste across the part of his face which had been torn away viciously. “What attacked him?” It was the first time you had spoken so directly, but it was because you knew the answer, the nobleman before you couldn’t possibly know what lurked through the mangroves and stalked beneath the stillwater.

He doesn’t appear to comprehend the question at first, muttering to himself a litany of false truths to explain what had happened right in front of him. His very own trembling brings him back from his prison of thoughts as his gaze lifts cautiously to meet yours, “a Direwolf.”

“How did you know it was a Direwolf?” You ask instantly, predicting that he would say as much. No matter, you step over to the cabinet that housed jars filled with all sorts of assorted components for potion making or spell casting, the moon light coming through the window casting an eerie shadow on the workspace.

”What else do you call a giant fucking wolf, what does it matter?” He grew restless again.

You dripped a small phial of black liquid into the mortar filled with other ingredients with great haste, eyes curiously peering out the window looking at the moon as you grimly sigh and mix together what’s been obtained. “It matters,” you grit, trying to grind the remainder of the paste, “the difference between a Direwolf and what attacked him is an exceptionally vindictive blood curse.”

He blinked at you, “what?”

You discard the mortar and cross the room swiftly, shelves littered with bones, glowing rocks and a variety of ceremonial looking daggers. Though magic and its very history were being erased by the ‘new god’, you still hoped those within the settlement weren’t entirely sheltered.

“He will know no master lest it is the moon, he will know no anger stronger than wrath, he will know only pain and isolation.”

The expression that fell across his face told you all that was needed; He understood fully what was at stake, just as you had moments before. Though his resolve hardened and he met your gaze once more, “cure him. Whatever it takes, I do not care!” Both of you knew he was in no position to demand, not when he was still held in place by unseen magic and you had proven many times how easily it was to simply disappear.

And that is what you did, if only briefly, shooting him a coy smile before vanishing and leaving him in ruination for the moment. In the silence, forced to look at his brother made his lip tremble. He hoarsely called out to him, shaky words choking in half sobs to beckon him awake and rip him from unconsciousness to no avail.

”He’s not here,” You softly say, causing him to jump when you reappear and brush past him. “His soul is in limbo, he won’t hear you.” But I can, you think, the energy sings to your soul in a gentle hymn and your blood sings back to it. In your hand a lock of silver hair clasped in your fist, having come from where you disappeared to, though it caused immediate alarm for the man.

He pointed a finger at your hand and grimaced, his bottom lip still trembling but no longer from hopelessness. Though he doesn’t ask the question out loud, you know what he’s thinking and you were certain he wouldn’t like the answer regardless of how you explained it.

“Whatever it takes,” you gently repeated his words and it was enough to silence him, for far longer than you thought was possible. Though the silence was welcomed, encouraging concentration while you handled the spellcraft with the care and love that had been taught to you. The woman in your memory that provided warmth and affection was not your mother by blood and yet she lived through your very essence as if she were.

She was there with every spell, whispering gently and coaxing a power buried deep within you. She was in the walls of the hut, imbuing you with much needed protection from creatures and men. And she was here, watching you through omniscient delight as you dedicated part of your essence to a stranger and his injured brother.

The serenity only just takes the edge of tension away, as if you weren’t tending to the impossible feat of near resurrection and stitching a man whole together once more. Life was fragile, mortality was inevitable even to those who yearn against it but magic could manipulate it enough even if it took great energy. It wasn’t without drawbacks, though. Transactional in nature, to undo what has been done required blood magic, the type of magic you were versed well in but it almost always came with consequence.

’What is taken, must be given back’ the words of your ‘mother’ echoed superfluously everytime your duty required meddling with the laws of nature. Perhaps that was why many travelers or townsfolk revered you as a hag, if not for the way you dressed or looked or lived, then for your duty as an indiscriminate arbiter of unfairness and misfortune.

Magic was fair, balanced and it obeyed karmic laws, this was why you cradled such energy. Life was not, it was often unfair and that much had been made clear the moment your real mother left you in a swamp to be taken by whatever monsters prowled in search for their next meal.

So you do what needed to be done - if only a little self serving to you personally but - you give back the injured man what had been clawed away and take something from his family locked away in their fortress within the walls of their beloved township. Not without a final twist in the knife for the older brother who demanded your help many hours ago. Appearing beside him like a shade, gripping his wrist abruptly and slicing a line across his palm to draw blood.

He attempted to fight back but he was bound, he could only wince and complain while you squeezed the blood into a medium phial. When you had finished, he snatched his hand back, holding it to his chest as if to soothe the pain and grimaced at you almost childishly, “you could’ve asked.”

A faint smile tickles the corner of your lips, though it was no matter of if his words were amusing or his mannerism when he calmed down were fascinating, there was still a task at hand.

The final part of the brutal rite fell appropriately on the witching hour, where the crow sings thrice while the moon is still high. To complete everything, you dropped several dribbles of the brother's blood into the injured’s mouth and finished off your words of sacrilege.

”He will recover,” You announce, finally after what seemed like hours upon hours of the sounds of your transfixed mumblings and careful spell work.

The man hadn’t heard you at first, in fact he had barely registered the runic circle by his feet had disappeared quite some time ago which meant he was no longer bound in place yet he still remained as if he were. But the only thing that broke him from his trance had been the shallow breath followed by his younger brother lurching forward in a confused panic.

No longer was his face torn, eye gouged, the only indication of that was the faint pink scar that remained. His eyes — both, set on you and he surged forward straight toward your neck. Not that you could blame him for being in such a state, though it would be rather humorous to allow him to indulge in his urges and let him throttle you, you step out of his reach like an alluring treat that only served to frustrate him.

The older one flung himself forward, fretting over the younger and the tension immediately dispersed into quaint relief. Though it lasted no longer than a matter of moments, chaos stalked the two like they were messengers from the god of chaos himself, the energy between them repelling from one another like static in a storm. You could merely watch on in light amusement at the bickering duo.

“— I already think so low of you and yet you exceed expectations once more. Bringing me to this devil whisperer's den?!”

”Well I was simply not going to bring you home marked and dying!”

“If you must lie that you care for me dear brother, at least have the conviction to not pretend you had my interests at heart when we both know you wish to save your skin. Now I have to explain to mother why I stench of sin.”

You laughed, quite loudly it had broken the two from grappling one another to look over. The glimpses of lives you often see when people stop by are often times quite enlightening, just as it appeared in the present between two quarrelling brothers. One who thirsts for recognition and appreciation while the other wishes to disappear and fade to obscurity.

“Do we amuse you, hag?” The younger ones eyes set on you, his grimace was apparent as he did little to hide his contempt.

“Quite.” You hum, barefoot toes curling into the splintered wood while thinking aimlessly. No words followed, not when your gaze cast on the elder who had gone a shade lighter in his face, his limbs beginning to quake and tremble. Cracked lips curling into a smile as you watch him collapse to the floor, writhing in what one could assume was unrelenting pain, the type of pain that embedded itself into a person.

“Aegon — Brother!” The younger falls to his brothers side and you watch curiously, how interesting the dynamic was between the brothers. Their resentment ran deep yet there was still a matter of love beneath it, a bond that weaved itself between them despite such obtuse differences.

The younger was furious, shooting his deadly gaze at you with nostrils flared and he lunged at you, this time for mere entertainment, you let his hands wrap around your neck and press you hard against the cabinet. “You fucking monster! What have you done to me! To him?!” He spat, rightfully so, you thought that someone as pious as him would befall such a fate, though from the little information you’ve gathered on the two, Aegon — as you now know him — did not share such piety.

A weary smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, choking out, “I am no monster, little lordling though it pleases me so, to bestow a mark on your family who seeks to reject their very own heritage.”

The screams and pleas of Aegon in the background fuelled this one’s anger, “we’ll have you burnt for that —“ His hands tighten their grip, leaving you to his mercy for now in his hands like a ragdoll force to move at his whim, jerking you forward and then slamming you back into the cabinet. Glass shattered from the impact around the both of you but your focus remained on him, the only thing to do in the instance was laugh and so you did.

“Quite the ferocious brute you are — you’d have made a fine servant to the moon, though I cannot say the same about your brother.” His hands squeezed down on your windpipe with malicious intent but you remain unperturbed despite the immense pressure building within your head. Like a bubble about to burst.

The elders' whimpers of pain droned on in the background, mixing into the symphony of nature that carried on throughout the marsh. You had a little too much fun toying with people, if they were to treat you a certain way, who were you to not at least get amusement from it?

You laughed, bringing a fist full of powder up and flicking it in his face before disappearing through his fingertips like grains of sand. The powder served distraction enough, staggering him back and you silently thank your motherly figure for always ensuring you carried turmeric. Even if it was to ward off bad spirits only.

When you reappeared, your lips barely skimming the shell of Aegon’s ear as you whisper a soft incantation, it felt lewd and profane but at once his pain ceased. The wrinkling in his forehead and face softened while beads of sweat trickled downward, threatening to sully his eyesight by falling into it.

In your hand was the phial of blood you had taken from Aegon, the other held the scruff of his neck. His brother only just recovered from having powder flung in his face, the searing and burning had barely stopped when his eyes settled on you, hovering over Aegon like an enchantress with ill intent.

You crushed the phial in your hands, glass cutting the insides of your palm mixing two bloods together, placing your bloodied hand to Aegon’s sweaty forehead and began muttering swift words. You turned to the younger one, haggard and crazed with a look in your eye that seemed to elicit fear in both of them, raising a clawed hand up you pointing directly at him.

“I have done what is asked of me, to unmark and unburden you. And the cost has been paid. He —“ you look down at Aegon’s fearful eyes, and something in your mind whispers to you to show mercy, it is not your voice, rather hers the one who taught you the ways of magic, “he may now be a servant of the moon but he is bound to me. Every lunar cycle when the moon is at its fullest he must come to me lest he be made an example from the zealot’s who poison your minds with promises of false salvation and piety.” You were still rather on the theatrical side, not truly enforcing a blood bind on him. And yet, it had the desired effect. Fear.

“And if he doesn’t?” The younger asks in mock defiance, serving as a mask to hide the fear so prevalent in his eyes.

“Then when you pray at night you better hope your false god listens.”

——— Taglist ———

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged for the next update! :D

@karlachs-soldier

#imagines #imagine #fanfiction #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 1 year ago

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heyyy! I saw you are writing for the balsas of songbirds and snakes? Can you do Coriolanus x reader!fem, you can CHOOSE the plot, and can you make it a little long???

This was a bit difficult to get to since I had no clue what to write 😭 Don’t worry though, I kinda liked this creative freedom

Coriolanus Snow x Fem! Reader (romantic)

I did have reader take the place of Lucy Gray. Instead of singing, reader is picking nearby flowers or something silly idk

Summary: Coriolanus is off in District Twelve and goes off to find the reader within the district.

The sun pelted down on Coriolanus' pale skin; the softness of his clean skin grew sticky with sweat. The sky held no clouds, just blue. His clothes grew uncomfortable as he made his way through District Twelve.

Coriolanus had walked around town for several minutes, maybe thirty, forty? He had almost grown tired. But he continued, hoping to find a place called "the seam", or whatever the people of District Twelve called area.

The dirt on the ground had grown from a deep brown to a vibrant dry brown, the water sucked from the ground by the sun beating down on it. Sweat slowly dripped down from Coriolanus' forehead. Oh, how he wanted to give up. But the idea of finding his pretty victor drew him deeper into the town.

Coriolanus' eyes drew wide as he looked around the township, looking at the decrepit houses that drew worse looker the farther he went from the town square. The red brick buildings within the town square slowly turned to greying metal or cement housing, vines crawling up the side of the houses.

Several people were outside their homes, cleaning their porches or picking at the plants just below the shingles of house. Coriolanus glanced from each of the homes, watching the children near their homes run with each other. He turned his head away and continued down the road, his head held high, remembering what he was truly walking these disgusting streets for.

Coriolanus finally stopped in front of a home, a grey home that looked similar to the others around it. But what was different was the people standing in their backyard.

A short, blonde girl kneeled over a short green plant, plucking the vibrantly red strawberries from their stems with a sharp pull. The sound of a soft ‘thud’ made Coriolanus realize there was a small brown basket near her feet. Occasionally, she would take the fruits from their stems and eat them, turning away to not get caught by a dark-haired girl nearby.

Coriolanus cleared his throat before calling out to the dark-haired gal. "Hello! Can I speak with you quick?" The girl looked up to him before looking to the blonde girl, saying something, then walking to him.

"May I help you?" She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. He couldn't help thinking she was only being nice because he obviously looked like a peacekeeper.

"Yes, you can. I was looking for (Y/n). I was told by my friend she lived here or nearby," Coriolanus replied. He glanced at the blonde girl near the strawberries, who stared at him too. The dark-haired girl raised her brow and nodded.

"Yes, she does. She's not here right now." The dark-haired girl remarked. The blonde girl behind her picked up the basket with a huff, hauling it onto her arm, in the curve of her elbow.

"Who're you looking for?" The blonde asked, looking him up and down. Coriolanus turned to her and smiled, hoping to seem friendlier so they don't think he's there for something else.

"Maude Ivory, I can handle this myself. Now go put the strawberries in the house," the dark-haired girl muttered. The girl named Maude Ivory gave her a quick look, almost determined before turning back to Coriolanus.

"Who are you looking for?" Maude Ivory asked again.

"(Y/n). I've been meaning to see her," Coriolanus answered.

"(Y/n)? She's out in the field." She smiled at him. "She didn't say she was expecting visitors." Maude Ivory said to the dark-haired girl then turned to the house.

The girl glances at Maude Ivory as she walks towards their home then turns back to him. "(Y/n)'s in the field just down the road. The road stops going after a bit but there's a big tree near the clearing, the field really, that she likes. You'll find her there."

Coriolanus nods and thanks her quickly before making his way down the road. He looked over his shoulder and saw the lady huff a sigh of relief at him not being there for other reasons. But he couldn't care about what they could be so worrisome about, he was too busy thinking about you.

He followed the path to the best of his abilities, trying to go to where the gal had told him to. Down the road until it ended and to a tree in the clearing. It was a pretty sight, the green and brown of the trees degrading into the sun yellow of the grass.

Nonetheless, he pursued into the tall plants. And the dark-haired girl was right, the clearing led to a tree overlooking the rest of the field. As he walked over the tall grass around him, he tried looking for you.

And he was so happy when he finally saw you, sitting below the branches of the tree, picking the yellowing flowers around you.

His eyes almost stared daggers into your back, but not in a negative way. It was in a way he meant he could stare at you forever and ever. Your skin was not covered in blood and dirt, it was clean and unbruised. It was almost odd to see, it was like you were an entirely different person, not the one he had mentored during the Games or the person he had kept safe in the arena.

The weeks he had been training and not looking for you properly had done you good, your skin was now unscathed, the cuts you sustained in the arena now were only (nearly) invisible scars. You must have gotten all pretty for him, just in case he found you again.

Coriolanus couldn't deny, you looked beautiful. You were like a vibrant flower amongst wilted ones, vibrant and fresh, unlike the rest of your district. You may have looked beautiful, sitting alone in a field, but you would have looked more beautiful in his arms. You used to be his tribute, but you were now his girl. His.

He couldn't help but question if you would recognize him. His hair was buzzed, and he did not wear the clothes he used to wear. Coriolanus was not the same as he was before, physically at least. But he hoped you adored him as much as you had before.

The yellowing green grass stood tall in the flowing wind, shining bright in the yellow sun. The grass slowly drew to white then yellowing, fresh dandelions. The plants below Coriolanus' feet made a rustling sound. His boot was brought town in a lazy yet harsh way, putting more weight into the step. The sudden sound of rustling grass caused you to jolt in the direction of the sound.

Neither you nor Coriolanus said a word as you stared; the silence was only halted by the wind in the grass. He stood under the tree, the shade falling over his face, over his eyes, and hiding the odd feelings he felt when he saw you. Maybe it was love or adoration, or something else he didn't think was important. But he couldn't tell which he felt, and he didn't care.

"I'm sorry, every sound scares me ever since I've left the arena," you say suddenly. Sitting down your basket, you stand to greet him. Smoothing out your clothes, you gazed at him, slowly stepping closer to him. "Why are you here? How'd you get here?"

The suddenness of the question made Coriolanus think of how embarrassed he felt when he remembered getting caught by Dr Gaul and Dean Highbottom. God, he wanted to forget that moment once and for all.

"I did some things I shouldn't have for you to win. I messed with the Games a little too much." Coriolanus said, hoping to lighten the mood. You didn't smile but nodded in understanding.

"You killed that boy, Bobbin, right? I remember seeing Coral going after you when you were in the arena too," you remarked. You didn't say anything again, expecting a direct answer.

"It was the only thing I could do; he would have killed me if I hadn't." Coriolanus returned, hoping you would understand his murder. He didn't need to kill Bobbin; he was weak, and Coriolanus had hit him several times. But that odd feeling he felt when he raised his arm again to strike Bobbin, he couldn't help it. Coriolanus couldn't help liking it.

You gaze at him for several seconds, then nod and walk closer. Your hands were close to your body. "Coriolanus, I don't want you seeing me differently because of what I had to do in that arena," you mutter and purse your lips. "I don't view you differently for what you had to do."

He couldn't stand the idea of seeing you differently, he wouldn't be able to. You were still the kind girl he had spoken to in the monkey house, and you were the same kind girl he was looking at now. There wasn't anything different about you, except for the fact you were better fed and weren't dirty unlike how you were in the Capital.

"I don't see you differently. You haven't changed at all." Coriolanus spoke, peering at you, his eyes harder than he would prefer. "You're still you, even if you hurt a couple people. I hurt people too, but you don't see me differently."

Staring at him, you walked closer until the tip of your boots touch his. Your face was soft as you looked up at his lips and into his eyes. Coriolanus stared at you just as much, maybe more than you did. But he didn't care. You were beautiful and he couldn't help thinking of how willing you were to get closer to him.

Coriolanus adored the closeness, it felt awkward, but he liked it, nonetheless. Seeing so much of you, the small details of your skin and the intricacies of your eyes were so much for him. He couldn't stop the feeling of warmth from flooding his face.

"You promise? Nothing will change." You mutter and look into his eyes. Coriolanus pursed his lips and nodded. His hand crept closer to yours, his fingers slowly intertwined with yours.

"I promise, nothing will change. You aren't the person you were in the arena. None of the things you did will hurt you now. You did what you must." He stated with a small harshness in his voice. Maybe it was your willingness to believe Coriolanus wouldn't see you the same when you were exactly how you were before. You were still kind and beautiful, but the one thing you weren't before was his girl, romantically, at least.

Silence followed his statement; you didn't know what else to say. Maybe you could smile and thank him or say something kind back to him. But Coriolanus already chose for you. His hand pulled yours just enough to pull you into him. His hand moved up your arm and to your face, holding you softly in his hands.

You looked delicate in his grasp; the skin of your face was soft against his callused hands. Your eyes were so soft too, it was like you were asking to get a kiss from him. He'd hope he'd give you a better kiss than he did back in the Capital.

Coriolanus' movement was swift, he didn't need to hesitate, he knew what he wanted. His, slightly bruised, lips pressed against your delicate ones. You were obviously caught off guard by the feeling, but you accepted it quickly, pressing against him too.

His grasp was tight on your hands, holding them against his chest, hoping to keep you close. He needed to kiss you more. The split on his lip nearly opened as he pressed harder against your lips.

You had to pull away at some point, needing to breath was pretty important. But Coriolanus didn't want to pull away, something ate at him. If you allowed him, he would do so much more.

So sorry this took so long omg.

My tbosas masterlist

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cryptidclaw · 1 year ago

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RoC Playlist!

Ive been listening to my RoC Playlist for the vibes tm and I realized I have never shared it with yall, so here it is!

Warriors: Rise of Change Playlist

Below are all the songs on it + what characters they correlate to in no particular order (i just added them in this order)

You can easily tell who my blorbos and fave bands/artists are thru this playlist lmao

Hurt- Nine Inch Nails: Brambleflower

My Kind of Woman- Mac DeMarco: Leafpool + Mothwing

Just Take My Wallet- Jack Stauber's Micropop: Fire, Gray and Dust morning Raven after he is presumed dead/a run away

Graveyard's Full- The Growlers: Starclan and the Dark Forest vibes

What Do It Mean-Lord Huron: Ravenscourge (I want to make a PMV for this so baddd)

Drops in the Lake- Lord Huron: Crowfeather + Squirrelflight & Leafpool + Mothwing

Vampire Reference in a Minor Key- Will Wood: Ashfall

The Main Character- Will Wood: Firesight (also just any of the main characters lol)

Dear God- XTC: Mothwing (also Leafpool)

Can't Go Back- The Crane Wives: Shriketail

Never Love an Anchor- The Crane Wives: Mothwing and Leafpool about their kits (I want to make a PMV for this but not for non-RoC Mothpool heh)

Woodland- The Paper Kites: Firesight growin up <3

Suburbia Overture/ Greetings from Mary Bell Township/ (Vampire Culture)/ Love Me, Normally- Will Wood: Ravenscourge

Poor Isaac- The Airborne Toxic Event: Leafpool

The Milk Carton- Madilyn Mei: Firesight or the Order ancestors from the Great Sickness era

Bitter Water- The Oh Hellos: Leafpool + Mothwing

The Moon Will Sing- The Crane Wives: Mistyfoot abt Leopardpelt (I would love to make this a PMV to tbh)

Crop Circles- Odie Leigh: Jaywing/ whatever i decide to name him lol

The Yawning Grave- Lord Huron: Blinding Moon vibes

Helplessness Blues- Fleet Foxes: Willowfeather (Feathertail)

Oliver James- Fleet Foxes: Creekstorm (Crookedstar)

Jazz on the Autobahn- The Felice Brothers: the whole plot, i just like imagine a montage to it

Don't Let's Start- They Might Be Giants: Hollyleaf

Second Child, Restless Child- The Oh Hellos: Tawnyclaw, Willowfeather and Squirrelflight

The Ghost on the Shore- Lord Huron: Fallen Leaves & Rock

Just a Girl- No Doubt: Leafpool (Squirrelflight a bit, tho that fits far better for canon)

Rusalka, Rusalka/ Wild Rushes- The Decemberists: Mapleshade + Goldenflower (Rusalka is abt them being WIVES; Wild Rushes is abt them and their exes)

Your Ghost- The Decemberists: Mapleshade

Dear Arkansas Daughter- Lady Lamb: Hollyleaf

My Love Mine All Mine- Mitski: Leafpool + Mothwing

Sarah- Alex G: Crowfeather abt Squirrelflight

#there are like more than 5 MothPool songs on here lmao #i am cringe but i am free #cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #spotify #spotify playlist #RoC Playlist #Warriors Playlist #warriors #warrior cats

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longliveblackness · 8 months ago

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In 1976 the township of Soweto situated in the city of Johannesburg saw a massive uprising whereby thousands of South African students took to the streets to protest against a language rule introduced by the white-minority rule. During the devastating uprising hundreds were killed in the police response but the events would profoundly change the country's social and political landscape.

The the very touching picture of a lifeless 13 year old boy named Hector Pieterson, who had just been shot by the police during the protests was a massive game changer for how the people felt towards apartheid world wide.

The 1976 uprising came after the white dominated South African government decided that black schools could only teach in a language called Afrikaans and English in a 50-50 mix of the languages of instruction within schools. This news had not gone down well with black people as Afrikaans was the language used by the government and many white people within South Africa, for this reason Afrikaans was seen as the language of the oppressor by many black South Africans. What made the new law of even worse was the fact that, while black schools had to provide instruction in both Afrikaans and English as languages, white South African students learned other subjects in their home language.

On June 16th at 7AM thousands of schoolchildren started to protest against the new law, singing songs and waving signs. At first police used gas to try and calm things down, but then started firing guns. The children protesting threw stones back at the police and by then protest had turned into a riot which lasted three days as adults joined in to show their frustration against the language rule change as well as the apartheid movement. By the end of a violent few days of protests, the South African government claimed that 95 people, some of them children, had been killed but in actual fact more than 700 people died during the uprising.

The bloody uprising and the way it was dealt with had brought the massive racial problems in South Africa to the world's attention. Some countries introduced sanctions against South Africa.

•••

En 1976, el municipio de Soweto, situado en la ciudad de Johannesburgo, fue testigo de una rebelión masiva en la cual miles de estudiantes sudafricanos salieron a las calles para protestar contra una regla lingüística introducida por la minoría blanca. Durante la devastadora rebelión cientos de personas murieron a causa de la respuesta policial, pero los acontecimientos cambiarían profundamente el panorama social y político del país.

Una muy conmovedora imagen de un niño sin vida llamado Hector Pieterson, de trece años de edad y quien acababa de recibir un disparo por parte de la policía durante las protestas, fue lo que causó un enorme cambio en la forma en la que se sentía el resto del mundo hacia la segregación racial.

La rebelión de 1976 se produjo después de que el gobierno sudafricano dominado por las personas blancas decidiera que las escuelas negras sólo podían enseñar en un idioma llamado afrikáans e inglés. Esta noticia no fue bien recibida por las personas negras, ya que el afrikáans era el idioma utilizado por el gobierno y muchas personas blancas en Sudáfrica. Por esta razón muchos sudafricanos negros veían el afrikáans como el idioma del opresor. Lo que hizo que la nueva ley fuera aún peor fue el hecho de que, mientras las escuelas negras tenían que impartir lecciones tanto en afrikáans como en inglés, los estudiantes blancos sudafricanos aprendían otras materias en su lengua materna.

El 16 de junio a las siete de la mañana, miles de estudiantes comenzaron a protestar contra la nueva ley, cantando canciones y agitando carteles. Al principio, la policía utilizó gas para intentar calmar la situación, pero luego empezó a disparar. Los niños que protestaban arrojaron piedras a la policía y para entonces la protesta se había convertido en un motín que duró tres días a medida que los adultos se unían para mostrar su frustración contra el cambio de la norma lingüística y la segregación racial. Después de unos días de protestas violentas, el gobierno sudafricano afirmó que 95 personas, algunos de ellos niños, habían sido asesinadas, pero en realidad más de 700 personas murieron durante la rebelión.

La rebelión sangrienta y la forma en la que fue tratada, hizo que el mundo le prestara atención a los enormes problemas raciales en Sudáfrica. Algunos países introdujeron sanciones contra Sudáfrica.

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

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Her first memory of the birthday song is so faint that she’s not even sure it’s real. She only hears it in her dreams, and it sounds blurry around the edges, like file that’s been long corrupted. She can never recall it when she tries, but sometimes in the dead of night as she watches nothing but the inside of her eyelids, she’ll hear a voice, deep and low and musical, and feel a gentle rocking against a soft chest.

The stars brought you here, one decaphoebe now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you here one decaphoebe more

As long as they are able

Allura has no real memory of her mother. Any idea of the Queen’s face is born only from gathered photographs, regal and beautiful and strong; but those are portraits of Queen Melenor.

Allura has no memory of Mama.

Sometimes she wonders how her brain knew to hold on to this memory, when she was barely old enough to recognise colours. How her brain knew that this would be important, this first time she ever heard the birthday song, the first time someone held her gently on the anniversary of her birth and thanked the stars that she came to be. Her mother, holding her gently, rocking her, singing softly and quietly, maybe even singing her to sleep. It is her most prized and cherished memory.

But she wakes up every morning, and forgets it.

The day Allura turns six decaphoebes old, she finally manages to sneak away from the castle unsurpervised.

It takes months of planning. She follows her father as she usually does, wherever she is allowed, carefully keeping track of the guards and their schedules. She gives her tutors and nannies and Coran the runaround as often as she can, slipping away and reappearing when they look for her so they get used to not seeing her. She spends hours after her bedtime, blanket thrown over her head, holding a small Balmeran crystal between her teeth as she studies her carefully-copied map from the castle library. She memorizes every bend of every curving path, every street name and courtyard. She bides her time until she knows everyone will be distracted with ridiculously overzealous birthday preparations, and she quietly slips away.

Her heart pounds even as she’s miles away from the castle; so far it is hardly the size of her small pointer finger. She feels as if she is checking over her shoulder constantly, terrified that at any moment she will discovered she has been followed, and she’ll be dragged back to the castle for a day of stuffy too-tight dresses and balls with no other children to dance with and fathers who are far too busy to give her all the attention she needs.

She doesn’t want to spend her birthday at the castle. And by the skies, she will not.

Forcing herself to act braver than she feels, she marches into the nearest town, past amused merchants and shop-dwellers and farmers who know exactly who this young child is and exactly why she is out on her own. Finally she makes it to a large fountain in the middle of what she knows to be Cuttleberry Square, of the township of Quintel’ro in the Cuttleorn province. She sits on the stone edge, legs crossed and tucked under her thighs, watching the elegant fish swim about. Several silver tokens rest at the basin of the pool.

Wishes.

Coran told her, once, that wishes are granted by ritual. The more powerful the ritual, the more powerful the wish. Most wishes are small, though, and don’t need much ritual at all, which is why a simple coin in a puddle of water will grant them, or the burning of a meteor, or even the celebration of one’s birth. Small things for small wishes.

Allura carefully takes out a silver coin from her little purse and clenches it in a small hand. She glances at the sky — too bright for shooting stars — and hopes that she can make do with two out of three. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing the coin to her lips as she murmurs, and then tosses it into the fountain.

Then, she sits and waits.

Unfortunately, Coran didn’t mention how long these sorts of things would take, but she can’t imagine they would take long. The universe is vast and strong, after all. And she eats all her goo and mediates every day just like Coran tells her to, so her quintessence should be strong to match. Resolute and determined, she waits.

And waits.

“Something has gone wrong,” she decides eventually. She glances down at the token she threw in the fountain, frowning at it. “You are defective.”

“Who’s defective? The fish?”

Allura yelps, startled by the sudden voice beside her. In her shock she loses her balance, tipping over, but her legs are too tangled to catch herself, and she goes splashing into the pond, making all the poor fishes swim away in terror.

She glares at the stupid token. Double defective. The stupid thing has cursed her!

“I’m so sorry,” the voice from earlier says. Allura looks up to meet the eyes of another child, with short, curly black hair and big dark eyes, pink marks on their cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” they continue. “I was just wondering why the Princess was yelling at a fountain.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” Allura grumbles. She holds a hand out for them to take, and they helpfully yank her out of the pool, stumbling back onto the cobblestone. The take their hand back as soon as Allura is stable, crossing it behind themself and rocking back and forth on their heels.

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Well, it sounded wrong.”

They hold up their hands in surrender, frowning. “Sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Allura deflates. “I’m not — I’m not upset with you, I’m sorry. I’m only — I’m upset because it’s my birthday, today, and my father didn’t sing to me like he promised he would. He is too busy.”

Her new friend brightens. “Well, that’s an easy fix!” They clear their throat, then sing in a loud, clear voice, so inviting that people listening in happily join as well:

The stars brought you here, 6 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars kee you here 6 decaphoebes more

As long as they are able.

Allura smiles bashfully as they all finish, toeing the ground and avoiding their whoops and applause. It’s not the attention from her father that she really wished for, but it’s love and affection all the same, even if it’s from strangers.

“Come on,” the other child says, grabbing her hand. “My mama has some dry clothes for you to borrow, and then you can play with me and my friends!”

Allura dashes off to play with the group, gleefully using the wooden swords they find to play knights and paladins. She never learns the name of her friend — Coran finds her before she has the chance, too busy having fun — but she never forgets the sound of them singing to her proudly in the square, when everyone else forgot.

Like most other thirteen year olds, her first birthday as a teenager is not one she handles with particular grace.

She’s overheard stories from various parents in her father’s court for years. Terrible twos all over again, mothers and fathers and guardians whisper, only this time they know how to argue.

Allura used to be scared of becoming a teenager, when she was little. She was convinced she was going to turn into some kind of monster.

Now that she is a teenager, she knows the truth — everyone is monstrous to her.

It sounds bratty and entitled, even in her own mind, but she knows that she’s right. Everyone treats her warily now, like they’re expecting her to be volatile, which only makes her volatile. Her studies have increased tenfold, and as have her chores, so she constantly feels like she’s busy and has no time for herself. Besides that, every morning she wakes up feeling as if she’s been stretched overnight, and her pants are somehow always too short whether or not she had just seen the tailor a week ago.

It’s miserable. She’s tired all the time. She’s lonely. Her father is busier than ever, and nothing is as fun as it was when she was a kid.

A knock on her door drags her from her slumber, and in a fit of half-asleep rage, she throws a shoe at it, shouting for whomever it is to go away. It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t, and Coran slips through the doorway.

Her heart sinks slightly, because she had hoped it would be her father. (Although she knew it wouldn’t. Her father has not been the first person to see her on her birthday since she was five years old. She is lucky if he is the last. She knows things are getting tense — things are always getting tense — but she would appreciate it if her father would consider her a daughter rather than an heir).

Although it is not Coran’s fault, and it is perhaps a point in his favour that he is here at all, Allura is furious with him, because he is not Alfor, and he is certainly not Melenor, and Allura wants her parents, the reasons she was born, to be happy that she is alive.

“Go away,” she growls.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” Coran says quietly.

Hurt blinds her. It cracks her in half and bleeds into all her broken parts. Tears sting in her eyes, because her arms ache with growing pains and she knows in her heart that the special outfit she had set aside for her birthday will not fit her when she tries to tug it on and it is too early in the morning for her to be awake and today she will have to attend her stupid birthday ball that she hates and that is only ever attended by people who do not know her and there is a picture on her nightstand, of her as a baby in her mother’s arms as her father and Coran look at Allura-in-the-picture in what can only be described as awe, and Coran is the only one here right now, and no one has looked at her in awe is as long as she can remember, and she does not have the energy in her to pretend to be okay.

“Go away!” she shouts, louder, voice cracking on the words, “I hate you!”

She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth. Coran face tightens, briefly, real pain twisting his features before he pulls them into a mask of calm. Guilt eats at her insides.

“Coran —”

“I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you for a few vargas yet,” Coran says quietly. He pats her twice on the shoulder before turning away. It is paternal and loving and more than she deserves. He walks quickly back to the door, and Allura can’t hold it anymore.

“Coran, wait, please,” she begs, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m a monster and it burst out of me. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

The advisor stops at the heavy wood doors, gloved hand resting on the frame. He is visibly tense through his uniform. Allura has never seen him angry — playfully, of course, and many times annoyed or worried or exasperated or protective, but never angry — and she’s sure she’s about to see it now, in the quiet way kind people get angry. She is sure his hand will clench into a fist, and he will say to her ‘yes, Princess (because he has always called her Allura or a pet name, he does not call her Princess, because only those who do not love her call her Princess), you are a monster. You are a mess. You are too much to handle, and you are not my job.’ She is sure of it. She sobs, hearing the words already in her head.

Instead, his raspy, accented voice rings through the room, so soft she misses the first part through her tears:

The stars brought you here, 13 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you here 13 decaphoebes more

As long as they are able.

He says nothing for a moment after his final note rests, still ar the doorway. Allura stares at him in a twisted mixture of shock and fear and hope.

“I am grateful,” he whispers, finally turning around. “That the stars brought you to me. You are not a monster, Allura. You can never be a monster.”

Allura’s face crumples. “I said I hated you. That is monstrous.”

“Did you mean it?”

She is quick to answer. “No.”

Coran walks back over to her, cupping her face and smiling kindly so the wrinkles on his face deepen. “I know, child. I know. You are angry and hurting and I am here. It was bound to happen. I forgive you, Allura. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Allura chokes out. “Thank you.”

Coran presses a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.

———

(Allura does not know where the change comes from. Not really.

But for the next six years, her father is the first through the door on her birthday. He is the first to sing her the star song. He is the first to hug her tightly and look at her with awe. He treats her like a daughter, again, and not his heir.

She does not know where the change comes from. But she observes a difference in the way Coran and her father interact. A stiffness, almost.

She almost feels sorry that she may have caused it. But Coran looks at her, and smiles, and the guilt fades away.)

———

There is no celebration of anything on her nineteenth birthday, weeks after she wakes from a cryo pod and her world crashes to her feet. She lies to the paladins when they ask. To them, Alteans don’t celebrate birthdays. There are no special traditions. There is no awe or joy.

It hurts less that way.

+1.

“So,” Lance says the second she walks in the kitchen for breakfast on the morning of her twenty-first birthday. The way he says it makes he freeze.

He knows. He must.

It’s not that that’s a bad thing, exactly. She has been living with and fighting alongside the paladins for two years, now. They are as much of a family as she has ever had, as Coran — and her father, although her view of him has become significantly less idolising over the years — has been. She trusts them. She trusts Lance, who has proved himself over and over again, in two different lions, that he is dependable, that he knows when to push a subject and when to drop it.

But, still. The rest of the paladins are gathered, also making note of Lance’s tone, looking at her curiously. She has lied to them for two years, even with good reason.

Two years since she has heard the star song. The paladins have their own traditions. She has not known how to share hers without revealing more of herself than she is quite ready to.

“Today is a very special day on Earth,” he continues. “June 21st. The summer solstice. The longest, brightest day of the year; the strongest day of the year, for many. In some places the sun does not set at all. It’s honestly celebrated in some way all over the world, in some small way at least.”

Again, his words are casual. He idly stirs his goo around with his spork, offering half to the mice as he usually does. He does not look up even when Allura takes her hesitant seat in front of him, feeling the weight below his words.

“It’s the day of new beginnings,” he says softly. This time he looks at her, finally, brown eyes as steely as they are soft. “The day of shedding the dark hardships of winter, however long it may have been, and basking in the light of the sun.” His speech is practiced, poetic. Lance is no poor speaker by any means, but he does not usually speak so carefully. This is planned. “This is a day to start anew.”

The rest of the paladins watch them sharply, not even feigning otherwise. Coran is the only one who looks knowingly, who hides a smile behind his hand. The rest are as confused as they are intrigued.

Allura would not be surprised to learn that Coran has told his favourite human of her birthday. She would also not be surprised to learn that Lance has discovered this for himself.

“There are no such seasons on Altea,” Allura says quietly. “Rain comes in small, unpredictable waves. No one on Altea had such long hardships as your winters.”

Lance hums. “Not everywhere on Earth had summers or winters. But people still felt the difference. The summer solstice still feels brighter than the other days.”

Allura says nothing. She pokes around at her goo, hand at her temple, gaze pointedly away.

It would be nice, to hear the song again. To hear the well wishes.

“We had this tradition,” she whispers. “The star song.”

“For the summer solstice?” Pidge asks, the first to speak up.

Allura smiles reflexively at her. “No. For — birthdays.”

“…Oh.”

“Sing it for us,” Keith asks quietly. He doesn’t look at her, but his gloved hand reaches for hers and squeezes tightly. She squeezes back, swallowing the lump in her throat. If there is anyone at this table who can most closely feel the pain she feels every single year, the pain of having no one to thank for her very existence, it would be Keith, and she’s grateful for his support.

She clears her throat, ready to sing.

The stars brought you here, 21 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and —

The lump in her throat grows too large for her to push past any words. The melody dies on her tongue. Tears drip down her face, steady, into her bowl, and her shoulders shake. Silence — pained, both from her and for her — blares through the room.

Someone clears their throat from behind her, and song picks up again.

— grateful

Let the stars keep you here 21 decaphoebes more

As long as they’re able.

Coran places a steady hand on her shoulder, and she leans into it, desperate to siphon the support. Before she knows it, another hand grips her fingers, and then there’s a smiling face in front of her, and her entire family squishes in front all sides, soft smiles and gentle hands, holding her together with all of their strength put together. At the same time, without anyone counting them in, they behind to quietly sing:

The stars brought you here, 21 decaphoebes now

And we’re so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you keep you here many decaphoebes more

Longer than they are able.

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